Bryon’s Pathless Woods; Mr Quiverful’s Poverty; Judith’s Arc; and Pepys’ Head

Transcript

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Hello and welcome to this literary feast, and we're going to start straight away with the Anglo Saxon piece on Biblical Judith and with the last line was or the last two lines out from that host till they might clearly see the glittering walls of fair Bethulia. They then, adorned with bracelets, sped on foot forth until, glad of mood they had gone on to the wall gate, sat warriors, men on watch, kept guard within the fortress, as before Judith had bidden them in their distress, the snare devising maid, famed for her strength, when she went forth upon her path of war. Then she was come again, dear to her folk, and then forthwith with the prudent woman bade some of the men of the wide burr go forth to meet her. And to let her quickly in through the wall's gate. And to the victor folk spake thus I can now tell you of a thing where thanks that ye no longer need to mourn. Blithe to you is the creator, glory of kings, throughout the wide world that has been made known, that glorious prosperity now shines brightly upon you. Glory now is given for all the evils that thee long have borne. Then were the burghers blithe when they had heard over the high wall how the holy maid spake to them In the army there was joy, the people hastened to the fortress gate, women and men, together, crush and crowd, in bands in bodies, thronged and ran, old, young, towards the handmaid of the Lord by thousands. Within that festive city every man was gladdened in his spirit, when they knew that it was Judith come back to her home. Quickly with reverence they let her in, the prudent one, adorned with gold, then bade her servant, grateful minded to unwrap the head of the war chieftain, and to the eyes of the burgers show it, bloody as a sign how she had sped in the contest. Then to all the people spake the noble women, here, men famed for victory, the people's leaders, here thee may plainly gaze upon the head of the most hated heathen warrior, the lifeless holophurnus of all men, he who for us may shaped sore care and death and worse could add, but God denied to him a longer life to afflict us with his feuds. Through help of God I forced his life from him. Now my will is to bid each man of you, burgers, shield warriors, that you instantly be ready for the fight. When from the east God of Creator, holy king, has sent a ray of life, I mean a ray of light, bear forth your shields on breast, fire hardened corslets, and bright helms among the horde of scathers, with your glittering swords to slay the death doomed leaders of the folk, the fated chiefs, your foes are doomed to death, and thee have power and glory in the fight, as through my hand the mighty Lord hath shown you. Then a bold host was suddenly prepared of men keen for the conflict. Fame for courage, soldiers and nobles marched, bore flags straight forth, helmeted men went from the holy burg, at the first reddening of dawn to fight. Loud stormed the din of shields, for that rejoiced the lank wolf in the wood, and the black raven slaughter greedy blur bird. Both knew that men of the land thought to achieve a slaughter of the fated ones. Then flew the eagle, dewy feathered, on their track, eager for prey, the sallow coated bird sang with its horny beak the song of war. Warriors, brave men, marched to the battle, they who were not long before suffered reproach from the foreigners, shame from the heathen, but all that was hard was repaid at the play of the spears to Assyria, when, under their war flags, came the Hebrews to the tents. Then boldly they let fly the showers of arrows, snakes of war, from the horned bows the arrows firm in place, loud stormed the angry warriors, spears were sent amidst the throng of bold ones, men were wrath, men of the land against the hated race, marched stern of mood, rugged of mind, to take hard vengeance on old foes weary with mead, the soldiers drew with hands their clear marked swords, proved edges, slew the Assyrian warriors, attempting evil, slew with zeal and spared none of all the army, whether wretch or rich of living men whom they could overtake. So all morning time the kinsman troops pursued the stranger on their native soil, till the chief watchman of the host in wrath saw that the Hebrews strongly showed to them the swing of the swords. They went to make that known in words to the chief thanes. They roused the highest, and fearfully told him mead weary man, the dreadful tale, the morning's quick alarm, the cruel edge play. Suddenly I heard, the hero doomed to slaughter, leapt from sleep, and hosts of men sought the pavilion of baleful holo furnace, thronged in crowds. They only thought to offer him their help, their lord before the terror came on him, the power of the Hebrews. All supposed the Lord of men and the bright maid together were in the shining tent, the noble Judith and he, the lustful, loathsome, terrible. None was there of the earls who dared to wake, or learn how it had been to the great chief with the holy woman, the handmaid of God. Nearer the people of the Hebrews drew, fought stiffly with war weapons, hilts, bright swords. Requited old assaults, all grievances in that day's work Assyria