This last week I have been engaged on Her Majestie's service on an assignation, the nature of which I am forbode to disclose, on pain of Death. It will suffice to say that my duties included filling the popular prints with scurrilous attacks on my Lord Broon, in the hope that these would be to the discredit of his enemies.
The election result in the Rotten Borough of Henley shows that the first part of the scheme has succeeded.
I have also been releas'd from the Tower, which pleases me as the daily diet, viz Roast Beef, was causing me pain on the stools, and pleases my Good Wife, the more because I was able to hand her my first installment of salary for my new duties. This she gave straight to the Bohemian building men, who have demolished most of our house, and half that of the neighbour, to make more spacefor their work.
My daugher Lucie is departed for the West country, in company with many friends clad in India rubber boots. My wife expressed fears for her Chastity, but I assured her she would be in the company of many Editors from the Social Sentinel.
I am yet in the Tower, under the command of one Klopp, a red-faced Corporal who is training me in the conduct of Musketry, writing in Invisible Ink &C, all of which is necessary to my career in the Service. The drill is exhausting and I am allowed no visitors, but the dinners are Excellent, being Roast Beef three times a day with as much Port wine as I can drink.
This day in the forenoon I was due to receive a Dossier informing me of the activities of Traitors, Papist Intelligencers &C at large in the Kingdom, but Corporal Klopp forgot it in the coach. Instead, he advised me simply to keep a good eye out for people who look Foreign, and if in doubt as to their Foreignness, to shoot.
Although I am yet in the Tower, I am pleased to say that my fortunes continue to turn up. In the small hours of the night, I was usher'd from my room to a Turret chamber lit by a single candle and the light of the half moon, there to be interviewed by a gentleman whose face was hid by the gloom and a high-backed chair. "My name is Immaterial," he said. His voice was muffled, but I took him for a Scotsman.
Master Immaterial questioned me on the fortunes to be made as a Free Lance Writer, and we agreed that the business is at times Precarious. He then subjected me to an Inquisition on my love for Her Majestie, and sentiments towards the Papists, and the Turk. Bearing in mind that we were within farting distance of the Traitor's Gate, I thought best to vouchsafe my entire and total loyalty.
At length, Master Immaterial inquir'd as to whether I should be prepared to undertake certain Patriotic Duties, in return for a prudent but not ungenerous remunerative fiduciary amelioration.
Not being clear to his meaning, I asked what the alternative might be. "Why sir, I can hold you in this place two and forty days. And then another two and forty, then another, and so on until your flesh drops from your very bones."
He explained, somewhat ponderously, that this was just his little joke, and I joined him in laughing.
I told Immaterial I should be glad to take him on his offer, and at his invitation signed a lengthy scroll of paper, the words on which apparently there was no necessity for me to read. As a soldier led me away for a breakfast, which consisted of yet another side of roast beef, I heard Immaterial chuckling in his chair: "Forty two days! Forty two days!"
My fortunes have changed, I hope for the better. This morning I was woke early by the warden of the Fleet Prison, who told me that an Anonymous Benefactor had cleared my debt to McGinty, and hence I was discharg'd.
At the gates of the Prison, I was summoned to a closed coach, with no person inside. The coachman locked the door and we set off. For a moment, I feared that I was being tricked to Tyburn and the Gallows, but from the smells of Smith Field I discerned that the coach was headed East. By and by we stopped, the coachman cried "Open in the name of Her Majestie", and I heard the sound of a Portcullis being hauled up.
Recognising that we were in the Tower, I once again said my Prayers, but was interrupted by a soldier telling me to fear not. He led me to a room with a bed, table and chair, and presently brought me a side of Roast Beef and a cask of Wine. I made a good dinner and was better content, though noticed that the door is locked and the window, barr'd.
On the wall, someone has carved 'Guido Fawkes 1605', which does not lesson my Anxiety.
'Tis Day 13 in the Fleet Prison House, and I, Tobias Grubbe, free lancing hacking writer, am in the Diary Room, recording my Impressions.
The Debtors' Prison is yet extremely crowded, though fortunately the rain having stopped, we are no longer obliged to sit on the Roof. Daily life herein is regulated by an Old Triangle. At the start of morning, we hear the warder calling, telling us to get out of bed and slop out our cells. Or, for those who can afford the 2 Sh. fee, the warder will do it for us, and bring our breakfast Beer too.
In the forenoon there is a choice of healthy occupations, viz breaking rocks in the hot sun, or morning devotions with Canon Iva, the prison chaplain who is I think unfrock'd. My preference is breaking rocks, the chaplain's voice being exceedingly painful, also I have run out of Buttons to place on his collecting plate.
At noon, the triangle rings for dinner, which we are at liberty to purchase from Master Ramsay, the Blasphemer. It being Friday, there was today a good river Perch stuffed with cockles, mussels &c, though a little passed its best. I hear word that the felons in Cell Block Number Nine are to be hang'd, or transported to the Colonies, though it is also said that My Lord Broon is building Titanic prisons to house an army of debtors.
For the rest of the day the Inmates make their own entertainments, viz a riot in Cell Block Number Nine, or sit at the front gate entreating passers by to relieve our debts. I saw My Lord Darling walk past, but he only quickened his step.
Today I also received a visit from Master Bullrush, editor of the Social Sentinel, who is much exercised by tales of prison life. In truth, I am earning more from my writing inside Prison than I ever did outside. Bullrush brought me a flask of Brandy which I shared with the mad man De Foe, who is convinced that the government will give him employ as a secret intelligencer. He spends the entire day before the looking glass, saying: "The name's Defoe. Dan Defoe" and asked that the Brandy be shaken, not stirred.
After sunset, we make music and take bitter wine before retiring to bed, some with the Whores from the Women's Prison. Being unable to find a partner for the Dance, I used a Wooden Chair. And the old triangle goes jingle jangle, all along the banks of the Fleet canal.
