of the spirit of either will give a true cross-section of the age in which he lived.  Pepys, it must be confessed, is much more at home in his times than Bunyan ever could be.  One might even say that the times seem to have been designed as a background for the diarist.  There is as little of the spirit of a stranger and pilgrim in Pepys, even in his most pathetic hours, as there is in John Bunyan the spirit of a man at home, even in his securest.  It was a very pagan time, and Pepys is the pagan par excellence of that time, the bright and shining example of the pagan spirit of England.

His lot was cast in high places, to which he rose by dint of great ability and indomitable perseverance in his office.  He talks with the King, the Duke of York, the Archbishop, and all the other great folks of the day; and no volume has thrown more light on the character of Charles the Second than his.  We see the King at the beginning kissing the Bible, and proclaiming it to be the thing which he loves above all other things.  He rises early in the morning, and practises others of the less important virtues.  We see him touching all sorts of people for the King’s evil, a process in which Pepys is greatly interested at first, but which palls when it has lost its novelty.  Similarly, the diarist is greatly excited on the first occasion when he actually hears the King speak, but soon begins to criticise him, finding that he talks very much like other people.  He describes the starvation of the fleet, the country sinking to the verge of ruin, and the maudlin scenes of drunkenness at Court, with a minuteness which makes one ashamed even after so long an interval.  However revolting or shameful the institution may be, the fact that it is an institution gives it zest for the strange mind of Pepys.  He is, however, capable also of moralising.  “Oh, that the King would mind his business!” he would exclaim, after having delighted himself and his readers with the most droll accounts of His Majesty’s frivolities.  “How wicked a wretch Cromwell was, and yet how much better and safer the country was in his hands than it is now.”  And often he will end the bewildering account with some such bitter comment as the assertion “that every one about the Court is mad.”

In politics he had been a republican in his early days, and when Charles the First’s head fell at Whitehall, he had confided to a friend the dangerous remark that if he were to preach a sermon on that event he would choose as his text the words, “The memory of the wicked shall rot.”  The later turn of events gave him abundant opportunities for repenting of that indiscretion, and he repents at intervals all through his Diary.  For now he is a royalist in his politics, having in him not a little of the spirit of the Vicar of Bray, and of Bunyan’s Mr. By-ends.