was subdued, its pride was bowed, men stood about that tent of the chief, much stirred, and gloom was in their minds, then altogether they cried noisily, began to clamour loudly, gnash their teeth, void of all good, setting their teeth in wrath, then was their glory, ease, power at an end. The earls thought so to waken their dear lord, but not a whit succeeded. Then was found one of the warriors so resolute, that hard in hate, within the Bower tent he ventured, as need urged him, on the bed found his gold giver, lying pale, soul gone, deprived of life. Forthwith he, shuddering, fell to the ground, in fierce mood, tore his hair and his robe too, and to the warriors who were outside there, joyless thus he spake, here we may plainly see our fate foreshone, sign given us the time presses near with ills, when we shall perish all, destroyed in battle, here our support, hewn with the sword, lies headless. They then in bitter mood threw down their arms, turned themselves faint of heart, to haste away in flight. Upon their track the folk enlarged in might, fought till the most part of the army lay in battle sacrificed upon the field of victory, sword hewn to please the wolves, and to content the birds that crave for slaughter, they who have lived yet fled from the foemen's arms. The band of Hebrews followed on their track, honored with victory, enriched with fame, the Lord God the almighty graciously gave them his help. They laboured piously, the famous heroes with bright swords to cut a war path through the press of evil ones, huge shields cut the defence through, grim in flight, the Hebrew men were shooting with desire strong in the Thanes, towards the strife of spears. Here fell in dust the greatest part of all the number of the nobles of Assyria, race of the enemy, few came alive to their own country. Warriors renowned within the place of slaughter, as they fled, turned them to reeking corpses. Room was there for dwellers on the land to take red spoil from their most hated foes now dead, shields fair adorned, broad swords, brown helms, and costly cups. The country's guardians on the people's land had gloriously overcome the foe, and silenced old oppressions with their sword. They rested on the path who, when alive, of living men, were their worst enemies. Then for a month's space all men of the tribe, greatest of peoples, proud with plaited locks, bore, drew to the bright town Bethulia. Helms, hip knives, corslets, the wardress of men, gold fretted, treasure more than cunning man can tell, all this the people of the land, won with their strength in fight, bold under banners, through Judith's prudent teaching, noble maid. They, the brave earls, brought from the raid for her as her own mead, the sword and bloody helm of Holler Furnace, his bright amoor broad and ornamented with red gold, and all of treasure that the haughty chief possessed, his heritage of circlet and bright gems, they gave to the bright woman prompt of thought. And the final third is the praise. For all this Judith gave to God the praise, the glorious lord of men, who gave her honour, glory in the earth's kingdom, and reward in heaven, in the bright skies, reward of victory, because she had a true belief in God almighty, and at the end had not a doubt of the reward which she long had yearned, for this to latest ages evermore be glory unto the dear Lord who made the wind and air, the heavens and wide earth, and also the wild streams he made, and he, through his own mercy, made the joys of heaven. And the translation was by someone called Henry Morley, and I don't know what you think, I think it's wonderful, and the the the adjectives and the power of them, and this is gonna sound ridiculous, but you know when you go to a restaurant and all restaurants do this now, to make everything sound appetizing, you know, they're not gonna say fried chicken, so they have to say pan fried, they're not going to say tuna, they're going to say hand caught or hand line caught or so and it's a similar it's a similar thing that they're not going to say sword, they're going to say glittering sword or hewn sword or you know, everything has to have an adjective to give it emphasis. And that's the the Saxons loved this kind of emphasis, didn't they? War weary, that sort of thing. And the other thing is by giving a different adjective throughout, for example, for Judith, if you were at the end, at the end if you were to note all the adjectives given about her, you'd have an entire pen portrait from the braided locks, from the fact that she's a maid, of course, from the fact that she's brave, noble, decisive, wise. But instead of it there being a pen portrait, which would be boring perhaps for the listeners, especially if it's just about a woman, instead of that, with every time they mention her, they give a different adjective, so that throughout this portrait of Judith evolves, develops, strengthens, and until the final point, of course, when she's she's a servant of God, a maid of God. And of course, maid has the two meanings which were so important in describing women, which is meant it meant virgin, but also servant of God. And battle, instead of seeing being seen as something contrary to God's laws, because it meant killing people, which is obviously one of the