The flood waters have subsided somewhat, so I am able to resume my Journal, though the water in the Fleet Prison yet covers our ankles. Canon Iva the prison Chaplain is busily engaged in the construction of an Ark, and is selling tickets to inmates of feeble mind.
This day I received visits from my friend Peregrinne Prynne, the savant, and also my wife. Prynne presented me with a bar of Soap, in order that I would not be obliged to bend over in the wash house, and also a map and compass to guide me in digging an escape tunnel. I told him that only an Hippopotomime Reptile would attempt tunnelling in the current inundation. Prynne brought word that My Lord Broon is still determin'd that all prisoners are held for two and forty days, though Parliament is vexed.
My Wife told me she has engaged new Building tradesmen to replace the useless McGinty, these are apparently Bohemians from the far steppes.
She is greatly excited by the prospect of a visit to the Theatre with some lady friends, there to see a play from the Colonies about Fornication in the Neighbourhood. Every day I am more glad to be inside the prison than without. However with the crowding and the flooding I am minded to discharge my debt and move out. The more so since my latest room-fellow borrowed 10 Shillingson the promise of prompt repayment, for drink and to settle his own obligations. When I asked his name, he told me "Bingley".
I am unable to keep my Journal owing to the necessity of spending the whole day sitting on the roof, the Fleet Prison being uninhabitable owing to Floods.
Another great influx of Debtors to the Fleet Prison, where the Inmates now nearly out-number the Rats. As a result, the price of rat meat in the dining room continues to soar.
In the forenoon, I befriended a distressed gentleman wandering in the Yard and bought him a morning Draught of stout ale. He told me his name was Bradford, and that he was in prison only because of a terrible error in reckoning the sums at his bank, and that his partner, one Bingley, would soon arrive to pay his Bond.
At dinner time I was visited by my wife, accompanied by my daughter Lucie, who I see is taken to dressing entire in black. My wife brought paper, quills and a fine offal pastie, which when I bit in to it proved to have a filing tool hidden inside.
I gave my wife several short essays for delivery to Dacre's Daily Wail, the Social Sentinel &c on the dismal conditions to be found in Her Majestie's Prisons. In truth, I am not in any great urge to escape, as the Prison company is congenial, save for the madman De Foe, and I have the leisure to get much Writing done.
Lent Bradford 4d for Gin, on the promise of a credit note from Master Bingley.
Lord's Day. I am still confin'd in the Fleet Prison, where I was awoke by the arrival of several new Cartloads of Debtors and several revellers arrested by the Watch for defying the Lord's Mayor's new prohibition on drinking Coffee under the ground.
Why anyone would wish to drink Coffee under the ground mystifies me.
Being unable to venture out for Church, I attended a mean service in the prison conducted by one Canon Iva, who preached on the Wickedness of Indebtedness and after distributed handbills offering to consolidate our debts in to one easy monthly loan.
On my wife's credit, I obtained a cask of Sack at ruinous cost from Mistress Smith the warden's wife. I offered some to my neighbour De Foe, but he was deep in conversation with a woman called Moll whom I took for a whore.
This past week I have been unable to keep my Journal, owing to the lack of Writing Materials in the Fleet Prison, where I am confin'd at the Petition of the cow herdsman McGinty. This day, however, my Wife came with Quills, Paper, and jugs of broth and Porter, this last being a welcome change from the Small Beer which I have been obliged to buy from Mistress Smith, the Warden's Wife, at Ruinous rates of credit.
This apart, the Prison is not an unpleasant place, being filled with fewer Rogues than the Coffee Houses outside. Among our number are several Free Lancing Writers, indebtedness being a necessary part of our Condition.
My cell Neighbour, one De Foe, is however naught but a Fantasiser, claiming to spend his days composing a Romance on a sailor cast away in the South Seas. When he asked my opinion of his work, I commended him, to keep his Spirits up, though I fear he is destined for obscurity.
My Wife asked why Writers cannot act as Trades Men, and hold their own creditors to account. I told her it is not as simple as that. In stead I entreated her to find a loan from her brother Bulstrode. How long I will remain behind bars I do not know, but Mistress Smith is set on holding all prisoners at least 42 days. Her husband is occupied building a great many more Cells, the better to accommodate the multitude of poor souls left in debt by the soaring cost of bread, hay &c. I have resolved to start a prison newsletter, perhaps it shall make my fortune.
Up betimes, and to my Accounts, on which I now divide each page in to Income and Expenditure, drawing a line at the foot. This week I have clearly Spended more than my receipts, an observation which spurs me to double my efforts.
Noting my Book of Orders to be empty, I made to Turnmills in Farringdon, there to present the Editors of the Social Sentinel with my latest ideas, but find it to be shutter'd, pending rebuild. Thence to the Coach & Horses, where several Gentlemen, untidy dressed, claimed to be Editors, but when I asked after Master Lancelot, it proved he was installed on the roof, open to conversation only in bird song.
I procured a ladder and joined him thereabouts, though in truth I find such Twittering near impossible to comprehend.
To the Eagle, the Mitre, the Anchor & Hope and then home, where I was set upon by two wastrels who, claiming to be friends of McGinty, professed to know where I lived. I saw them off with my Hangar, by way of teaching them the lesson of the short, sharp, shock.
In the night slept poorly, owing to the groaning of timbers in my house, a surfeit of gas in my belly and worries about money, viz the growing imbalance between my earnings and my spending. My wife being yet absent, I was at liberty to relieve the gas with several generous fartes, but this did not relieve my anxieties, indeed the vibrations thus produced caused me to fear even more for the fabric of the house. I resolved to engage some new builders forthwith, to fix the damage caused by the rogue McGinty.
To Master Buck's coffee house, where I confided my financial inconveniences to one Andersen, a gentleman in the coat of an Accountant, who gave me much valuable counsel on the necessity to write a daily balance sheet of incomings and outgoings, and to spend only the Profit left thereby. This is exactly the type of chore from which I fled my position at the Counting House to become a free writer, but I see no other possible course.
Andersen then sought the loan of my pocket watch, told me the hour, and made haste for the docks to take shippe for the Colonies, though not before presenting me with a bill for two guineas for his counsel.
