evidences as to how tailors lived, moved, and had their being some two centuries agone. The first glimpse we have of Pepys and his father is pleasant enough. On the 26th January, 1659-60, he writes:—“Home from my office to my Lord’s lodgings, where my wife had got ready a very fine dinner, viz. a dish of marrow-bones, a leg of mutton, a loin of veal, a dish of fowl, three pullets, and a dozen of larks all in a dish; a great tart, a neat’s tongue, a dish of anchovies, a dish of prawns, and cheese. My company was my father, my uncle Fenner, his two sons, Mr. Pierse, and all their wives, and my brother Tom.” The old man was still a tailor in the City, when his son, on the 12th of the following February, records:—“Walking with Mr. Kirton’s apprentice during evening church, and looking for a tavern to drink at, but not finding any we durst not knock: to my father’s,”—whom he found rejoicing that “the boys had last night broke Barebones’ windows.” Pepys was not ashamed of the old tailor, but, a fortnight later, took him with him “to Mr. Weddrington, at Christ’s College, who received me very civilly, and caused my brother to be admitted.” And indeed the old tailor saw very good company at home. In June, 1660, while yet in business, Pepys and his wife, on repairing thither, found “Sir Thomas Honeywood and his family were come of a sudden, and so we forced to be altogether in a little chamber, three stories high.” The old tailor moreover was a match-maker, in his way, for in August we find him “propounding Mr. John Pickering for Sir Thomas Honeywood’s daughter;” a propounding that was certainly made by one of the most singular of agents that ever undertook the business of the old firm of Cupid, Hymen, and Co. The father too appears to have been employed by the son; the latter got him to make “a black cloth coat out of a short cloak, to walk up and down in,” when London was in mourning, in September, for the Duke of Gloucester; and in October we find him again patronizing the paternal establishment, where he calls on a Sunday “to change my long black cloak for a short one (long cloaks being now quite out), but, he being gone to church, I could not get one.” When the old house was broken up, Pepys consented to take his sister from off the now ex-tailor’s hands. “I told him plainly,” he says, “that my mind was to take her not as a sister, but as a servant, which she promised me that she would, and with many thanks did weep for joy,” though it may have been for something else. Pepys was more generous to the old man himself. “My father,” he writes in December of this year, “did offer me six pieces of gold in lieu of six pounds that he borrowed of me the other day, but it went against me to take of him, and therefore did not.” He seems to have occasionally had a joyous dinner or two out of his ancient sire to compensate for the sacrifice. The death of Uncle Robert in the following year made a sort of country gentleman of our tailor, who needed