11th.  Up betimes, and then away with Mr. Yeabsly to my Lord Ashly’s, whither by and by comes Sir H. Cholmly and Creed, and then to my Lord, and there entered into examination of Mr. Yeabsly’s accounts, wherein as in all other things I find him one of the most distinct men that ever I did see in my life.  He raised many scruples which were to be answered another day and so parted, giving me an alarme how to provide myself against the day of my passing my accounts.  Thence I to Westminster to look after the striking of my tallys, but nothing done or to be done therein.  So to the ’Change, to speake with Captain Cocke, among other things about getting of the silver plates of him, which he promises to do; but in discourse he tells me that I should beware of my fellow-officers; and by name told me that my Lord Bruncker should say in his hearing, before Sir W. Batten, of me, that he could undo the man, if he would; wherein I think he is a foole; but, however, it is requisite I be prepared against the man’s friendship.  Thence home to dinner alone, my wife being abroad.  After dinner to the setting some things in order in my dining-room; and by and by comes my wife home and Mrs. Pierce with her, so I lost most of this afternoon with them, and in the evening abroad with them, our long tour by coach, to Hackney, so to Kingsland, and then to Islington, there entertaining them by candlelight very well, and so home with her, set her down, and so home and to bed.

12th.  Up to the office very betimes to draw up a letter for the Duke of Yorke relating to him the badness of our condition in this office for want of money.  That being in good time done we met at the office and there sat all the morning.  At noon home, where I find my wife troubled still at my checking her last night in the coach in her long stories out of Grand Cyrus, which she would tell, though nothing to the purpose, nor in any good manner.

[Sir Walter Scott observes, in his “Life of Dryden,” that the romances of Calprenede and Scuderi, those ponderous and unmerciful folios, now consigned to oblivion, were, in their day, not only universally read and admired, but supposed to furnish the most perfect models of gallantry and heroism.  Dr. Johnson read them all.  “I have,” says Mrs. Chapone, “and yet I am still alive, dragged through ‘Le Grand Cyrus,’ in twelve huge volumes; ‘Cleopatra,’ in eight or ten; ‘Ibrahim,’ ‘Clelie,’ and some others, whose names, as well as all the rest of them, I have forgotten” ("Letters to Mrs. Carter").  No wonder that Pepys sat on thorns, when his wife began to recite “Le Grand Cyrus” in the coach, “and trembled at the impending tale.”—­B.]

This she took unkindly, and I think I was to blame indeed; but she do find with reason, that in the company of Pierce, Knipp, or other women that I love, I do not value her, or mind her as I ought.  However very good friends by and by, and to dinner, and after dinner up to the putting our dining room in order,