I went thence to the Castle, the Cheshire Cheese and the Two Horseshoes, in search of an afternoon draught and a quiet space for my Writing, but all were filled with noisesome mobs in great debate about the Foot Ball.
Home, to find another demand from McGinty, which shared the same fate as the first. And so to bed.
Woke by the Post Messenger bearing two letters. One was a demand from McGinty to pay him £4.11s.3d for grouting, daubing, frotting & making good, the other a personal letter of Endearment, entreating me in the most friendly terms to give a Plug to some enterprise or other in the august journal 'Grubbe, Tobias'. I burned them both.
Riot in the street. I sent for the Constables of the Watch, but the rioters proved themselves to be Constables of the Watch, demanding higher payments. I look forward to the day when freelance Hacking Writers can do the same.
Woke early by strange scratching noises at the front of the house. Fearful of intruders, I took up my Train-Band pike and ventured out, though no one to be seen. Someone has removed most of McGinty's rubble, however.
Deciding to take advantage of the early rise, I sat to my desk and composed letters to the editor of every news broadsheet and periodical in my collection, offering to write for a suitable sum, and proposing suggestions for Essays to each, though some were the same. The labour took me the whole Forenoon but I am confident that my investment will pay.
After, to the Jerusalem Tavern for my Morning Draught, and thence to Cheapside where I met my Wife and Daughter returning many of the Purchases they had made yesterday. This took an enormous amount of time.
Thence to the Theatre in Drury Lane, to see a spectacle advertised as New, but it proved to be but an old Miracle Play on the quest for the Crystal Grail, with the lead Actor, Master Forde, now of great age. My Wife and Daughter seemed mightily impressed, though.
Parliament is greatly divided on the question of breeding Monsters.
Lord's Day. Up betimes and met my Wife and Daughter at St Magnus-the-Martyr where the priest, one Leigh, preached a Sermon on the sin of breeding Monsters. After, we walked awhile in Cheapside, my Wife spending a great time in the Clothes Shoppes, then home when she did inspect the building works but pronounced the House still unfit for habitation.
To the George for a good dinner, where I met Peregrinne Prynne and several other gentlemen. I asked him of his experiment concerning the Flux and Reflux of the Tides, but Prynne said there is no need for further observation, Reason and Deduction being sufficient to prove the truth.
Home, where I wrote several Bills & reminders to those owing me fees for my writing, and sharpened Quills and laid out paper in preparation for the morrow's work.
Dacre's Daily Wail reports that My Lord Broon, the Queen's Minister, will soon have to divert the national Chest to the building of Debtors' Prisons.
Up and to the Stationer's Register to assert my copyright in my essay about the Wife With No Nose, which is being reproduced in many public prints without payment, but discover that the story has been registered previous. To the St Paul's Tavern for my morning draught, my foul temper made worse by the unseasonal weather. Home, to discover McGinty's 'prentices playing kick-bladder around the pile of sand & rubble. This craze for Idle Sport will be the ruin of us all, and surely lead only to drunkenness and violence on the streets.
I shooed them off with a blast from my Fowling Piece, calling after them that McGinty and all his company were Dismissed. The house being cold & damp, I made to the Anchor & Hope, but the Landlord refused my credit.
Woke in great pain, to discover that I had passed the night on the stairs, and suffering an intolerably sore head.
The neighbour Tompion called, to ask me for the return of the 4sh he paid the Chair Men for me, the other night. I had not the coins, but shared a jug of Punch, which cured my head somewhat. Tompion inspect’d the building work, and pronounced that Hibernians were notorious dull-witted bog-dwellers, and that I should test McGinty on his knowledge of modern household Wherewithalls.
Later, to my desk, the Dead Line pressing from the Social Sentinel. However I was interrupted by McGinty arriving with his ‘prentices to knock down more Walls.
Taking Tompion’s advice, I asked McGinty if he knew the difference between a hob and a lock. He thought for a moment, and said “To be sure, was not Hobbes’ theory that, without the firm government of Princes, we exist in a state of nature, the life of man being, solitary, poore, nasty, brutish, and short; whereas the late Master Locke developed a view more enlightened, in that while Princes live in a state of nature with regard to each other, the relations between Ruler and Ruled have the character of a Social Contract?”
Clearly, the man is an idiot. I resolved to discharge him as soon as it is safe to do so.
Early to bed, resolving also to abstain in future from drinking Coffee, for it gives me a sore head.
I woke not 'til late, there being no noise from the Building men, and my family still away. In the Forenoon, to a Coffee House in Long Acre to write several new Essays, thence to Bow Street to see Master Stains the diarist condemn'd for galloping his Coach and Four through Westminster with reckless intent. To my great disappointment, the Beak spared him the gallows, instead consigning him to three years in the Pillory. The next case was that of Master Docherty the lutist, but he too was set free.
In the Publick Gallery I started to write an essay on Why oh Why are our Modern Liberal Judges such a Joke, but the Usher told me off for Contempt.
To the Castle Tavern in Furnival St to meet several Publishers, but none would take my essays. Thence to Mistress Murray's Biskit Clubbe in Covent Garden, where met Master Hamboyo, Mistress Bolover and many other journal-writers, to drink wine and decry the condition of today's Publishing World.
Home late of the clock, after talking a great deal.
Woke by a bright Light in my eyes, which at first I thought was the Second Coming of Christ and all His Angels, but it proved instead to be caused by McGinty the builder taking down the front wall of the House in the early hours. Being unable to work in such conditions, I made to the Jerusalem Tavern, where I was joined by McGinty who broke his fast with a small plate of sausages, eggs, bacon, black pudding &c washed down with Master Heinz's beans and a quart of sugared gin. I inquir'd of what victuals his 'Prentices received, and he assured me that they are content with black bread and water, the better to lay a straight brick. It is the first intelligent thing he has said.
Securing a further Guinea from my purse for the procurement of wattle, daub &C, McGinty departed, leaving me also to pay his Reckoning.
