there walked along Watling street, as well as I could, every creature coming away loaden with goods to save, and here and there sicke people carried away in beds. Extraordinary good goods carried in carts and on backs. At last met my lord mayor in Canning street, like a man spent, with a handkercher about his neck. To the king's message he cried, like a fainting woman: "Lord! what can I do? I am spent; people will not obey me. I have been pulling down houses; but the fire overtakes us faster than we can do it." That he needed no more soldiers; and that, for himself, he must go and refresh himself, having been up all night. So he left me, and I him, and walked home, seeing people all almost distracted, and no manner of means used to quench the fire. The houses, too, so very thick thereabouts, and full of matter for burning, as pitch and tar, in Thames street; and warehouses of oyle, and wines, and brandy, and other things. Here I saw Mr. Isaake Houblon, the handsome man, prettily dressed and dirty, at his door at Dowgate, receiving some of his brother's things, whose houses were on fire; and, as he says, have been removed twice already; and he doubts (as it soon proved) that they must be in a little time removed from his house also, which was a sad consideration. And to see the churches all filling with goods by people who themselves should have been quietly there at this time. By this time it was about twelve o'clock; and so home, and there find my guests, which was Mr. Wood and his wife Barbary Sheldon, and also Mr. Moone: she mighty fine, and her husband, for aught I see, a likely man. But Mr. Moone's design and mine, which was to look over my closet and please him with the sight thereof, which he hath long desired, was wholly disappointed; for we were in great trouble and disturbance at this fire, not knowing what to think of it. However, we had an extraordinary good dinner, and as merry as at this time we could be. The two following extracts are taken from two pamphlets written in 1672, one opposing and the other favoring the new coffeehouses. of a Coffee A coffee-house is a lay conventicle, good-fellowship turned 319. The Puritan, ill-husbandry in masquerade; whither people come, Character after toping all day, to purchase, at the expense of their last House penny, the repute of sober companions; a rota-room, that, like Noah's ark, receives animals of every sort, from the precise diminutive band to the hectoring cravat and cuffs in folio; a nursery for training up the smaller fry of virtuosi in confident tattling, or a cabal of kittling criticks that have only learned to spit and mew; a mint of intelligence, that, to make each man his penny-worth, draws out into petty parcels what the merchant receives in bullion. He that comes often saves Newspapers two-pence a week in gazettes, and has his news and his coffee for the same charge, as at a three-penny ordinary they give in broth to your chop of mutton; it is an exchange where haberdashers of political small-wares meet, and mutually abuse each other and the publick with bottomless stories and headless notions; the rendezvous of idle pamphlets, and persons more idly employed to read them; a high court of justice, where every little fellow in a camlet cloke takes upon him to transpose affairs both in church and state, to shew reasons against acts of parliament, and condemn the decrees of general councils. . . . The room stinks of tobacco worse than hell of brimstone, Coffee and is as full of smoke as their heads that frequent it, whose humours are as various as those of Bedlam, and their discourses oftentimes as heathenish and dull as their liquor; that liquor, which, by its looks and taste, you may reasonably guess to be Pluto's diet-drink, that witches tipple out of dead men's skulls, when they ratify to Beelzebub their sacramental vows. When he comes to fill you a dish, you may take him for The landlord Guy Faux with a dark lanthorn in his hand, for no sooner can you taste it, but it scalds your throat, as if you had swallowed the gunpowder-treason. Though he seem never so demure, you cannot properly call him a Pharisee, for he never washes either out or inside of his pots or dishes till they be as black as an usurer's conscience; and then, only scraping off the contracted soot, makes use of it, in the way of his trade, in stead of coffee-powder; their taste and virtue being so near of in, he dares defy the veriest coffee-critic to distinguish them 320. CoffeeHouses Vindicated Benefits of coffee drinking Though he be no great traveler, yet he is in continual motion, but it is only from the fire-side to the table; and his tongue goes infinitely faster than his feet, his grand study being readily to echo an answer to that threadbare question, “What news have you, Master?" Then with a grave whisper, yet such as the room may hear it, he discovers some mysterious intrigue of state, told him last night by one that is a barber to the taylor of a mighty great courtier's man: relating this with no less formality than a young preacher delivers his first sermon. The opposite view is thus expressed. Though the happy Arabia, Nature's spicery, prodigally furnishes the voluptuous world with all kinds of aromaticks, and divers other rarities; yet I scarce know whether mankind be not still as obliged to it for the excellent fruit of the humble coffee-shrub as for any other of its more specious productions. For, since there is nothing we here enjoy, next to life, valuable beyond