as well as forward), Tower streete, Fen-church streete, Gracious [Gracechurch] streete, and so along to Bainard's Castle, and was now taking hold of St Paule's Church, to which the scaffolds contributed exceedingly. The conflagration was so universal, and the people so astonish'd, that from the beginning, I know not by what despondency or fate, they hardly stirr'd to quench it, so that there was nothing heard or seene but crying out and lamentation, running about like distracted creatures, without at all attempting to save even their goods, such a strange consternation there was upon them, so as it burned both in breadth and length, the churches, public halls, exchange, hospitals, monuments, and ornaments, leaping after a prodigious manner from house to house and streete to streete, at greate distances one from ye other; for ye heate with a long set of faire and warme weather had even ignited the air, and prepar'd the materials to conceive the fire, which devour'd after an incredible manner

JOHN EVELYN. After an Engraving by Nanteuil.

houses, furniture, and everything. Here we saw the Thames cover'd with goods floating, all the barges and boates laden with what some had time and courage to save, as, on ye other, ye carts, &c. carrying out to the fields, which for many miles were strew'd with moveables of all sorts, and tents erecting to shelter both people and what goods they could get away. Oh the miserable and calamitous spectacle! such as happly the world had not seene since the foundation of it, nor be outdon till the universal conflagration thereof. All the skie was of a fiery aspect, like the top of a burning oven, and the light seene above 40 miles round about for many nights. God grant mine eyes may never behold the like, who now saw above 10,000 houses all in one flame: the noise, and cracking, and thunder of the impetuous flames, ye shreiking of women and children, the hurry of people, the fall of towers, houses, and churches, was like an hideous storme, and the aire all about so hot and inflam'd, that at last one was not able to approach it, so that they were forc'd to stand still and let ye flames burn on,

which they did for neere two miles in length and one in bredth. The clowds of smoke were dismall, and reach'd upon computation neer 50 miles in length. Thus I left it this afternoone burning, a resemblance of Sodom or the last day. It forcibly called to my mind that passage -non enim hic habemus stabilem civitatem [for here we have no continuing city']: the ruines resembling the picture of Troy. London was, but is no more! Thus I returned.

4th. The burning still rages, and it was now gotten as far as the Inner Temple: all Fleete streete, the Old Bailey, Ludgate Hill, Warwick lane, Newgate, Paul's chaine, Watling streete, now flaming, and most of it reduc'd to ashes; the stones of Paules flew like granados, ye mealting lead running downe the streetes in a streame, and the very pavements glowing with fiery rednesse, so as no horse nor man was able to tread on them, and the demolition had stopp'd all the passages, so that no help could be applied. The eastern wind still more impetuously driving the flames forward. Nothing but ye Almighty power of God was able to stop them, for vaine was ye help of man.

5th. It crossed towards White-hall: but oh, the confusion there was then at that court! It pleased his Majesty to command me among ye rest to looke after the quenching of Fetter lane end, to preserve if possible that part of Holborn, whilst the rest of ye gentlemen tooke their several posts, some at one part, some at another (for now they began to bestir themselves, and not till now, who hitherto had stood as men intoxicated, with their hands acrosse), and began to consider that nothing was likely to put a stop but the blowing up of so many houses, as might make a wider gap than any had yet been made by the ordinary method of pulling them down with engines; this some stout seamen propos'd early enough to have sav'd neere ye whole citty, but this some tenacious and avaritious men, aldermen, &c. would not permitt, because their houses must have ben of the first. It was therefore now commanded to be practic'd, and my concern being particularly for the Hospital of St Bartholomew, neere Smithfield, where I had many wounded and sick men, made me the more diligent to promote it, nor was my care for the Savoy lesse. It now pleas'd God, by abating the wind, and by the industrie of ye people, infusing a new spirit into them, that the fury of it began sensibly to abate about noone, so as it came no further than ye Temple westward, nor than ye entrance of Smithfield north. But continu'd all this day and night so impetuous towards Cripplegate and the tower, as made us all despaire; it also broke out againe in the Temple, but the courage of the multitude persisting, and many houses being blown up, such gaps and desolations were soone made, as with the former three days' consumption the back fire did not so vehemently urge upon the rest as formerly. There was yet no standing neere the burning and glowing ruines by neere a furlong's space. The coale and wood wharfes and magazines of oyle, rosin, &c. did infinite mischiefe, so as the invective which a little before I had dedicated to his Maty, and publish'd, giving warning what might probably be the issue of suffering those shops to be in the citty, was look'd on as a prophecy. The poore inhabitants were dispers'd about St George's Fieldis, and Moorefields, as far as Highgate, and severall miles in circle, some under tents, some under miserable hutts and hovells, many without a rag or any necessary utensills,