Home, to find a note from my Wife, in which she says she has left for her Mother's, taking my Daughter Lucie along, and charging me to keep close watch on the building men. There also was an coachman in the service of one Master Gatesby, a gentleman from the Colonies, bearing an invitation to dine. The coach carried me in fine style to the Golden Cross near Whitehall, where several Gentlemen spoke of the great advantages to be had from the purchase of Master Gatesby's Windows, and urged on me several handbills for reproduction in the publick prints. We had a good Dinner of Lobster, Quail, Oxe Tongue and a Hare Pie, with a fine Sack, though the Gentlemen from the Colonies drank only water, which I thought strange.
Thence to Master Scott's musick tavern in So Ho, a tawdry establishment which is certain to close by the year's end. A wench selling Oranges invited me to walk with her in the Pissing Alley, but I was afeared of the Pox. She nonetheless relieved me of my Purse, which I did not discover until it time to pay the Chair Men who bore me home, obliging me to rouse Tompion my Neighbour, who was little pleased.
Dacre's Daily Wail informs that the price of bread is rose to 1d , the cost of homes is fell to 4d, and Lord Broon the Queen's Minister has gone insane, and is determin'd to cut our very throats as we sleep.
Woken by several Messengers, bearing handbills from various Manufacturers of Stationery and other Equipments, and one with an unsign'd letter threatening my Murder.
Took coach to West Minister, to observe the Parliament in session. On College Green, a great Crowd had gathered around a Madman throwing Guineas for all to catch, but this proved to be My Lord Darling, the Chancellor. At the Palace door, I quarrelled with the Serjeant at Arms who tried to relieve me of my pistol, cudgel, dagger &C, so I decided to observe the Debate from St Stephen's tavern. There found several notable Correspondents, among them Master Piston declaiming on the Public Finances. Tiring of his loud and high voice, I made to the Red Lion instead.
Woke by a great Cacophany of hammering and sawing, and saw that McGinty has finally begun work on the house. Wishing me the top of the morning, he told me that the whole front would have to come down, the frame needing a scaffold to support it, at a cost of 14sh.3d. I told him the only scaffold I would buy was the one he would be hang'd from, and told him to make best with what he has to hand.
I was interrupted by a message from Bullrush, Editor of the Social Sentinel, commanding me to meet him at the sign of the White Harte. I put on my best periwigg and hat, and made haste, hoping he has recognised my Talents and will engage me to Write news of the Royals and all the Gentry, or at least to publish my thesis on the cause of the Tides, but instead the job is only that of producing many pages of puff about furniture and stationery items, in the hope that Manufacturers will buy Advertisements. I agree to this dull work because I will need every penny to pay McGinty.
Thence to Chancery Lane, to engage a Lawyer to act for me in the Theft of my copy right, but they were all at Luncheon.
The news sheets are filled with more great tales of Calamity in Cathay, as well as slanderous writings by Mistress Cherry, relict of the Queen's late Minister.
To the Anchor and Hope, where I composed a trenchant Opinion on publick servants who betray their Loyalty in their Memoirs in the pursuit of Lucre, and to Smith Field where I bought a Cockerel for dinner, but it escap'd on the way home.
Lord's Day. These last three days I have laid abed of Fever, despite the Mountebank's Treatments having so forceful effect as to raise complaints from the collectors of Night Soil.
Up and, it being a hot day, put on my thickest coat. With my Wife to Church, noticing that a heap of planks of wood has appeared next to McGinty's pile of sand. At St Bartholemew the Great, the Priest preached a long sermon promising Fire and Brimstone on the editors who give over space to Atheists and Pagans. From the balcony, Master Dawkins threw orange peel.
Thence to the Red Cow for a good dinner of gin, Oysters, roasted faggots and a Cask of sack. After, I picked up a copy of Dacre's Daily Wail and saw to my horror that it has published, down to the very word, my essay on the Landlord's wife with no Nose. I am much displeased by this theft. The sweat of a man's brows, and the exudations of a man's brains, are as much a man's own property as the breeches upon his backside.
I resolve to seek redress with the full might of the Law.
Again woke by the sound of 'Prentices kicking bladders about. When I inquired of them if they planned to start work, they replied they were awaiting the Master Craftsman, themselves being here only on a Scheme.
In my Garret it was too hot to work, so I took a turns round the garden, inspecting the Bluebells which have now turned white and grey and trimming some leaves, thorns etc with my Train-band Pike.
I took more Treatment, but though my Stomach is sore, no stools yet.
My Lord Broon is reported muttering to unseen spirits.
I waked early, with a taste in my mouth like a Papist's arm-pit. Not feeling inspired to write, I spent the forenoon compiling my Accounts, sending out reminders for payment &C.
Later to the Coach and Horses in Farringdon, where I took a cup of gin for my Draught, to the great benefit of my Constitution. There met Master Bullrush, editor of the Social Sentinel, who is much exercised by the calamities in Cathay, Hindustan &c, which means there is less space in the paper for stories about uncloth'd wenches. I offered an Essay on New Discoveries as to the Cause of the Tides, but he agreed only that he would "Take a look".
I am cert that the change in the Weather is causing me to come down with Distemper. In Cowcross Street I bought a sixpenny parcel of Treatments from a Horse-Mountebank, guaranteed to make 20 stools, and also good against green wounds, old fistulas and ulcers.
Home, where I noticed the pile of sand is somewhat dented, but no work has been done on the House. I took the Treatments after supper but no stools came.
Woke by loud thumps on the door, which proved to be caused by two youths kicking a bladder around McGinty's pile of sand. I fetched my Fowling Piece to disperse them, but they told me they were McGinty's 'prentices sent to guard the site, so I held my fire.
Saw more bluebells in the back garden. To test if they are good to eat, I fed some to the Dog, but he was sick.
For my morning Draught I went to a Coffee House in Fetter Lane, one of several opened lately by Master Bucks. The Coffee cost 6d, which is Robbery, and proved undrinkable until I had fortified it with gin. I hear word that My Lord Broon, the Queen's Minister, has taken to hiding in a darken'd room, counting beans.