health, certainly those things that contribute to preserve us in good plight and eucracy, and fortify our weak bodies against the continual assaults and batteries of diseases, deserve our regards much more than those which only gratify a liquorish palate, or otherwise prove subservient to our delights. As for this salutiferous berry (of so general use through all the regions of the East), it is sufficiently known, when prepared, to be moderately hot, and of a very drying, attenuating, and cleansing quality; whence reason infers that its decoction must contain many good physical properties, and cannot but be an incomparable remedy to dissolve crudities, comfort the brain, and dry up ill humours in the stomach: in brief, to prevent or redress, in those that frequently drink it, all cold, drowsy, rheumatic distempers whatsoever that proceed from excess of moisture, which are so numerous that but to name them would tire the tongue of a mountebank. . . . It is the opinion of better heads than any on their shoulders, that this liquor is no other than that famous black broth of the Lacedemonians, so much celebrated by antiquity. For its taste, it is a pitiful childish humour always to indulge our palates: diseases are removed by bitter pills, and the most sanative potions are oftentimes very ungrateful to swallow; but the truth is, this drink has nothing in it of nauseousness, nor any taste but what, familiarised by a little use, will become pleasant and delightful. for the last The dull planet Saturn has not finished one revolution Coffeehouses through his orb since coffee-houses were first known amongst only known us; yet it is worth our wonder to observe how numerous fourteen years they are already grown, not only here in our metropolis, but in both universities, and most cities and eminent towns throughout the nation; nor, indeed, have we any places of entertainment of more use and general conveniency, in several respects, amongst us. First, in regard of easy expense. Being to wait for or meet For economy a friend, a tavern-reckoning soon breeds a purse-consumption: in an alehouse, you must gorge yourself with pot after pot, sit dully alone, or be drawn into a club for others' reckonings, or frowned on by your landlady, as one that cumbers the house and hinders better guests. But here, for a penny or two, you may spend two or three hours, have the shelter of a house, the warmth of a fire, the diversion of company, and conveniency, if you please, of taking a pipe of tobacco; and all this without any grumbling or repining. Secondly, for sobriety. It is grown, by the ill influences of For sobriety I know not what hydropick stars, almost a general custom amongst us, that no bargain can be drove, or business concluded between man and man, but it must be transacted at some publick-house. This, to persons much concerned in the world, must needs be very injurious, should they always run to taverns or ale-houses, where continual sippings, though never so warily, would be apt to fly up into their brains and render them drowsy and indisposed for business; whereas, having now the opportunity of a coffee-house, they repair thither, take each man a dish or two (so far from causing, that it cures any dizziness or disturbant fumes), and so, dispatching their business, go out more sprightly about their affairs than before. . . Lastly, for diversion. It is older than Aristotle, and will be For cheertrue when Hobbes is forgot, that man is a sociable creature fulness and delights in company. Now, whither shall a person, wearied 321. Barillon to Louis XIV with hard study or the laborious turmoils of a tedious day, repair to refresh himself? Or where can young gentlemen, or shop-keepers, more innocently and advantageously spend an hour or two in the evening than at a coffee-house? Where they shall be sure to meet company, and, by the custom of the house, not such as at other places, stingy and reserved to themselves, but free and communicative; where every man may modestly begin his story, and propose to or answer another, as he thinks fit. III. THE DEATH OF CHARLES II AND ACCESSION OF JAMES II The following letter from the French ambassador in England gives a vivid account of the circumstances surrounding the death of Charles II, and of his deathbed reconciliation to the Catholic church. I was five hours in the king's ante-chamber. The duke of York made me come into the bed-chamber several times, and spoke to me of what was passing without doors, and of the assurances given him from every quarter that all was very quiet in the town, and that he should be proclaimed king the moment the king his brother was dead. I went out for some time to go to the duchess of Portsmouth's apartment. I found her overwhelmed with grief. . . . She said to me, "Monsieur the ambassador, I am going to tell you the greatest secret in the world, and my head would be in danger if it was known. The king of England at the bottom of his heart is a Catholic; but he is surrounded with Protestant bishops, and nobody tells him his condition, or speaks to him of God: I cannot with decency enter the room, besides that the queen is almost constantly there: the duke of York thinks of his own affairs. . . . Go and tell him I have conjured you to warn him to think of what can be done to save the king's soul. He commands the room and can turn out whom he will. I returned instantly to find the duke of York . . . and told him what the duchess of Portsmouth said to me. He recovered |