bed or board, who from delicatenesse, riches, and easy accommodations in stately and well-furnish'd houses, were now reduc'd to extreamest misery and poverty. In this calamitous condition, I return'd with a sad heart to my house, blessing and adoring the mercy of God to me and mine, who in the midst of all this ruine was like Lot, in my little Zoar, safe and sound. . .

7th. I went this morning on foot from Whitehall as far. as London Bridge, thro' the late Fleete streete, Ludgate hill, by St Paules, Cheapside, Exchange, Bishopgate, Aldersgate, and out to Moorefields, thence thro' Cornehill, &c. with extraordinary difficulty, clambering over heaps of yet smoking rubbish, and frequently mistaking where I was. The ground under my feete was so hot that it even burnt the soles of my shoes. In the meantime his Maty got to the Tower by water, to demolish ye houses about the graff [moat], which being built intirely about it, had they taken fire and attack'd the White Tower where the magazine of powder lay, would undoubtedly not only have beaten down and destroy'd all ye bridge, but sunke and torne the vessells in ye river, and render'd ye demolition beyond all expression for several miles about the countrey.

At my return, I was infinitely concern'd to find that goodly Church St Paules now a sad ruine, and that beautiful portico (for structure comparable to any in Europe, as not long before repair'd by the late King) now rent in pieces, flakes of vast stone split asunder, and nothing remaining intire but the inscription in the architrave, showing by whom it was built, which had not one letter of it defac'd. It was astonishing to see what immense stones the heate had in a manner calcin'd, so that all ye ornaments, columns, freezes, and projectures of massie Portland stone flew off, even to ye very roofe, where a sheet of lead covering a great space (no less than six akers by measure) was totally mealted; the ruines of the vaulted roofe falling broken into St Faith's, which being filled with the magazines of bookes belonging to ye stationers, and carried thither for safety, they were all consum'd, burning for a weeke following. It is also observable that the lead over ye altar at ye east end was untouch'd, and among the divers monuments, the body of one bishop remain'd intire. Thus lay in ashes that most venerable church, one of the most antient pieces of early piety in ye Christian world, besides neere 100 more. The lead, yron worke, bells, plate, &c. mealted; the exquisitely wrought Mercers Chapell, the sumptuous Exchange, ye august fabriq of Christ Church, all ye rest of the Companies Halls, sumptuous buildings, arches, enteries all in dust; the fountaines dried up and ruin'd, whilst the very waters remain'd boiling; the voragos of subterranean cellars, wells, and dungeons, formerly warehouses, still burning in stench and dark clowds of smoke, so that in 5 or 6 miles traversing about, I did not see one loade of timber unconsum'd, nor many stones but what were calcin'd white as snow. The people who now walk'd about ye ruines appear'd like men in a dismal desert, or rather in some greate citty laid waste by a cruel enemy; to which was added the stench that came from some poore creatures bodies, beds, and other combustible goods. Sir Tho. Gressham's statue, tho' fallen from its nich in the Royal Exchange, remain'd intire, when all those of ye Kings since ye Conquest were broken to pieces; also the standard in Cornehill, and Q. Elizabeth's effigies, with some armes on Ludgate, continued with but little detriment, whilst the vast yron chaines of the Citty