To the Coal Hole in the Strand, where met Peregrinne Prynne and several other Savants from the Royal Society and we fell to discussing the mysterious Flux and Reflux of the Tides, and the possible mechanics by which the rise and fall of a river could change the shape of the Moon. I ventured that the hand of God is surely responsible for both Phenomena, but Prynne thinks the connection the result of chance, both the Tides and the Phases of the Moon being set in motion in ancient times, and continuing to function like two great clocks showing an hour that becomes more different every year.
We resolved to test Prynne's Theory by measuring the exact moment that the tide turned, to see if it kept exact pace with the change in the Moon. The company proposed that I should venture in to the Thames and signal the very moment of Low Water by waving my hat while they took the time from the Pendulum clock. This I did, the better to write about the Experience, and spent three hours amid the mud and dead dogs, to the cheers of the Savants watching from the balcony of the Inn.
Home late of the clock and in some disarray, which did not please my Wife. The heap of Sand is still there, but no sign of the 'Prentices.
Up betimes to await the arrival of McGinty, but he did not come. The back garden is now abloom with bluebells, which I picked as a present for my wife.
At mid-day, my son Horatio appeared and said he was bound back to the University, to sit his Examinations. I spoke with him for a while on the temptations of sodomy, coffee drinking, etc, and from the way he closed his eyes I could tell he was reflecting deeply on my advice. I also lent him 1 guinea for expenses, and gave him a stick of opium for his health. Later, I discovered that my Wife had also given him 1 guinea.
To my Desk where, at about 3 of the clock I was disturbed by a loud rumbling sound in the street. I looked out to see that someone has deposited a large heap of sand outside the front of the house. I suspect it is something to do with McGinty.
Horatio having eaten every scrap in the house, we dined on faggots and oysters at the New Cheshire Cheese. My daughter Lucie asked when she might go to the University, so I sent her early to her bed.
Lord's Day. With my Family to St Clement's where the Priest gave thanks for the new Lord Mayor, and we all prayed for his long life. I noticed Boristone in the front Pew, accompanied by several Ladies.
Home to a fine Ox Liver Pie for dinner, which I ate in haste, being anxious to get to my desk to compose an Essay about travels in Bohemia for Master Hamboyo. As I have not been to Bohemia for many years, this proved difficult, but I supplemented my memory by copying sentences in turn from two Books borrowed from my wife's brother Bulstrode.
Late to bed, where I dreamed I had discovered a Library containing every Book it was ever possible to write, but instead of being the source of all wisdom, nearly every volume contained only a jumble of mad letters, like a page of Free is Comment. My Wife complained of my Fartes and grunting keeping her awake.
Up at daybreak and, rousing Horatio and Lucie with some difficulty, by river to the palace at Hampton Court for a day out. Her Majestie being absent, we inspected the building works and took a turn in the Maze. Horatio assured me the secret was always to turn to the Left, but this proved impossible. In the end, I was obliged to cut a new passage with my Sword, which did not please the Attendant.
Home by the afternoon tide, enjoying the views and smells of London Town with my wife. It is thanks to my new life as a Free Lance Writer that we are able to enjoy days like this, though in truth it is easy to spend money more quickly than I earn it.
Horatio silent on the return trip, which he spent lying on the deck staring at the sky. I am convinced that the youth is taking Coffee.
Up and to my desk to write an essay on Why oh Why this man Boristone will be a disaster for London, and so will Livingstone, if he wins.
At my Wife's bidding, I sent for a Building Tradesman to fix the front door, frame, wattle, daub, chimney stack &C. He proved to be a Hibernian or West Briton named McGinty, and spent the great part of the morning jabbing the wall with his stick, pronouncing it to be the work of Herdsmen, while sucking through his teeth. However he said his Men would fix it on Monday, and I gave him £1.10sh.0d against expenses.
To the Black Friar, the Trip to Jerusalem and the St Paul to gather news, then to Guild Hall, where Livingstone's mob was all gone, leaving Boristone to don the Mayor's chain to great acclaim. In his address to the Crowd, he promised to rid the city of bending Sedan Chairs, and to post the names of cutpurses and Highwaymen on every wall.
I think it prudent to change the title of my Essay to Why oh Why London is Rejoicing in this New Start.
Woke by a great Commotion in the street, where the Mob, whipped up by one Gilligan, was burning the Lord Mayor in effigy.
It being May Day, I took my regular bath, noticing that the water does not rise as high on my Stomach as last year, which is pleasing. After, I dressed in new clothes, which looked quite fine, and one of Bulstrode's rejected Periwigges.
To then Cheshire Cheese, the Mitre, the Hope & Anchor and the Black Friar to take a morning draught in each and collect the News, thence to the Guildhall with many other Freemen of the city to watch the contest for Lord Mayor. There are now but two contenders, each with rival mobs of supporters. I joined Livingstone, that he may be thrice Lord Mayor of London, but Boristone's crowd is bigger and noisier and includes the most Comely ladies. In it I noticed Bulstrode, who does not oft bet on losing horses.
Keeping a tally of preferences was Scrimspume. I pretended not to recognise him.
Home late o'the clock, the result being undecided. And so to bed.
It being cold & wet, I kept my Bed this day and wrote several compositions for the Daily Broadsheets. At noon, I bid the maid bring me a quart of Ale and the smell, mingled with that of bedclothes, old stockings &C, brought back great reverie of my childhood. I devoted the afternoon to writing a new chapter for my Book, entitled My Early Years, though I reached only the age of Six Months, when, by my mother's account, the Nurse dropped me on my head.
At dusk, rose to take a supper of Broth and dark bread and observe the weather. My wife and daughter in a sulk mood, my son nowhere to be seen.
A Gentleman knocked on the Door saying his name was Boris and that he aspired to become Lord Mayor, but I ignored him. At length he departed with a great shout of "Cripes!" which I hope was occasion'd by tripping over the rubble.
