No man is a hero to his valet, and unluckily Samuel Pepys, by way of a valet, chose posterity.  All the trifles of temper, habit, vice, and social ways which a keen-eyed valet may observe in his master Samuel Pepys carefully recorded about himself, and bequeathed to the diversion of future generations.  The world knows Pepys as the only man who ever wrote honest confessions, for Rousseau could not possibly be candid for five minutes together, and St. Augustine was heavily handicapped by being a saint.  Samuel Pepys was no saint.  We might best define him, perhaps, by saying that if ever any man was his own Boswell, that man was Samuel Pepys.  He had Bozzy’s delightful appreciation of life; writing in cypher, he had Bozzy’s shamelessness and more, and he was his own hero.

It is for these qualities and achievements that he received a monument honoured in St. Olave’s, his favourite church.  In St. Olave’s, on December 23, 1660, Samuel went to pray, and had his pew all covered with rosemary and baize.  Thence he went home, and “with much ado made haste to spit a turkey.”  Here, in St. Olave’s, he listened to “a dull sermon from a stranger.”  Here, when “a Scot” preached, Pepys “slept all the sermon,” as a man who could “never be reconciled to the voice of the Scot.”  What an unworthy prejudice!  Often he writes, “After a dull sermon of the Scotchman, home;” or to church again, “and there a simple coxcombe preached worse than the Scot.”  Frequently have the sacred walls of St. Olave’s, where his effigy may be seen, echoed to the honest snoring of the Clerk of the Navy.  There Pepys lies now, his body having been brought “in a very honourable and solemn manner,” from Clapham, where, according to that respected sheet, the Post-boy, he expired on May 26, 1703.  No stone marked the spot, when Mr. Mynors Bright’s delightful edition of Pepys was published in 1875.

Now Pepys is honoured in that church where he sleeps even sounder than in days when the Scot preached worse than usual.  But he is rewarded in death—­not, it may be feared, for his real services to England, but because he has amused us all so much.  A dead humorist may be better than a living official, however honest, industrious, and careful.

In all these higher things Pepys was not found wanting.  The son of a tailor in the City, he yet had connections of good family, who were of service to him when he entered public life.  Samuel Pepys was born in 1632.  He was educated at Magdalene, Cambridge, where he was once common-roomed for being “scandalously overserved with liquor.”  Through life he retained a friendly admiration of Magdalene strong ale.  He married a girl of fifteen when he was but twenty-two; he entered the service of the State shortly afterwards.  He was the Chief Secretary for Naval Affairs during many years; he defended his department at the Bar of the House of Commons after De Ruyter’s attack in 1668, and he remained true