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alone and on foot, from my lodging in Chancery coach, the soldiers stood to their arms, and the Lane, at my cousin Young's, to Whitehall, in at lieutenant that held the colours displaying them, the entry that went out of King Street into the which is never done to any one but kings, or such bowling-green. There I would go under his window as represent their persons : I stood still all the and softly call him; he, after the first time except. while, then at the lowering of the colours 10 the ed, never failed to put out his head at the first call; ground, they received for them a low courtesy from thus we talked together, and sometimes I was so me, and for himself a bow; then taking coach, with wet with the rain, that it went in at my neck and very many persons, both in coaches and on foot, I out at my heels. He directed how I should make went to the duke's palace, where I was again re. my addresses, which I did ever to their general, ceived by a guard of his excellency's, with the Cromwell, who had a great respect for your father, same ceremony of the king's colours as before. and would have bought him off to his service, upon Then I was received by the duke's brother and any terms.

near a hundred persons of quality. I laid my hand * Being one day to solicit for my husband's upon the wrist of his excellency's right hand; he liberty for a time, he bid me bring, the next day, a putting his cloak thereupon, as ihe Spanish fashion certificate from a physician that he was really ill. is, went up the stairs, upon the top of which stood Immediately I went to Dr. Batters, that was by the duchess and her daughter, who received me with chance both physician to Cromwell and to our great civility, pulling me into every door, and all family, who gave me one very favourable in my my children, till we came to sit down in her excel. husband's behalf. I delivered it at the Council lency's chamber, where she placed me upon her Chamber, at three of the clock that afternoon, as right hand, upon cushions, as the fashion of this he commanded me, and he himself moved, that court is, being very rich, and laid upon Persian seeing they could make no use of his imprisonment, carpets." whereby to lighten them in their business, that he "The two dukes embraced my husband with might have his liberty upon 40001. bail, to take a great kindness, welcoming him to the place, and course of physic, he being dangerously ill. Many the Duke of Medina Celi led me to my coach, an spake against it; but most Sir Henry Vane, who honour that he had never done any but once, when said he would be as instrumental, for ought he he waited on your queen to help her on the like knew, to hang them all that sat there, if ever he occasion. The Duke d’Alcala led my eldest daugh. had opportunity; but if he had liberiy for a time, ter, and the younger led my second, and the Gov. that he might take the engagement before he went ernor of Cadiz, Don Antonio de Pimentel, led the ont; upon which Cromwell said, “I never knew third. Mrs. Kestian carried Betty in her arms." that the engagement was a medicine for the scorbutic!' They, hearing their general say so, thought

There is great choice of this sort for those it obliged him, and so ordered him his liberty upon who like it; and not a little of the more bail."

solemn and still duller discussion of diplomatic These are specimens of what we think pest of these, and of the genealogies and obitua

etiquette and precedence. But, independent in the work; but, as there may be readers ries, which are not altogether without interest

, who would take an interest in her description there is enough both of heart

, and sense, and of court ceremonies, or, at least, like to see how she manages them, we shall conclude

observation, in these memoirs, at once to rewith a little fragment of such a description.

pay gentle and intelligent readers for the

trouble of perusing them, and to stamp a "This afternoon I went to pay my visit to the character of amiableness and respectability Duchess of Albuquerque. When I came to take on the memory of their author.

(November 1825.) Memoirs of SAMUEL PEPys, Esq. F.R.S., Secretary to the Admiralty in the Reign of Charles

II. and James II., comprising his Diary from 1659 to 1669, deciphered by the Rev. John Smith, A. B., of St. John's College, Cambridge, from the original Shorthand MS. in the Pepysian Library, and a Selection from his Private Correspondence. Edited by Richard LORD BRAYBROOKE. 2 vols. 4to. London: 1825.