The price of Hay is risen to more than £0.1s.0d a cwt, angering the carters.
Up at Cock's Crow to finish my Composition for Master Lancelot at the Social Sentinel. Thence by hired horse to Farringdon, where I handed it to the night watchman, Master Stew, who appears to hail from the Colonies. With good fortune, Lancelot will not notice it late.
Thence to the Mitre for my morning draught, and to write Living Death in the Counting House, it being a more peaceful place than my Home. Instead, found myself in conversation with several Gentlemen about the Contest for Mayor. 'Tis rumoured that in the Guildhall many secret papers are being cast to the Fire. I hope Scrimspume's report on my house is counted among them.
Home, and a supper of cold pig's Stomach. After, I tried knocking in more nails to hold up the house but the wall was too soft with the rain. As I worked, several more bricks fell from the Stack. I called Horatio to help, but he had vanished as surely as a compositor's mate when there is Correcting work to be done. To bed, where my Wife again raised the topick of employing a building craftsman and I was too weary to argue.
Possibly it will give me something to write about.
At breakfast my daughter Lucie wore a new Beauty Spot and clothes after the fashion of Mistress Winecask, the songstress. When I sent her back upstairs to cover herself, she slammed the door, telling me to "Get off my case".
Up to my Garret, but unable to begin work owing to the noise of an argument twixt my Wife and the Maid Eliza, who had arrived to collect her things. To induce her to stay, my wife offered to double her wages, and find her somewhere warmer to sleep than the Dog House, which did not please me. Presently, a Messenger arrived from the Social Sentinel, with a note from Master Lancelot, editor of the Thursday Utensil page, inquir'ing as to the whereabouts of the essay I promised him about the Government's Great Profligacy with ledgers, pens, &C. In truth I had forgot the Commission, but sent back note saying I would Deliver the words presently, in person.
At that moment a gentleman called, introduced himself as Scrimspume, an Inspector from the Guildhall, and said that a Complaint had been received concerning the Dangerous State of my house. I shouted for my Wife, but she had departed with Lucie for the shops. However the noise did rouse my son Horatio, who alone in the household seems able to sleep sound of the morning. I showed Scrimspume the work I had carried out on the House Fabric, and was saying such craftsmanship is not possible to buy nowadays, when a Brick departed the chimney stack and missed Scrimspume's head by a weasel breath.
Horatio remarked he thought it interesting that the Brick, on breaking free, should be propelled downwards and not upwards. God forgive me, but I may have spoken sharply to him. I presented Scrimtooth with a bottle of Brandy as apology, but fear the matter may not end there. Mem: to find a more peaceable place to conduct my Writing.
Lord's day. Up at a good hour and, venturing down for my breakfast beer, I trip'd over my Son Horatio asleep on the stair. He excused himself from Church, saying he had been to Prayers at St Paul's already at break of day. God forgive me, but I can not believe him with all my heart.
With my Wife and Daughter to St Botolph's, where the Priest gave a sermon of Fire & Brimstone, vouchsafing the Rich would never enter the Kingdom of Heaven. I noticed behind the Pulpit an edition of the List of Several Dozen Wealthy Personages, put out today by the Lord's Day Tombs, which we all did read avidly on the pews.
After Church, to a fine dinner at the Anchor & Hope, there meeting my Wife's brother Bulstrode and his family, my friend Peregrinne Prynne the Philosopher, and, at length, Horatio, who showed a good appetite for Fried Meats. Prynne and Horatio held forth on the nature of the Universe; assuring us that the actions of Men are but tiny Cogs set in motion by Vortices of which we understand nothing as yet.
Bulstrode became angry, and asked what of the Free Will which the Good Lord had granted Mankind. "Why, Sir, at this very moment I could defy your Vortices by standing on one leg, balancing a bottle on my head, and singing Lilli Burlero. What say you to that, Sir?"
"Why, Sir," my Son replied, "that would merely show you are Determin'd to play the Fool." He and Prynne did laugh mightily, but Bulstrode was not amused. I think he is in secret vexed at not figuring on the Wealthy Personages List.
Home, where I noticed that the rain has caused more Wattle & Daub to fall from the house, making a heap in the street. In the evening set to compiling my Accounts in the month since I became a Free Lance Hacking Writer. I see but little danger of being turned away from the Kingdom of Heaven.
The Weather being Fair, I set to work early repairing the Front Door, but decided first to remove all the old Daub, Wattle &C from the surrounding wall, with my new Hammer and Chisel. This was pleasing toil, though I several times grazed my knuckles. At ten of the clock my Wife arrived with my daughter Lucie, to inspect the work. My Wife remarked on the quantity of Dust produced.
During the forenoon, some young Gentlemen called also, to ask the whereabouts of my Son, Horatio. I told them, for all I knew, he had enlisted in the Barbary Pirates. My daughter Lucie said this is not funny. However at about 3 of the clock, a tall and very thin bearded Youth, clad all over in black and bearing a sack of Laundry, greeted me with the words: "How now, Father, art thou now apprenticed to a demolition tradesman?" and at length I recognised my son.
Horatio's homecoming was the occasion for much joy and, my mouth being dry, I put away my tools and sent for a cask of best Sack. For dinner, my wife dug up the pickled Pig's Head we had been saving in the back yard and cooked it with some fine nutmeg, cabbage and roots.
I inquired Horatio of his studies, fearful that he had been thrown out of the University, but he said he was engaged in an academic quest far above my head, viz that of comprehending the metaphysical mechanism that drives the motion of the Planets, Stars, &c. I fear Prof Newton is filling his head with blasphemous nonsense, but held my tongue. After supper, Lucie played a while at the Spinnet, but in the manner of Master Handel, a new prodigy from the Continent. Like all so-called Roque Musick, this is but one note played over and over at great speed and Loudness. I produced my Flute, that we might enjoy some real songs, viz ones with tunes we can all sing, but Lucie ran from the room with her hands over her ears.