streetes, hinges, barrs, and gates of prisons, were many of them mealted and reduc'd to cinders by ye vehement heate. I was not able to passe through any of the narrower streetes, but kept the widest; the ground and air, smoake and fiery vapour continu'd so intense, that my haire was almost sing'd, and my feete unsufferably surbated [bruised]. The bye lanes and narrower streetes were quite fill'd up with rubbish, nor could one have knowne where he was, but by ye ruines of some Church or Hall, that had some remarkable tower or pinnacle remaining. I then went towards Islington and Highgate, where one might have seene 200,000 people of all ranks and degrees dispers’d and lying along by their heapes of what they could save from the fire, deploring their losse, and tho' ready to perish for hunger and destitution, yet not asking one penny for reliefe, which to me appear'd a stranger sight than any I had yet beheld. His Majesty and Council indeede tooke all imaginable care for their reliefe, by proclamation for the country to come in and refresh them with provisions. In ye midst of all this calamity and confusion, there was, I know not how, an alarme begun that the French and Dutch, with whom we were now in hostility, were not onely landed, but even entering the Citty. There was in truth some days before greate suspicion of those two nations joyning; and now that they had ben the occasion of firing the towne. This report did so terrifie, that on a suddaine there was such an uproare and tumult that they ran from their goods, and taking what weapons they could come at, they could not be stopp'd from falling on some of those nations, whom they casualy met, without sense or reason. The clamour and peril grew so excessive, that it made the whole court amaz’d, and they did with infinite paines and greate difficulty reduce and appease the people, sending troops of soldiers and guards to cause them to retire into ye fields againe, where they were watch'd all this night. I left them pretty quiet, and came home sufficiently weary and broken. Their spirits thus a little calmed, and the affright abated, they now began to repaire into ye suburbs about the Citty, where such as had friends or opportunity got shelter for the present, to which his Matys proclamation also invited them.

Still ye plague continuing in our parish, I could not adventure to our church.

10th. I went againe to ye ruines, for it was now no longer a Citty.

A Fortunate Courtier not Envied.

Sept. 6 [1680]. I din'd with Sir Stephen Fox, now one of the Lords Commissioners of ye Treasury. This gentleman came first a poore boy from the quire of Salisbury, then was taken notice of by Bp. Duppa, and afterwards waited on my Lord Percy (brother to Algernon E. of Northumberland), who procur'd for him an inferior place amongst the Clerks of the Kitchen and GreeneCloth side, where he was found so humble, diligent, industrious, and prudent in his behaviour, that his Maty being in exile, and Mr Fox waiting, both the King and Lords about him frequently employ'd him about their affaires; trusted him both with receiving and paying the little mony they had. Returning with his Maty to England, after greate wants and greate sufferings, his Maty found him so honest and industrious, and withall so capable and ready, that being advanc'd from Clerk of ye Kitchen to that of ye Greene-Cloth, he procur'd to be Paymaster to the whole Army; and by his dexterity and

punctual dealing he obtained such credit among the banquers, that he was in a short time able to borrow vast sums of them upon any exigence. The continual turning thus of mony, and the souldiers moderate allowance to him for his keeping touch with them, did so inrich him, that he is believed to be worth at least £200,000 honestly gotten and unenvied, which is next to a miracle. With all this he continues as humble and ready to do a courtesie as ever he was. He is generous, and lives very honorably; of a sweete nature, well-spoken, well-bred, and is so highly in his Maty's esteeme, and so usefull, that being long since made a knight, he is also advanced to be one of ye Lords Commissrs of ye Treasurie, and has the reversion of the Cofferer's place after Harry Brounker. He has married his eldest daughter to my Lord Cornwallis, and gave her 12,000 pounds, and restor'd that intangl'd family besides. He match'd his son to Mrs Trollop, who brings with her (besides a great sum) neere, if not altogether £2000 per ann. Sr Stephen's lady (an excellent woman) is sister to Mr Whittle, one of the King's chirurgeons. In a word, never was man more fortunate than Sir Stephen; he is an handsome person, vertuous, and very religious.

Fox was founder of the noble English house to which the Lords Holland and Charles James Fox belonged.

Frost Fair on the Thames.

1683-4. 1st January. The weather continuing intolerably severe, streetes of booths were set upon the Thames ; the aire was so very cold and thick, as of many yeares there had not ben the like. The small pox was very mortal. . . .

9th. I went crosse the Thames on the ice, now become so thick as to beare not onely streetes of booths, in which they roasted meate, and had divers shops of wares, quite acrosse as in a towne, but coaches, carts, and horses passed over. So I went from Westminster Stayres to Lambeth, and din'd with the archbishop: where I met my Lord Bruce, Sir Geo. Wheeler, Coll. Cooke, and severall divines. After dinner and discourse with his Grace till evening prayers, Sir Geo. Wheeler and I walked over the ice from Lambeth Stayres to the Horse Ferry.