Ten Commandments, or as I sh I mean not killing people, it instead it provided a sort of Christian, holy arc of narrative, really, which is first of all you have the cause, which involves not only a strategic cause of an enemy against uh the God's people, but also a specific sort of tactical cause, as it were, which is one man, a heathen man, desiring to violate the uh maid, a maiden, a virgin, but also violate a servant of God with the with the jewel meaning of maid again. And so you have the cause, you have the noble cause, you have the spiritual cause, you have the personal cause, all these causes tied together, making it absolutely clear that instead of this being the this being all the deaths that were undertaken being murders and contrary to the laws of God were actually were actual sort of noble killings and killings on behalf of God, and then you have the whole narrative of and of course what the listeners wanted to hear, they wanted to hear about all the gory stuff. They wanted to hear about the head then the head not only being cut off but actually in two b in two blows about everything being so gory that it take being it took place when too much mead had been drunk, so so much of the detail. And of course the the listeners would have also been titillated probably by the fact that she was about to get raped and and so it's got got all the classic stuff you need in a good story, and then and of course the main the main if you see it and going back to their sort of analogy of um the the restaurant you've got you've got the starter, then the main feast is this this whole kind of gory detail, and then the ending, the the sort of little pudding at the end, of course brings it right back to the beginning, which is that the cause has been satisfied, that that God's will has been done, and yeah. I mean I'm I I studied English for A level, but I'm not pr pr pretending I'm a expert in any of this. It's just all my my thoughts as I as I read it. But I hope some of it you enjoyed or it wasn't too irritating. Seventeen minutes, goodness, time flashing by. What I'm gonna do now is take Puppy to bed, close up the house, and then I'm going to come up and read Samuel Peeps, Barchester Chronicles and to finish that chapter on Villette, although I might not get round to that. We'll see how time ticks away. I also do like to try and put a poem in, so it might be time for another John Clare. And now Anthony Trollope's Barchester Towers were on chapter twenty four, Mr Slope manages matters very cleverly at Puddingdale. The next two weeks passed pleasantly enough at Plumstead. The whole party there assembled seemed to get on well together. Eleanor made the house agreeable, and the archdeacon and Mrs. Grantly seemed to have forgotten her iniquity as regarded Mr Slope. Mr Harding had his vioncello and played to them while his daughters accompanied him. Johnny Bold, by the help either of Mr Rearchild, or else by that of his cork coral and carrot juice, got through his teething troubles. There had been gayeties too of all sorts. They had dined at Ullathorne and the Thorns had dined at the rectory. Eleanor had been duly put to stand on her box, and in that position had found herself quite unable to express her opinion on the merits of flounces, such having been the subject given to try her elocution. Mr Arabin had of course been much in his own parish, looking to the doings at the Vicarage, calling on his parishioners, and taking on himself the duties of his new calling, but still he had been every evening at Plumstead, and Mrs. Grantly was partly willing to agree with her husband that he was a pleasant inmate in a house. They had also been at a dinner party at Dr Stanhope's, of which Mr Arabin had made one. He also moth like burnt his wings in the flame of the Signora's candle. Mrs. Bold, too, had been there, and had felt somewhat displeased with the taste, want of taste, she called it, shown by Mr Arabin in paying so much attention to Madame Neroni. It was as infallible that Madeline should please and irritate the women as that she should charm. And captivate the men. The one result followed naturally on the other. It was quite true that Mr Arabin had been charmed. He thought her a clever and very handsome woman. He also thought that her peculiar affliction entitled her to the sympathy of all. He had never, he said, met so much suffering joined to such perfect beauty and so clear a mind. Twas thus he spoke of the Signora coming home in the archdeacon's carriage, and Eleanor by no means liked to hear the praise. It was, however, exceedingly unjust of her to be angry with Mr Arabin, as she had herself spent a very pleasant evening with Bertie Stanhope, who had taken her down to dinner and had not left her side for one moment after the gentleman came out of the dining room. It was unfair that she should amuse herself with Bertie and yet begrudge her new friend his license of amusing himself with Bertie's sister, and yet she did so. She was half angry with him in the carriage, and said something about Meratricia's manners. Mr Arabin did not understand the ways of women very well, or else he might have flattered himself that Eleanor was in love with him. But Eleanor was not in love with him. How many shades there are between