We have a great indulgence, we confess, and tastes, and principles, have been comfor the taste, or curiosity, or whatever it may monly found associated or disunited: And be called, that gives its value to such publica- as, in uncultivated lands, we can often judge tions as this; and are inclined to think the of their inherent fertility' by the quality of the desire of knowing, pretty minutely, the man- weeds they spontaneously produce — so we ners and habits of former times, -of under- may learn, by such an inspection of the moral standing, in all their details, the character and growths of a country, compared with its subordinary way of life and conversation of our sequent history, what prevailing manners are forefathers--a very liberal and laudable de- indicative of vice or of virtue—what existing sire; and by no means to be confounded with follies foretell approaching wisdom what that hankering after contemporary slander, forms of licentiousness give promise of com with which this age is so miserably infested, ing purity, and what of deeper degradationand so justly reproached. It is not only curi- what uncertain lights, in short, announce the ons to see from what beginnings, and by what rising, and what the setting sun! While, in steps, we have come to be what we are :- like manner, we may trace in the same records But it is most important, for the future and the connection of public and private morality, fos the present, to ascertain what practices, and the mutual action and reaction of govern.

ment and manners ;-and discover what indi- | were produced on the society of Athens or vidual corruptions spring from political dis- Sparta by the battles of Marathon or Salamis, honour - what domestic profligacy leads to we are indebted not so much to the histories the sacrifice of freedom—and what national of Herodotus, Xenophon, or Thucydides, as virtues are most likely to resist the oppres- to the Deipnosophists of Athenæus—the anecsions, or yield to the seductions of courts. dotes of Plutarch-the introductory and inci

Of all these things History tells us little- dental passages of the Platonic dialogues and yet they are the most important that she the details of some of the private orationscould have been employed in recording. She and parts of the plays of Plautus and Terence, has been contented, however, for the most apparently copied from the Greek comedies. part, with detailing merely the broad and ap. For our personal knowledge of the Romans, parent results——the great public events and again, we do not look to Livy, or Dionysiustransactions, in which the true working prin- or even to Cæsar, Sallust, or Tacitus; but to ciples of its destiny have their end and con- Horace, Petronius, Juvenal, and the other summation; and points only to the wrecks or satirists-to incidental notices in the Orations the triumphs that float down the tide of human and Dialogues of Cicero-and above all to his affairs, without giving us any light as to those invaluable letters,-followed up by those of ground currents by which its central masses Pliny;—10 intimations in Plutarch, and Seneca, are governed, and of which those superficial and Lucian—to the books of the Civil law appearances are, in most cases, the necessary and the biographies and anecdotes of the though unsuspected effects.

Empire, from Suetonius to Procopius. Of the Every one feels, we think, how necessary feudal times—the heroic age of modern Euthis information is, if we wish to understand rope-we have fortunately more abundant and what antiquity really was, and what manner minute information, both in the Romances of of men existed in former generations. How chivalry, which embody all the details of vague and unsatisfactory, without it, are all upper life; and in the memoirs and chronicles public annals and records of dynasties and of such writers as Commines and Froissart, battles—of how little interest to private indi- which are filled with so many individual picviduals—of how little use even to philosophers tures and redundant particularities, as to leave and statesmen! Before we can apply any us scarcely any thing more to learn or to wish example in history, or even comprehend its for, as to the manners and character, the temactual import, we must know something of per and habits, and even the daily life and the character, both of the age and of the per- conversation of the predominating classes of sons to which it belongs-and understand a society, who then stood for every thing in good deal of the temper, tastes, and occupa- those countries : And, even with regard to tions, both of the actors and the sufferers. - their serfs and vassals

, we are not without Good and evil, in truth, change natures, with most distinct and intelligible lights-both in a change of those circumstances; and we scattered passages of the works we have al. may be lamenting as the most intolerable of ready referred to, in various ancient ballads calamities, what was scarcely felt as an inflic. and legends relating to their condition, and in tion, by those on whom it fell. Without this such invaluable records as the humorous and knowledge, therefore, the most striking and more familiar tales of our immortal Chaucer. important events are mere wonders, to be For the character and ordinary life of our stared at-altogether barren of instruction- more immediate ancestry, we may be said to and probably leading us astray, even as occa- owe our chief knowledge of it to Shakespeare, sions of sympathy or moral emotion. Those and the comic dramatists by whom he was minute details, in short, which History has so succeeded--reinforced and supported by the often rejected as below' her dignity, are indis- infinite quantity of obscure and insignificant pensable to give life, certainty, or reality to matter which the industry of his commenta. her delineations; and we should have little tors has brought back to light for his elucidahesitation in asserting, that no history is really tion-and which the matchless charm of his worth any thing, unless it relate to a people popularity has again rendered both interesting and an age of which we have also those hum- and familiar. The manners and habits of still bler and more private memorials. It is not in later times are known to us, not by any means the grand tragedy, or rather the epic fictions, by our public histories, but by the writers of of History, that we learn the true condition of farces and comedies, polite essays, libels, and former ages--the real character of past gene- satires by collections of private letters, like rations, or even the actual effects that were those of Gray, Swift, Arbuthnot, and Lord produced on society or individuals at the time, Orford—by private memoirs or journals, such by the great events that are there so solemnly as those of Mrs. Lucy Hutchinson, Swift's recorded. If we have not some remnants or Journal to Stella, and Doddington's Diarysome infusion of the Comedy of middle life, and, in still later times, by the best of our gay we neither have any idea of the state and and satirical novels—by caricature prints by colour of the general existence, nor any just the better newspapers and magazines, -and understanding of the transactions about which by various minute accounts (in the manner of we are reading

