January 24, 1684.  The frost continuing more and more severe, the Thames before London was planted with booths in formal streets, all sorts of trades and shops furnished and full of commodities, even to a printing press.  Coaches plied from Westminster to the Temple, as in the streets; sleds, sliding with skates, bull-baiting, horse and coach races, puppet plays, cooks, tippling, so that it seemed to be a carnival on the water; while it was a severe judgement on the land, the trees splitting, men and cattle perishing, and the very seas locked up with ice.  London was so filled with the fuliginous steam of the coal that hardly could one see across the streets, and this filling the lungs with its gross particles, so as one could scarcely breathe.

V.—­Fall of the Stuarts

February 4, 1685.  King Charles II. is dead.  He was a prince of many virtues, and many great imperfections; debonair, easy of access, not bloody nor cruel; his countenance fierce, his voice great, proper of person, every motion became him; a lover of the sea, and skillful in shipping; he loved planting and building, and brought in a politer way of living, which passed to luxury and expense.  He would have been an excellent prince had he been less addicted to women, who made him always in want to supply their immeasurable profusion.

Certainly never had king more glorious opportunities to have made himself, his people, and all Europe happy, had not his too easy nature resigned him to be managed by crafty men, and some abandoned and profane wretches who corrupted his otherwise sufficient parts.

I can never forget the inexpressible luxury and profaneness, gaming and all dissoluteness, and, as it were, total forgetfulness of God (it being Sunday evening) which day se’nnight I was witness of, the king sitting and toying with his concubines, a French boy singing love-songs, in that glorious gallery, while twenty great courtiers and other dissolute persons were gaming at a large table, a bank of at least L2,000 in gold before them.  Six days after all was in the dust!

November 5, 1688.  I went to London, heard the news of the Prince of Orange having landed at Torbay, coming with a fleet of near 700 sail, passing through the Channel with so favourable a wind that our navy could not intercept them.  This put the king and court into great consternation.

November 13.  The Prince of Orange is advanced to Windsor, and is invited by the king to St. James’s.  The prince accepts the invitation, but requires his majesty to retire to some distant place, that his own guards may be quartered about the palace and city.  This is taken heinously, and the king goes privately to Rochester; is persuaded to come back; comes on the Sunday, goes to mass, and dines in public, a Jesuit saying grace.  I was present.

November 18.  All the world go to see the prince at St. James’s, where there is a great court.  He is very stately, serious, and reserved.