18th (Saturday).  Up, and my bookseller brought home books, bound—­the binding comes to 17s.  Advanced to my maid Bridget L1.  Sir W. Pen at the Office, seemingly merry.  Do hear this morning that Harman is committed by the Parliament last night, the day he come up, which is hard; but he took all upon himself first, and then when a witness come in to say otherwise, he would have retracted; and the House took it so ill, they would commit him.  Thence home to dinner with my clerks, and so to White Hall by water, 1s., and there a short Committee for Tangier, and so I to the King’s playhouse, 1s., and to the play of the “Duke of Lerma,” 2s. 6d., and oranges, 1s.  Thence by coach to Westminster, 1s., and the House just up, having been about money business, 1s.  So home by coach, 3s., calling in Duck Lane, and did get Des Cartes’ Musique in English,’ and so home and wrote my letters, and then to my chamber to save my eyes, and to bed.

19th (Sunday).  Lay long.  Roger Pepys and his son come, and to Church with me, where W. Pen was, and did endeavour to shew himself to the Church.  Then home to dinner, and Roger Pepys did tell me the whole story of Harman, how he prevaricated, and hath undoubtedly been imposed on, and wheedled; and he is called the miller’s man that, in Richard the Third’s time, was hanged for his master.

[The story alluded to by Pepys, which belongs not to the reign of Richard iii., but to that of Edward VI., occurred during a seditious outbreak at Bodmin, in Cornwall, and is thus related by Holinshed:  “At the same time, and neare the same place [Bodmin], dwelled a miller, that had beene a greate dooer in that rebellion, for whom also Sir Anthonie Kingston sought:  but the miller being thereof warned, called a good tall fellow that he had to his servant, and said unto him, ’I have business to go from home; if anie therefore come to ask for me, saie thou art the owner of the mill, and the man for whom they shall so aske, and that thou hast kept this mill for the space of three yeares; but in no wise name me.’  The servant promised his maister so to doo.  And shortlie after, came Sir Anthonie Kingston to the miller’s house, and calling for the miller, the servant came forth, and answered that he was the miller.  ’How long,’ quoth Sir Anthonie, ‘hast thou kept this mill?’ He answered, ‘Three years.’—­’Well, then,’ said he, ’come on:  thou must go with me;’ and caused his men to laie hands on him, and to bring him to the next tree, saieing to him, ’Thou hast been a busie knave, and therefore here shalt thou hang.’  Then cried the fellow out, and saide that he was not the miller, but the miller’s man.  ’Well, then,’ said Sir Anthonie, ’thou art a false knave to be in two tales:  therefore,’ said he, ‘hang him up;’ and so incontinentlie hanged he was indeed.  After he was dead, one that was present told Sir Anthonie, ’Surelie, sir, this was but the miller’s man.’—­’What then!’ said he, ’could he ever have