Boswell's Life of Johnson) of the private life For what we know of the ancient Greeks and conversation of distinguished individuals. for example—for all that enables us to ima- The work before us relates to a period of gine what sort of thing it would have been to which we have already very considerable have lived among them, or even what effects memorials. But it is, 'notwithstanding, of very great interest and curiosity. A good subject whatever, and plainly engrossing, even deal of what it contains derives, no doubt, its in the most agitating circumstances, no small chief interest from having happened one hun- share of the author's attention. Pernaps it is dred and eighty years ago: But there is little to the same blot in his scutcheon, that we of it that does not, for that very reason, throw should trace a certain want of manliness in valuable lights on our intermediate history. his whole character and deportment. Certain It consists, as the title shows, of a very minute it is at least, that there is room for such an and copious Diary, continued from the year imputation. He appears before us, from first 1659 to 1669—and a correspondence, much to last, with the true temper, habits, and manless perfect and continuous, down nearly to ners of an Underling-obsequious to his supethe death of the author in 1703. Fortunately riors-civil and smooth to all men-lavish in for the public part of the story, the author attentions to persons of influence whom he was, from the very beginning, in immediate dislikes—and afraid and ashamed of being contact with persons in high office and about seen with his best friends and benefactors, court-and, still more fortunately for the pri- when they are supposed to be out of favour vate part, seems to have been possessed of -most solicitous to keep out of quarrels of the most extraordinary activity, and the most all sorts—and ensuring his own safety, not indiscriminating; insatiable, and miscellane- only by too humble and pacific a bearing in ous curiosity, that ever prompted the re- scenes of contention, but by such stretches of searches, or supplied the pen, of a daily simulation and dissimulation as we cannot chronicler. Although excessively busy and easily reconcile to our notion of a brave and diligent in his attendance at his office, he honourable man. finds time to go to every play, to every exe- To such an extent, indeed, is this carried, cution, to every procession, fire, concert, riot, that, though living in times of great actual, trial, review, city feast, public dissection, or and greater apprehended changes, it is with picture gallery that he can hear of. Nay, difficulty that we can guess, even from this there seems scarcely to have been a school most copious and unreserved record of his inexamination, a wedding, christening, charity most thoughts, what were really his political sermon, bull-baiting, philosophical meeting, opinions, or whether he ever had


We or private merry-making in his neighbour- learn, indeed, from one passage, that in his hood, at which he was not sure to make his early youth he had been an ardent Roundappearance, and mindful to record all the head, and had in that capacity attended with particulars. He is the first to hear all the exultation the execution of the King—observcourt scandal, and all the public news—to ing to one of his companions at the time, that observe the changes of fashions, and the if he had been to make a sermon on the occadownfal of parties—to pick up family gossip, sion, he would have chosen for his text the and to retail philosophical intelligence-to words, “The memory of the wicked shall criticise every new house or carriage that is rot." This, to be sure, was when he was built-every new book or new beauty that only in his eighteenth year—but he seems appears-every measure the King adopts, afterwards to have accepted of a small office and every mistress he discards.