love and indifference, that's so true, and how little the graduated scale is understood, that's also true. She had now been nearly three weeks in the same house with Mr Arabin, and had received much of his attention and listened daily to his conversation. He had usually devoted at least some portion of his evening to her exclusively. At Dr Stanhope's he had quite devoted himself exclusively to another. It does not require that a woman should be in love to be irritated. At this, it does not require that she should even acknowledge to herself that it is unpleasant to her. Eleanor had no such self knowledge. She thought in her own heart that it was only on Mr Arabin's account, that she regretted that he could condescend to be amused by the Signora. I thought he had more mind, she said to herself, as she sat watching her baby's cradle on her return from the party. After all, I believe Mr Stanhope is the pleasanter man of the two. Alas for the memory of poor John Bold. Eleanor was not in love with Bertie Stanhope, nor was she in love with Mr Arabin, but her devotion to her late husband was fast fading, when she could revolve in her mind over the cradle of his infant, the faults and failings of other aspirants to her favour. Will any other blame my heroine for this? Let him or her rather thank God for all his goodness, for his mercy endureth for ever. Eleanor in truth was not in love, neither was Mr Arabin, neither indeed was Bertie Stanhope, though he had already found occasion to say nearly as much as that he was. The widow's cap had prevented him from making a positive declaration, when otherwise he would have considered himself entitled to do so on a third or fourth interview. It was, after all, but a small cap now, and had but little of the weeping willow left in its construction. It is singular how these emblems of grief fade away by unseen gradations. Each pretends to be the counterpart of the forerunner, and yet the last little bit of crimped white crepe that sits so jauntily on the back of the head is as dissimilar to the first huge mountain of woe which disfigured the face of the weeper as the state of the Hindu is to the jointure of the English dowager. But let it be clearly understood that Eleanor was in love with no one, and that no one was in love with Eleanor. Under these circumstances her anger towards Mr Arabin did not last long, and before two days were over they were both as good friends as ever. She could not but like him, for every hour spent in his company was spent pleasantly. And yet she could not quite like him, for there was always apparent in his conversation a certain feeling on his part that he hardly thought it worth his while to be in earnest. It was almost as though he were playing with a child. She knew well enough that he was in truth, a sober, thoughtful man, who, in some matters and on some occasions, could endure an agony of earnestness, and yet to her he was always gently playful. Could she have seen, his brow once clouded, she might have learnt to love him. So things went on at Plumstead, and on the whole not unpleasantly, till a huge storm darkened the horizon, all the fury of a water spout. It was astonishing how in a few minutes the whole face of the heavens was changed. The party broke up from breakfast in perfect harmony, but fierce passions had arisen before the evening. Which did not admit of their sitting at the same board for dinner. To explain this it'll be necessary to go back a little. It will be remembered that the bishop expressed to Mr Slope in his dressing room his determination that Mr Quiverfull should be confirmed in his appointment to the hospital, and that his lordship requested Mr Slope to communicate this decision to the Archdeacon. It will also be remembered that the Archdeacon had indignantly declined seeing Mr Slope and had instead written a strong letter to the bishop in which he all but demanded the situation of warden for Mr Harding. To this letter the Archdeacon received an immediate formal reply from Mr Slope, in which it was stated that the bishop had received and would give his best consideration to the Archdeacon's letter. The Archdeacon felt himself somewhat checkmated by this reply. What could he do with a man who would neither see him nor argue with him by letter, and who had undoubtedly the power of appointing any clergyman he pleased? He had consulted with Mr Arabin, who had suggested the propriety of calling in the aid of the master of Lazarus. If, said he, you and Dr. Gwynne formally declare your intention of waiting upon the bishop, the bishop will not dare to refuse to see you, and if two such men as you are to see him together, you will probably not leave him without carrying your point. The archdeacon did not quite like admitting the necessity of his being backed by the master of Lazarus before he could obtain admission into the Episcopal Palace of Barchester, but still he felt that the advice was good. And he resolved to take it. He wrote again to the bishop, expressing a hope that nothing further would be done in the matter of the hospital till the consideration promised by his lordship had been given, and then sent off a warm appeal to his friend the master, imploring him to come to Plumstead and admit assist in driving the