At near Midnight and the drink being finished, I made for Bed, but Horatio said he had to meet an appointment at some Clubbe and asked to borrow 10 shillings. Before I could stop her, my Wife gave him the money. Horatio exited by the Window, bidding us not to wait up for his return.
Up betimes, and finished writing my Essay on the Complete Break Down in Law & Order in Our Great City, which will serve as a call to wake up the new Lord Mayor, whoever he be. I delivered it by hand to Dasmon's printing works at the sign of the Rose & Crown and, on my way home called at Master Beeyankew's shop where I bought several planks of wood, saws, hammers & nails &c to build the new front door & frame. My Wife and Daughter having left for my Mother in Law, and the maid Eliza nowhere to be seen, I was alone in the House.
My Lord Humphrey, the Trumpet Player and Wit, is expir'd this evening. We shall not see his like again.
In the forenoon, set to writing my Essay on Why Oh Why is it Not Safe to Walk the Streets, but the words did not come easy. Instead, occupied myself fixing the front door. Removed the planks, the door and the frame, it proving rotten. My Wife entreated me to engage a Builder, but I believe they are all Rogues and Scoundrels.
At dusk, I stopped work and nailed a board across the gap to prevent Burglary &c. It being the Eve of St Mark's, I went with Peregrinne Prynne to the Churchyard to try to observe among the tombstones apparitions of those doomed to die in the year ahead. There was one ghastly skeletel figure, wreath'd in white mist and groaning most foully, but it proved to be only Lord Keef, the Royal lute-player, and he is predicted to die every year.
Woke by a smell of burning, to discover that someone has set the front door to fire. I beat out the blaze with a Coat belonging to my Wife, it being damp with rain, and sent word to the Constable of the Watch. He told me it appeared but an Accident, but if I do notice anything suspicious, to go to the Horse Guards. I fixed the front door with some boards and nails, and told my family to make their exit through the window.
To the Three Horseshoes, where I met Dasmon in good humour because it is the Feast of Saint George and he sold three copies more of his Weekly Crusader than is usual. To my small surprise, he readily paid for my Essay, and asked if I had any more to offer. I promised to write him one on the wave of crime in our city, which pleased him mightily.
Thence to the Prospect of Whitby, to give the Landlord his share of the fee for My Wife Has No Nose. He was at first displeased to see me, but we shared a bottle of Brandy and parted close friends. Of the attacks on my House, he says he knows nothing, but expects them to cease.
To the Hospital at Bedlam to inspect likely individuals to become the new Lord Mayor, but they are too occupied with gibbering about repealing the Act of Union and ridding the City of Foreigners, Moors and Sodomites, despite several themselves being Foreigners, Moors and Sodomites.
Home to a lean dinner of turnip leftovers, the maid Eliza being unable to go to the Shops. I told my Wife to thrash her, but she says it not the Maid's fault, and then my Daughter Lucie joined in blaming me.
In the night someone slipped a letter, unsigned, through the front door, threatening my Murder. In consequence, I took care to arm myself with cudgel and sword before leaving the house, though my Wife made me leave behind the Fowling Piece and Pike.
To the Black Friar, the New Cheshire Cheese, the Mitre, the Eagle and the Seven Starres, to place my work with Editors and drink several bottles, in precaution against attack.
In the after noon to the Royal Society where Peregrinne Prynne was declaiming to the Natural Philosophers the futility of reaching understanding through pure Reason, the only route to Truth being through experience and the measure of reality.
"Why sir," I said, "by that logic you would subject the existence of the very Deity to experimental test."
"Certainly, sir," he answered, describing an Experiment lately conducted in the Colonies, in which two Simpletons, exact Twins, were induced to live opposite lives, one to spend each Lord's Day praying in Church, the other to profane and fornicate from dawn to dusk, to observe which twin prospered.
I asked the result of the Experiment, but unhappily it was cancelled after the godly Twin was struck by Lightning on his way to the Church.
Woke by a knock on the Door. When I opened it, nobody was there, but someone had left a Dog Turd wrapped in a page from the Greatest Weekly Crusader. I can not imagine who would do this thing.
I remained in the House all day, in case Dasmon delivered my Payment, but none came. In my Garret I composed several essays on the Sorry State of the Publick Finances, on Why Master Johnson who wants to be Mayor Should be Confined to Bedlam, and on the Youth of Today living gilded lives.
Lord's Day. To St Bride's, where the Priest gave a dull sermon on the evils of Coffee. Then to the New Cheshire Cheese where, to my great pleasure, I saw an edition of the Greatest Weekly Crusader of Truth. Usually this publication is given over to Lecherous tittle about the Executions of Ann Boleyn, Mary Queen of Scotts & other Royal Ladies, but today the front page says in large type "Exclufive revelation: My Wife Hath No Nose. For a Wholly True and Exhaustive Account, pray turn to pages 3, 4, 5 & 6." I paid the Pot Boy 1 shilling for my own copy, and took it with Haste to the Prospect of Whitby, that I might show the Landlord and his Wife.
While I was waiting for them, two Young Gentlemen walked in and said in loud voices. "How now, Sir, my Wife has no nose." "If that be the case, Sir, then how does she smell?" "Why Sir, at this time in the month, perfect foul." Judging it best to absent myself, I took coach to the St Paul's tavern, then home for a good dinner of donkey shank & boiled turnips. Item: to purchase of Grt Wkly Crusader, 1sh.
Woke by my Wife, inquiring about the Corpse in the front room. I sent for the Barber Surgeons, but when they made to carry off Hamboyo he groaned, and they would not take him. By and by he recovered sufficiently to leave on his own feet.
Received a letter from my Son Horatio, who tells me he has changed disciplines at the University, in order to study Mathematiks and Physik under Prof Newton. I am much displeased. These modern so-called subjects are a complete waste of time. To flourish in the knowledge economy of the 18th century a young man needs a firm grounding in the Media Studies, viz Rhetoric & Greek. Horatio also asked me for 5 guineas, which I shall refuse.