in the Republican Court of Exchequer, of For the rest of his character, he appears to which he is in possession for some time after have been an easy tempered, compassionate, the commencement of his Diary. That work and kind man; combining an extraordinary begins in January 1659, while Monk was on diligence and regularity in his official busi- his march from Scotland; and yet, not only ness and domestic economy, with a singular does he continue to frequent the society of love of gossip, amusement, and all kinds of Harrington, Hazlerirge, and other staunch miscellaneous information--a devoted attach- republicans, but never once expresses any ment, and almost ludicrous admiration of his wish of his own, either for the restoration of wife, with a wonderful devotion to the King's the Royalty, or the continuance of the Promistresses, and the fair sex in general, and tectorate, till after he is actually at sea with rather a suspicious familiarity with various Lord Sandwich, with the ships that brought pretty actresses and singers; and, above all, Charles back from Breda! After the Restora-a practical sagacity and cunning in the man- tion is consolidated, indeed, and he has got a agement of affairs, with so much occasional good office in the Admiralty, he has recorded, credulity, puerility, and folly, as would often amply enough, his anxiety for the permanency tempt us to set him down for a driveller. of the ancient dynasty--though he cannot Though born with good blood in his veins, help, every now and then, reprobating the and a kinsman, indeed, of his great patron, profligacy, wastefulness, and neglect of the the first Earl of Sandwich, he had nothing to new government, and contrasting them disadboast of in his immediate progenitors, being vantageously with the economy, energy;

and born the son of a tailor in London, and enter- popularity, of most of the measures of the ng on life in a state of the utmost poverty. It Usurper." While we give him credit, there. was probably from this ignoble vocation of his fore, for great candour and impartiality in the father, that he derived that hereditary taste private judgments which he has here recordfor dress which makes such a conspicuous ed, we can scarcely pay him the compliment figure in his Diary. The critical and affec- of saying that he has any political principles tionate notices of doublets, cloaks, beavers, whatever-or any, at least, for which he periwigs, and sword-belts, actually outnum- would ever have dreamed of hazarding his bering, we think, all the entries on any other own worldly prosperity.

Another indication of the same low and beauties there, my wife was thought the greatest.ignoble turn of mind is to be found, we think, 13th. Up early, the first day that I put on my black in his penurious anxiety about his money

camleti coat with silver buttons. To Mr. Spong, ine intense satisfaction with which he watches the Privy Seale, and thence to my Lord's, where

whom I found in his nighi-gown, &c.-141h. To its increase, and the sordid and vulgar cares Mr. Pim the tailor and I agreed upon making me a to which he condescends, to check its ex- velvet coat.–25th. This night W. Hewer brought penditure. Even after he is in possession of me home from Mr. Pim's my velvet coat and cap. a great income, he goes and sits by the tailor the first that ever I had. This the first day that till he sees him sew all the butions on his ever I saw my wife wear black patches since we

were married.—My wife seemed very pretiy to-day, doublet--and spends four or five hours, of a it being the first time I had given her leave to weare very busy day, in watching the coach-maker a black patch.—22d. This morning, hearing that the laying on the coats of varnish on the body of Queene grows worse again, I sent to stop the mak. his coach! When he gives a dinner, he knows ing of my velvet cloak, till I see whether she lives exactly what every dish has cost him—and or dies.—301h. To my great sorrow find myself tells a long story of his paddling half the 32. worse than I was the last month, which was night with his fingers in the dirt, digging up chiefly arisen from my layings out in clothes for some money he had buried in a garden, and myself and wife ; viz. for her about 121. and for conveying it with his own hands,

with many myself 551., or thereabouts ; having made myself a fears and contrivances, safely back to his velvet cloak, two new cloth skirts, black, plain house. With all this, however, he is charit- both ; a new. shag gown, trimmed with gold but.

ions and iwist, with a new hat, and silk tops for my able to the

poor, kind to his servants and de- legs, and many other things, being resolved hencependents, and very indulgent to all the mem-forward to go like myself. And also two perriwiggs, bers of his family—though we find him chron- one whereof costs me 31. and the other 40s. I have icling his own munificence in helping to fit worn neither yet, but will begin next week, God out his wife's brother, when he goes abroad willing: -29th. Lord's day. This morning I put to push his fortune, by presenting him

with on my best black cloth suit, trimmed with scarlett "ten shillings—and a coat that I had by me and a new beaver, which altogether is very noble,

ribbon, very neat, with my cloak lined with velvett, -a close-bodied, light-coloured, cloth coat, with my black silk knit canons I bought a month with a gold edging on each seam—that was ago.-30th. Up, and put on a new summer black the lace of my wife's best petticoat, when I bombazin suit ; and being come now to an agree. married her!