bishop into compliance. The master had rejoined, raising some difficulty but not declining, and the archdeacon had again pressed his point, insisting on the necessity for immediate action. Dr Gwynne unfortunately had the gout and could therefore name no immediate day, but still agreed to come if it should be finally found necessary. So the matter stood as regarded the party at Plumstead. But Mr Harding had another friend fighting his battle for him, quite as powerful as the master of Lazarus, and this was Mr Slope. Though the bishop had so pertinaciously insisted on giving way to his wife in the matter of the hospital, Mr Slope did not think it necessary to abandon his object. He had, he thought, daily more and more reason to imagine that the widow would receive his overtures favourably, and he could not but feel that Mr Harding at the hospital and placed there by his means would be more likely to receive him as a son in law than Mr Harding growling in opposition and disappointment under the Archdeacon's wing at Plumstead. Moreover, to give Mr Slope due credit, he was actuated by greater motives than these. He wanted a wife and he wanted money, but he wanted power more than either. He had fully realized the fact that he must come to blows with Mrs. Proudie. He had no desire to remain in Barchester as her chaplain. Sooner than do so he would risk the loss of his whole connection with the diocese. What? Was he to feel within him the possession of no ordinary talents? Was he to know himself to be courageous, firm and in matters where his conscience did not interfere, unscrupulous, and yet be contented to the working factum of a working a woman prelate? Mr Slope had higher ideas of his own destiny. Either he or Mrs. Proudie must go to the wall, and now had come the time when he would try which it should be. The bishop had declared that Mr Quiverfull should be the new warden, as Mr Slope went downstairs prepared to see the archdeacon if necessary, but fully satisfied that no such necessity would arise, he declared to himself that Mr Harding should be warden. With the object of carrying this point, he rode over to Puddingdale and had a further interview with the worthy expectant of clerical good things. Mr Quiverfull was on the whole a worthy man. The impossible task of bringing up as ladies and gentlemen, fourteen children on an income which was insufficient to give them with decency the common necessities of life, had had an effect upon him not beneficial either to his spirit or to his keen sense of honour. Who can boast that he would have supported such a burden with a different result? Mr Quiverfull was an honest, painstaking, drudging man, anxious indeed for bread and meat, anxious for means to quiet his butcher and cover with returning smiles the now sour countenance of the baker's wife. But anxious also to be right with his own conscience, he was not careful as another might be who sat on an easier worldly seat, to stand well with those around him, to shun a breath which might sully his name or a rumour which might affect his honour. He could not afford such niceties of conduct, such moral luxuries. It must suffice for him to be ordinarily honest according to the ordinary honesty of the world's ways, and to let men's tongues wag as they would. He had felt that his brother clergymen, men whom he had known for the last twenty years, looked coldly on him from the first moment that he had shown himself willing to sit at the feet of Mr Slope. He had seen that their looks grew colder still, when it became bruted about that he was to be the bishop's new warden at Hiram's hospital. This was painful enough, but it was the cross which he was doomed to bear. He thought of his wife, whose last silk dress was six years in wear, last new silk dress, he thought of all his young flock, whom he could hardly take to church with him on Sundays, for there were not decent shoes and stockings for them all to wear. He thought of the well worn sleeves of his own black coat, and of the stern face of the draper from whom he would fain ask for cloth to make another. Did he not know that the credit would be refused him? Then he thought of the comfortable house in Barchester, of the comfortable income, of his boys sent to school, of his girls with books in their hands, instead of darning needles, of his wife's face again covered with smiles, and of his daily board again covered with plenty. He thought of these things, and do art thou also, reader, think of them and then wonder, if thou canst, that Mr Slope had appeared to him to possess all those good gifts which could grace a bishop's chaplain, how beautiful beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings. Why, moreover, should the Barchester clergy have looked so coldly on Mr Quiverfull? Had they not all shown that they regarded with complacency the loaves and fishes of their mother church? Had they not all by some hook or crook, done better for themselves than he had done? They were not burdened as he was burdened. Dr Grantly had five children, and nearly as many thousands a year on which to feed them. It was very well for him to turn up his nose at a new bishop who could do nothing for him, and a chaplain who was beneath his notice, but it was cruel in a man so circumcised