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.]