ment with my barber to keep my perriwig in good

order at 20s. a year, I am like to go very spruce, As we conceive, a good deal, not only of more than I used to do.—31st. This day I got a the interest, but of the authority and just little rent in my new fine camlett cloak with the construction of the information contained in latch of Sir G. Čarteret's door; but it is darned up the work, depends on the reader having a at my tailor's, that it will be no great blemish to it; correct knowledge of the individual by whom but it troubled me." it is furnished, we think we cannot do better This, we suppose, is enough-though there than begin our extracts with a few citations are more than five hundred such notices at the illustrative of the author's own character, service of any curious reader. It may be suphabits, and condition, as we have already at- posed what a treat a Coronation would be to tempted to sketch them. The very first entry such a fancier of fine clothes; and accordingly, exhibits some of his peculiarities. He was we have a most rapturous description of it, in then only twenty-seven years of age—and all its glory. The King and the Duke of York had been received, though not with much in their morning dresses were, it seems, "but honour, into the house of his kinsman Sir Ed- very plain men;" but, when attired in their ward Montague, afterwards Earl of Sandwich.“ most rich embroidered suits and cloaks, they This is his condition in the beginning of 1659. looked most noble.” Indeed, after some time,

“ Jan. 1st (Lord's day). This morning. (we he assures us, that “the show was so glorious living lately in the garret,) I rose, put on my suit with gold and silver, that we are not able to with great skiris, having not lately worn any other look at it any longer, our eyes being so much clothes but them. Went to Mr Gunning's chapel overcome !" at Exeter House, &c. Dined at home in the garret, where my wife dressed the remains of a turkey,

As a specimen of the credulity and twaddle and in the doing of it she burned her hand. I staid which constitutes another of the staples of at home the whole afternoon, looking over my ac- this collection, the reader may take the fol. counts; then went with my wife to my father's, &c. lowing. -2d. From the Hall I called at home, and so went 10 Mr. Crewe's (my wife she was to go to her

“19th. Waked with a very high wind, and said father’s), and Mr. Moore and I and another gentle to my wife, 'I pray God I hear not of the death of man went out and drank a cup of ale together in the any great person, -THIS WIND IS SO High!' fearing new market, and there I eat some bread and cheese that the Queene might be dead. So up; and going for my dinner.”

by coach with Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes to

St. James', they tell me that Sir W. Compton, who His passion for dress breaks out in every it is true had been a little sickly for a week or fortpage almost; but we shall insert only one or night, but was very well upon Friday night last, at two of the early entries, to give the reader a the Tangier Committee with us, was dead, died notion of the style of it.

yesterday: at which I was most exceedingly sur

prised, -he being, and so all the world saying that “101h. This day I put on my new silk suit, the he was, one of the worthyest men and best officers of first that ever I wore in my life.—12th. Home, and State now in England! called my wife, and took her to Clodins' to a great " 23d. To Westminster Abbey, and there did wedding of Nan Hartlib to Mynheer Roder, which see all the tombs very finely; having one with us was kept at Goring House with very great state, alone (there being no other company this day to ser cost and noble company. But among all the the tombs, it being Shrove. Tuesday): and here we

did see, by particular favour, the body of Queen | he says, “it is the most insipid, ridiculous Katherine of Valois ;--and I had the upper part of play I ever saw in my life." And he is alher body in my hands, -and I did kiss her mouth: most equally dissatisfied with the Merry Wives that this was my birth day, -thirty-six years old! of Windsor, and Henry the IV. To make —that I did kiss a queene! But here this man, who amends, however, for these misjudgments, he seems to understand well, tells me that the saying is often much moved by the concord of sweet is no: true that she was never buried, ---for she was sounds; and has, in the following passage, buried. Only when Henry the Seventh built his described the effects they produced on him, chapel, she was taken up and laid in this wooden in a way that must be admitted to be original buried in a leaden one, which remains under the The Virgin Martyr (of Massinger), he says, body to this day, &c. &c.—29th. We sat under the was "mighty pleasant! Not that the play is boses, and saw the fine ladies; among others, my worth much, but it is finely acted by Beck Lady Kerneguy, who is most devilishly painted. Marshall. But that which did please me beAnd so home—it being mighty pleasure to go alone yond any thing in the whole world, was the with my poor wife in a coach of our own to a play: wind-musique when the angel comes down; world; at least, greater than ever I could, 'or my which is so sweet that it ravished


and friends for me, have once expected; or, I think, indeed, in a word, did wrap up my soul, so than ever any of my family ever get lived in my that it made me really sick ! -just as I have inemory-bui my cosen Pepys in Salisbury Court.