to set the world against the father of fourteen children because he was anxious to obtain for them an honourable support. He, Mr Quiverful, had not asked for the wardenship, he had not even accepted it till he had been assured that Mr Harding had refused it. How hard then that he should be blamed for doing that which not to have done would have argued a most insane imprudence. Thus in this matter of the hospital, poor Mr Quiverfull had his trials, and he also had his consolations. On the whole the consolations were the more vivid of the two. The stern draper heard of the coming promotion, and the wealth of his warehouse was at Mr Quiverfull's disposal. Coming events cast their shadows before, and the coming event of Mr Quiverfull's transference to Barchester produced a delicious shadow in the shape of a new outfit for Mrs. Quiverfull and her three elder daughters. Such consolations come home to the heart of a man and quite home to the heart of a woman. Whatever the husband might feel, the wife cared nothing for frowns of Dean, Archdeacon, or Prebendery. To her the outsides and insides of her husband and fourteen children were everything. In her bosom every other ambition had been swallowed up in that material ambition of seeing them and him and herself duly clad and properly fed. It had come to that with her that life had no other purpose. She wrecked nothing of the imaginary rights of others. That's interesting wrecked as in reckon, I suppose. She had no patience with her husband when he declared to her that he could not accept the hospital unless he knew that Mr Harding had refused it. Her husband had no right to be quixotic at the expense of fourteen children. The narrow escape of throwing away his good fortune, which her lord had had, almost paralyzed her. Now indeed they had received the full promise not only from Mr Slope, but also from Mrs. Proudie. Now, indeed, they might reckon reckon with safety on their good fortune. But what if all had been lost? What if her fourteen barns had been re steeped to the hips in poverty by the morbid sentimentality of their father? Mrs. Quiverfull was just at present a happy woman, but yet it nearly took her breath away when she thought of the risk they had run. I don't know what your father means when he talks so much of what is due, Mr Harding, she said to her eldest daughter. Does he think that Mr Harding would give him four hundred and fifty pounds a year out of fine feeling? And what signifies it whom he offends as long as he gets the place? He does not expect anything better. It passes me to think how your father can be so soft while everybody around him is so griping. Thus, while the outer world was accusing Mr Quiverfull of rapacity for promotion and of disregard to his honour, the inner world of his own household was falling foul of him with equal vehemence for his willingness to sacrifice their interest to a false feeling of sentimental pride. It is astonishing how much difference the point of view makes in the aspect of all that we look at. Such were the feelings of the different members of the family at Puddingdale on the occasion of Mr Slope's second visit. And now the diaries of Samuel Peeps fifteenth of february sixteen sixty four Up and carrying my wife to my lord's lodgings, left her and I to Whitehall to the Duke, where he first put on a periwig to day, but methought his hair cut short in order there too, did look very prettily of itself before he put on his periwig. Thence to his cler closet did our business, and thence Mr Coventry and I down to his chamber, and spent a little time, and so parted, and I took my wife homeward, I stopping at the coffee house, and thence awhile to the change, where great news of the arrival of two rich ships, the Greyhound and another, which they were mightily afeard of, and great assurance insurance given, and so home to dinner, and after an hour with my wife, at her globes, I to the office, were very busy till eleven at night, and so home to supper and to bed. This afternoon Sir Thomas Chamberlain came to the office to me and showed me several letters from the East Indies, showing the height that the Dutch are come to there, showing scorn to all the English, even in our only factory there of Surat, beating several men and hanging the English standard Saint George under the Dutch flag in scorn, saying that whatever their masters do or say at home, they will do what they list, and will be masters of all the world there, and have so proclaimed themselves sovereign of all the South Seas, which certainly our king cannot endure if the parliament will give him money, but I doubt and yet do hope they will not yet, till we are more ready for it. seventeenth Up and with my wife, setting her down by her father's In Longacre, in so ill looked a place among all the Bordy houses that I was troubled at it to see her go thither. Thence I to Whitehall, and there walked up and down, talking with Mr Pierce, who tells me of the king's giving of my Lord Fitzharding two leases, which belongs indeed to the Queen, worth two hundred uh sorry, twenty thousand pounds to him, and how people do talk of it, and other things of that nature. So I think Lord Fitzharding is one of his bastard children, maybe, not sure. He and I walked round the