16th. The Thames was fill'd with people and tents, selling all sorts of wares as in the Citty.

24th. The frost continuing more and more severe, the Thames before London was still planted with boothes in formal streetes, all sorts of trades and shops furnish'd and full of commodities, even to a printing-presse, where the people and ladyes tooke a fancy to have their names printed, and the day and year set down when printed on the Thames: this humour took so universally, that 'twas estimated the printer gained £5 a day for printing a line onely, at sixpence a name, besides what he got by ballads, &c. Coaches plied from Westminster to the Temple, and from several other staires to and fro, as in the streetes, sleds, sliding with skeets, a bull-baiting, horse and coach-races, puppet-plays and interludes, cookes, tipling and other lewd places, so that it seem'd to be a bacchanalian triumph, or carnival on the water, whilst it was a severe judgment on the land, the trees not onely splitting as if lightning-struck, but men and cattle perishing in divers places, and the very seas so lock'd up with ice, that no vessels could stir out or come in. The fowles, fish, and birds, and all our exotiq plants and greenes, universally perishing. Many parkes

of deer were destroied, and all sorts of fuell so deare that there were greate contributions to preserve the poore alive. Nor was this severe weather much less intense in most parts of Europe, even as far as Spaine and the most southern tracts. London, by reason of the excessive coldnesse of the aire hindering the ascent of the smoke, was so filled with the fuliginous steame of the sea-coale, that hardly could one see crosse the streetes, and this filling the lungs with its grosse particles, exceedingly obstructed the breast, so as one could scarcely breath. Here was no water to be had from the pipes and engines, nor could the brewers and divers other tradesmen work, and every moment was full of disastrous accidents.

February 5th. It began to thaw, but froze again. My coach crossed from Lambeth to the Horseferry at Millbank, Westminster. The booths were almost all taken downe; but there was first a map or land-kip cut in copper representing all the manner of the camp, and the several actions, sports, and pastimes thereon, in memory of so signal a frost.

Mary Evelyn.

A

March 7 [1685]. My daughter Mary [in the nineteenth year of her age] was taken with the small-pos, and there was soon found no hope of her recovery. greate affliction to me, but God's holy will be done. March 10. She receiv'd the blessed sacrament; after which, disposing herselfe to suffer what God should determine to inflict, she bore the remainder of her sicknesse with extraordinary patience and piety, and more than ordinary resignation and blessed frame of mind. She died the 14th, to our unspeakable sorrow and affliction; and not to ours onely, but that of all who knew her, who were many of the best quality, greatest and most virtuous persons. The justnesse of her stature, person, comeliness of countenance, gracefullnesse of motion. unaffected tho' more than ordinarily beautifull, were the least of her ornaments, compared with those of her mind. Of early piety, singularly religious, spending a part of every day in private devotion, reading, and other vertuous exercises; she had collected and written out many of the most usefull and judicious periods of the books she read in a kind of common place, as out of Dr Hammond on the New Testament, and most of the best practical treatises. She had read and digested a considerable deale of history and of places [geography]. The French tongue was as familiar to her as English; she understood Italian, and was able to render a laudable account of what she read and observed, to which assisted a most faithful memory and discernment; and she did make very prudent and discreete reflexions upon what she had observ'd of the conversations among which she had at any time ben, which being continualy of persons of the best quality, she thereby improved. She had an excellent voice, to which she play'd a thorough-bass on the harpsichord, in both which she arived to that perfection, that of the schollars of those two famous masters Signors Pietro and Bartholome she was esteem'd the best; for the sweetnesse of her voice and management of it added such an agreeablenesse to her countenance, without any constraint or concerne, that when she sung, it was as charming to the eye as to the eare; this I rather note, because it was a universal remarke, and for which so many noble and judicious persons in musiq desired to heare her, the last being at Lord Arundel's of Wardour. What shall I say, or rather not say, of the cheerefullness