Scolded the maid Eliza for allowing the Bluebell to wilt. She says the neighbour's cat pissed upon it, but I think it might have been Hamboyo.
I am cert the Tulip is a Bluebell, but it looks quite fine.
Up and to Humphry's Coffee House in Mary le Bone, to hear Master Piston declaim on the Ruin facing the Bankers, who have lent all their gold to Spendthrifts & Rakes, but Piston's voice made my head ache. Thence to Southwark where I did visit Dasmon's printing Works to check the Proofs of my essay My Wife Has No Nose. The Works was deserted save for an idle 'prentice, who told me his name was Michael Fokkinmouse. When I left to go, I found my best coat stained black with ink.
To my Lady Charlotte's house for a fine dinner of spiced Chicken & Custard Pudding, in the company of several Gentlemen, among them Master Hamboyo, a great Wit with whom I took several bottles of strong Sack. It being late o'the Clock, and our lady tiring of our Company, we made to a Popish wine shop in So Ho, where Hamboyo fell down in the street. Thinking him dead, I engaged a Sedan to carry him to my house, though the Chair Men complained mightily, and laid him out in the front room.
Her Majesty's First Minister is sail'd for the Colonies.
Woke before dawn with a sore head because of the bad Eels, and in the Privy made several loud Fartes, then spent some time at my desk writing the first chapter of Living Death in the Counting House, which I have neglected of late.
To the Eagle in Farringdon to propose more essays to the Social Sentinel, but Bullrush and Mistress McCash were busy with their bankers, counting money to send to the Cannibal Isles.
Thence to the Coach & Horses, where a gentleman was soliciting contributions for a new sheet to contain intelligence of the newest entertainments & fashions &c, to be posted on all the city's walls. He said he is unable to pay now, though hopes to in the future. I spat in his Ale, while his back was turned.
Home, where my daughter Lucie asked who was playing the Trumpet this morning. I do not know where she learns these bad manners.
The Tulip is flowering, though looks much like a Bluebell.
Up betimes and inspected the new tulip, which has a blue bud, not red as I ordered. Told the maid Eliza to keep a good watch on it, in case it is a rare specimen.
To the Royal Society in order to begin work undisturbed on Bulstrode's Handbill, but distracted by several gentlemen, among them Peregrine Prynne, arguing loudly about global cooling, a phenomenon occasioned by excessive exhalations of woodsmoke &c into the ether.
Thence to the Porpentine, the Lamb & Flag, the Coal Hole and the Coach and Horses and Farringdon, where I offered to write Master Sattupon an essay on Why oh Why this Man Johnson Will be a Disaster if Appointed Mayor. It seems Sattupon already has contributions on this theme.
Home at dusk, whereupon opening the door I heard Bulstrode's voice from the Parlour. Remembering I had not yet composed his Handbill, I ran up to my Garret, put Quill to Paper and Scribed several short Paragraphs on the Excellence of his Periwigges. Bulstrode pronounced himself much pleased. I assured him that is the benefit of employing a Professional.
Bulstrode is much exercised by the threat to Publick Safety from Hugenots and other Foreigners, however as they work 20 hours a day for 6d a week he is not displeased to employ them in the making of Periwigges.
For dinner, a fine Eel and Cheese pie, though the Eels a little past their best.
Up, and to my desk to begin writing the Handbill for my brother in law Bulstrode, but instead spent the morning sharpening pens and then writing to my son Horatio, from whom I have heard nothing since he departed for the University in January.
When I left the house to deliver it to the Post, I noticed that the Tulip I planted this inst. is sprouted, though no Flower yet.
Later to Buck's coffee house in the Strand, where I heard word of a great fire in the Smith Field, apparently starting at the Saracen's Head which is razed to the ground. Sent note to Prynne suggesting in future we meet at the Hope & Anchor.
Master Alstopp, a notorious Blasphemer, is appointed editor of the Indulgence, a dismal anabaptist sheet much given to accounts of the impending Apocalypse. Alstopp lately fought a Duel with Bullrush, editor of the Social Sentinel, though both Pistols, being charged with damp squibs, hung fire.
Home to a fine dish of rabbit brains, which my daughter Lucie did refuse. I am cert the girl is taking coffee. My wife told me Bulstrode dines with us in the morrow, and will expect to see his Handbill complete. I told her the task was poised 'twixt inspiration and perspiration.
Up betimes, and made to Southwark where I did hand my composition to Master Dasmon. Thought best not to mention the Drinks Reckonying from our last meeting lest he thinks me Cheape. The real-life story "My Wife Has No Nose" will appear on Sunday.
To the Wing & Pen, the Seven Starres and the New Cheshire Cheese to take a morning draught in each, and advise the landlords to buy extra copies of Dasmon's Greatest Weekly Crusader of Truth.
At the Saracen's Head I met Perergine Prynne, lately returned from the Colonies. He is engaged in the study of Natural Philosophy and, after several bottles of Sack, set to show me with the help of Phosphorous, Sulphur and flammable Spirit an experimental proof for the existence of Phlogiston. Unfortunately the table took fire, so we departed in a hurry.
Home late O'the Clock.
The Parliament is debating consigning Papists to the Tower for 42 years. The world is gone mad. Why oh why can we not burn them, as in the days of Good Queen Bess? I shall write on this topick tomorrow.
Up betimes and to my Garret, where I told my wife to confine me 'til I finish writing my composition for Dasmon's Greatest Weekly Crusader. At about eleven O' the clock, feeling sore in the wrist and buttocks and in need of a morning draught, I ventured down the stairs, but my Wife told me back again, with the help of my old army Pike.
At noon she did pass some bread & water by the door, saying that is what we shall be accustomed to eating lest I produce some work.
By and by I did finish the Essay, which I think quite fine. I shall deliver it to Dasmon in the Morrow. For supper a fine Oyster Pie cooked in the Publick Oven, and a Rice Pudding. I found a bottle of dark Wine left over from the Christmas Feast which we shared and were much content.
Lucie has begun dance lessons, at a school she says is called "So Random". I do not think that is the real name.