park with great pleasure and back again, and finding no time to speak with my lord of Aubermal, I walked to the change and there met my wife at our pretty dolls, and so took her home, and Creed also whom I met there, and sent her home while Creed and I stayed on the change, and by and by home and dined, where I found an excellent mastiff, his name Towser, sent to me by a surgeon. After dinner I took my wife again by coach, leaving Creed by the way, going to Gresham College, of which he has now become one of the virtuosos, and to Whitehall, where I delivered a paper about Tangier to my lord, Duke of Albermile in the council chamber, and so to Mrs. Hunt's to call my wife, and so by coach straight home, and at my office till three o'clock in the morning, having spent much time this evening in discourse with Mr Cutler, who tells me how the Dutch deal with us abroad and do not value us anywhere, and how he and Sir William Ryder might be Walter, have found reason to lay aside Captain Cock or Cook in their company, he having played some indiscreet and unfair tricks with them, and had lost himself everywhere by his imposing upon all the world with the conceit he hath of his own wit, and so hath, he tells me, Sir Richard Ford also, both of whom are very witty men. He being gone, Sir William Ryder come and stayed with me till about twelve at night, having found ourselves worked till that time about understanding the measuring of Mr Wood's masts, which, though I did so well before as to be thought to deal very hardly against wood, yet I am ashamed I understood it no better, and do hope yet, whatever be thought of me, to save the king some more money, and out of impatience to break up, with my head full of confused, confounded notions, but nothing brought to a clear comprehensions. I was resolved to set up and did, till now it is ready to strike four o'clock, all alone, cold, and my candle not enough left, to light me to my own house. He was so determined to get to the bottom of working it out, and so with my business, however, brought to some good understanding understanding and set it down pretty clear, I went home to bed, with my mind at good quiet, and the girls setting up for me, the rest all abed, I eat and drank a little, and to bed, weary, sleepy, cold, and my head aching eighteenth to nineteenth, and we'll finish with this. Called up to the office and much against my will, I rose, my head aching mightily, and so to the office where I did argue to good purpose for the king what I have been fitting myself for the last night against Mr Wood about his masts, but brought it to no issue, very full of business till noon, and then with Mr Coventry to the African house, and there fell to my Lord Peterborough's accounts, and by and by to dinner, where excellent discourse, Sir George Carteret and others of the African country company with us, and then up to accounts again which were, by and by done, and then I straight home, my head in great pain and drowsy, so after doing a little business at the office, and wrote to my father about sending him the mastiff that was given me yesterday, I home and by daylight to bed about six o'clock, and fell to sleep, wakened about twelve when my wife came to bed, and then to sleep again and so till morning, and then up in good order in my head again, and shaved myself and then to the office, whither Mr Cutler came, and walked and talked with me a great while, and then to the change together, and it being early to tell me several excellent examples of men raised upon the change by their great diligence and saving, as also his own fortune, and how credit grew upon him, that when he was not really worth one thousand one hundred pounds, he had credit for a hundred thousand pounds, of Sir William Rider, how he rises and others And we finish this literary episode by reading a poem by George Gordon Byron, who lived seventeen eighty eight to eighteen twenty four There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, there is a rapture on the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes by the deep sea and music in its roar I love not man the less, but nature more From these are interviews in which I steal from all I may be or have been before, to mingle with the universe and feel what I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal Roll on thou deep and dark blue ocean roll ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain Man marks the earth with ruin his control, stops with the shore upon the watery plain, The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain a shadow of man's ravage, save his own, when for a moment like a drop of rain, he sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, without a grave, unnelled, uncoffined and unknown His steps are not upon thy paths, thy fields are not a spoil for him Thou dost arise and shake him from thee, the vile strength he wields, for earth's destruction thou dost all despise, spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, and sense him shivering in thy playful spray, And howling to his gods where haply lies his petty hope in some near port or bay, and dashest him to earth again there let him lay thank you for joining me for this literary episode to day and have a lovely Friday. Goodbye for now