and agreeablenesse of her humour? Condescending to the meanest servant in the family, or others, she still kept up respect, without the least pride. She would often reade to them, examine, instruct, and pray with them if they were sick, so as she was exceedingly beloved of every body. . . . She never played at cards without extreme importunity. No one could read prose or verse better or with more judgment; and, as she read, so she writ, not only most correct orthography, with that maturitie of judgment and exactnesṣe of the periods, choice of expressions, and familiarity of stile, that some letters of hers have astonish'd me and others. Nothing was so delightful to her as to go into my study, where she would willingly have spent whole dayes, for, as I said, she had read aboundance of history, and all the best poets; even Terence, Plautus, Homer, Virgil, Horace, Ovid; all the best romances and modern poems; she could compose happily, and put in pretty symbols, as in the Mundus Muliebris, wherein is an enumeration of the immense variety of the modes and ornaments belonging to the sex; but all these are vain trifles to the virtues that adorn'd her soule; she was sincerely religious, most dutifull to her parents, whom she lov'd with an affection temper'd with great esteeme, so as we were easy and free, and never were so well pleas'd as when she was with us, nor needed we other conversation. She was kind to her sisters, and was still improving them by her constant course of piety. O deare, sweete, and desirable child, how shall I part with all this goodness and virtue without the bitternesse of sorrow and reluctance of a tender parent! Thy affection, duty, and love to me was that of a friend as well as a child. Nor lesse deare to thy mother, whose example and tender care of thee was unparallel'd; nor was thy returne to her lesse conspicu

ous.

Oh, how she mourns thy loss! how desolate hast thou left us! to the grave shall we both carry thy memory!

From Tyrannus, or the Mode.'

'Twas a witty expression of Malvezzi, I vestimenti negli animali sono molto sicuri segni della loro natura ; negli huomini del lor cervello-garments, says he, in animals are infallible signes of their nature; in men, of their understanding. Though I would not judge of the monk by the hood he wears, or celebrate the humour of Julian's court, where the philosophic mantle made all his officers appear like so many conjurors, 'tis worth the observing yet, that the people of Rome left off the toga, an ancient and noble garment, with their power, and that the vicissitude of their habite was little better than a presage of that of their fortune; for the military saga differencing them from their slaves, was no small indication of the declining of their courage, which shortly follow'd. And I am of opinion that when once wee shall see the Venetian senat quit the gravity of their vests, the state itself will not long subsist without some considerable alteration. It is not a trivial remark (which I have somewhere met with) that when a nation is able to impose and give laws to the habit of another (as the late Tartars did to China) it has, like that of language, proved the forerunner of their conquests there. . . . I am of opinion that the Swiss had not been now a nation but for keeping to their prodigious breeches. . .

But, be it excusable in the French to alter and impose the mode on others, for the reasons deduced; 'tis no less a weakness and a shame in the rest of the world, who have no dependency on them, to admit them, at least to

that degree of levity as to turn into all their shapes without discrimination; so as when the freak takes our Monsieurs to appear like so many farces or Jack-Puddings on the stage, all the world should alter shape, and play the pantomims with them.

Methinks a French taylor with his el in his hand looks the enchantress Circe over the companions of Ulysses, and changes them into as many formes. One while we are made to be loose in our clothes, . . . and by and by appear like so many malefactors sew'd up in sacks, as of old they were wont to treat a parricide, with a dog, an ape, and a serpent. Now, we are all twist, and at a distance look like a pair of tongs, and anon stuff'd out behind like a Dutchman. This gallant goes so pinch'd in the wast, as if he were prepar'd for the question of the fiery plate in Turkey; and that so loose in the middle, as if he would turn insect, or drop in two; now, the short wasts and skirts in Pye-court is the mode; then the wide hose, or a man in coats again; monstrum geminum, de viro fœmina, mox de fœmina vir. Methinks we should learn to handle distaffe too: Hercules did so when he courted Omphale; and those who sacrificed to Ceres put on the petty-coat with much confidence. . . .

...

It was a fine silken thing which I spied walking th other day through Westminster Hall, that had as much ribbon about him as would have plundered six shops, and set up twenty country pedlers. All his body was drest like a May-pole, or a Tom-a-Bedlam's cap. A fregat newly rigged kept not half such a clatter in a storme as this puppet's streamers did when the wind was in his shrouds; the motion was wonderfull to behold, and the well-chosen colours were red, orange, blew, of well gum'd satin, which argued a happy fancy; but so was our gallant overcharged. . . [that] whether he did wear this garment, or as a porter bear it only, was not easily to be resolved.