formerly been when in love with my wife!" Or the following memorandums of his Though "mighty merry" upon all occatravels.

sions, and, like gentle dulness, ever loving a “A mighty cold and windy, but clear day; and joke, we are afraid he had not much relish for had the pleasure of seeing the Medway running wit. His perplexity at the success of Hudibras winding up and down mightily,—and a very fine is exceedingly ludicrous. This is his own country: and I went a little out of the way to have account of his first attempt on himvisited Sir John Bankes, but he at London ; but here I had a sight of his seat and house, the outside, which

“Hither come Mr. Battersby; and we falling is an old abbey just like Hinchingbroke, and as into discourse of a new book of 'drollery in use, good at least, and mightily finely placed by the called Hudebrus, I would needs go find it out, and river; and he keeps the grounds about it, and met with it at the Temple: cost me 28. 6d. But walks and the house, very handsome : I was might when I come to read it, it is so silly an abuse of ily pleased with the sight of it. Thence to Mayd. the Presbyter Knight going to the warrs, that I am stone, which I had a mighty mind to see, having ashamed of it; and by and by meeting at Mr. never been there; and walked all up and down the Townsend's at dinner, 1 sold it to him for 182!" town, and up to the top of the steeple—and had a

The second is not much more successful. noble view, and then down again : and in the town did see an old man beating of flax! and did step To Paul's Church Yard, and there looked into the barn and give him money, and saw that upon the second part of Hudibras—which I buy not, piece of husbandry, which I never saw; and it is but borrow to read, -to see if it be as good as the very pretty! In the street also I did buy and send first, which the world cried so mightily up; though to our inne, the Bell, a dish of fresh fish. And so it hath not a good liking in me, though I had tried having walked all round the town, and found it very twice or three times reading, to bring myself to preity as most towns I ever saw, though not very think it witly" big, and people of good fashion in it, we to our inne and had a good dinner; and a barber came to me

The following is a ludicrous instance of his and there trimmed me, that I might be clean against parsimony and household meanness. night to go to Mrs. Allen, &c.

“29th. (King's birth-day.) Rose early, and put ** So all over the plain the sight of the steeple six spoons and a porringer of silver in my pocket, 10 (the plain high and low) to Salisbury by night; but give away 10-day. Back to dinner at Sir William before I came to the town, I saw a great fortifica. Ballen's; and then, after a walk in the fine gar. tion, and there light, and to it and in it! and find it dens, we went to Mrs. Browne's, where Sir W. prodigious! so as to fright me to be in it all alone, Pen and I were godfathers, and Mrs. Jordan and at that time of night-it being dark. I understand Shipman godmothers to her boy. And there, besince it to be that that is called Old Sarum. Come fore and after the christening, we were with tha to the George Inne, where lay in a silk bed; and woman above in her chamber; but whether we car very good diet, &c. &c.--22d. So the three women ried ourselves well or ill, I know not; but I war behind W. Hewer, Murford, and our guide, and I directed by youny Mrs. Batten. One passage, of single to Stonehenge, over the plain, and some great a lady that eate wafers with her dog, did a little dishills, even to fright us! Come thither, and find please me. I did give the midwife 108., and the nurse them as prodigious as any tales I ever heard of 58., and the maid of the house 2s. But, for as them, and worth going this journey to see. God much as I expected to give the name to the childe, knows what their use was: they are ard to tell, but did not (it being called John), I forebure then lo but yet may be told.—12th. Friday. Up, finding give my plate." our beds good, but lousy; which made us merry! -9th. Up, and got ready, and eat our breakfast ; On another occasion, when he had, accordand then took coach: and the poor, as they did ing to the fashion of the time, sent a piece of yesterday, did stand at the coach to have something plate, on a holiday, to his official superior, he given them, as they do to all great persons; and. I records with great joy, did give them something! and the town music did also come and play; but, Lord! what sad music " After dinner Will, comes to tell me that he had they made! So ihrough the town, and observed at presented my piece of plate to Mr. Coventry, who our College of Magdalene the posts new painted ! | takes it very kindly, and sends me a very kind let. and understand that the Vice-Chancellor is there ter, and the plate back again, -of which my heart is this year."

very glad." Though a great playgoer, we cannot say Throughout the whole work, indeed, he is much for his taste in plays, or indeed in litera- mainly occupied with reckoning up and se. Tore in general. Of the Midsummer's Dream, curing his gains—turning them into good

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