For my part, I profess that I delight in a cheerfull gaiety, affect and cultivate variety. The universe itself were not beautifull to me without it: but as that is in constant and uniforme succession in the natural, where men do not disturb it, so would I have it also in the artificial. If the kings of Mexico chang'd four times

a day, it was but an upper vest, which they were us'd to honour some meritorious servant with. Let men change their habits as oft as they please, so the change be for the better. I would have a summer habit, and a winter; for the spring and for the autumne. Something I would indulge to youth; something to age and humour. . . . What have we to do with these foreign butterflies? In God's name, let the change be our own, not borrow'd of others; for why should I dance after a Monsieur's flajolet only, that have a set of English viols for my concert? We need no French inventions for the stage, or for the back; we have better materials for clothes, they better taylors. I hope to see the day when all this shall be reform'd, and when all the world shall receive their standard from our most illustrious Prince and his grandees, . . . and that it shall be as presumptuous for any foreign nation to impose upon our court, as it is indeed ridiculous it should and its greatest diminution.

His Memoirs, with letters and some of his smaller works, were published by Bray in 1818 (2 vols. 4to). The standard edition of the Diary is the fourth (4 vols. 1879)-a reprint of the third or library edition of 1825, with the addition of the Life by Mr H. B. Wheatley.

Samuel Pepys

was born 23rd February 1633, the son of a London tailor belonging to an old family in the eastern counties. It is doubtful whether he was born in London or at Brampton near Huntingdon, where his father's family had a small property; he certainly went to school at Huntingdon before entering St Paul's School. Thence he passed in 1651 to Magdalene College, Cambridge. In 1655, very soon after leaving college, he married Elizabeth St Michel, a beautiful but portionless girl of fifteen, daughter of a refugee Huguenot who lived the precarious life of a projector. Sir Edward Montagu (afterwards Earl of Sandwich), whose mother was

a Pepys, gave a

helping hand to the imprudent couple, and allowed them to live in his house. Probably Montagu, his father's cousin, had ere this been Samuel's patron to Montagu, at all events, his start in life was entirely due. He was secretary to Montagu when in command of the fleet that brought Charles

pany, twice sat for a short time in Parliament, and was even President of the Royal Society (1684-86). But he was not without his troubles. At the Popish Plot in 1679 he was committed to the Tower, and in 1690 he was placed in Gatehouse at Westminster for a few days; and at his death the Crown was indebted to him to the extent of £28,000, a sum which was never paid. He died on the 26th of May 1703. His library, bequeathed to Magdalene College, Cambridge,

II. back to England. His appointment to the clerkship of the Acts of the Navy in 1660 was an obvious piece of nepotism, for he knew nothing about naval matters; but he soon became master of the work of his office, and both now and subsequently as Secretary to the Admiralty, he was an industrious, energetic, and distinguished naval official. At the Revolution his career was closed, but until the end of his life he was still looked upon as the Nestor of navy affairs, to be consulted upon matters of particular importance. His longest expedition from home was when he accompanied the commander sent to Tangier to demolish the forts and bring home the garrison. Pepys's life was prosperous; he lived well, kept a carriage, but steadily made money. He was twice Master of the Trinity House, was Master of the Clothworkers Com

still

remains in

the exact condition in which he left it.

It is not as an official that the fame of Pepys still lives, nor as the author of important Memoires relating to the state of the Royal Navy (1690)-his only acknowledged publication-but as the writer of a Diary which is unique in the literature of the world. This work has thrown the most unexpected light upon the history and manners of his day, while at the same time it pre

sents a most re

markable psychological study. Never before had man written down his inmost feelings with so little

disguise. The events of the day, the gaieties of the court, his views on men and things, are not recorded with so much particularity as the steps in his own upward progress to credit, influence, wealth; his occupations, amusements, household economies, and even domestic squabbles. His most trifling thoughts and sudden impulses, his vanities, his sillinesses, his numerous and considerable lapses from propriety in various directions-many of them such as even he himself regarded as distinctly discreditable-are set down with a frankness, fullness, and particularity that almost pass comprehension, even when we know that the catalogue was never meant for publicity, and did in fact escape the knowledge of the world for more than two hundred years. His record of ten years' experiences was enshrined in the shorthand Pepys doubtless used in his office; and