_January 11, 1669._--Calling at the New Exchange for a book or two to send to Mr Shepley and thence home.... Thence to the New Exchange, to buy some things; and among others my wife did give me my pair of gloves, which, by contract, she is to give me in her £30 a year. _February 4, 1669._--So to the New Exchange, and thence home to my letters. _February 15, 1669._--Thence to my cozen Turner's, where, having ... been told by her that she had drawn me for her Valentine, I did this day call at the New Exchange, and bought her a pair of green silk stockings and garters and shoe-strings, and two pair of jessimy gloves, all coming to about 28s. _March 3, 1669._--After the play we to the New Exchange. _March 8, 1669._--I had walked to the New Exchange and there met Mr Moore. _April 7, 1669._--I to the New Exchange to talk with Betty, my little sempstress. HANNAH MORE AND GARRICK'S FUNERAL Adelphi, _Feb. 2, 1779_. We (Miss Cadogan and myself) went to Charing Cross to see the melancholy procession. Just as we got there, we received a ticket from the Bishop of Rochester, to admit us into the Abbey. No admittance could be obtained but under his hand. We hurried away in a hackney coach, dreading to be too late. The bell of St Martin's and the Abbey gave a sound that smote upon my very soul. When we got to the cloisters, we found multitudes striving for admittance. We gave our ticket, and were let in, but unluckily we ought to have kept it. We followed the man, who unlocked a door of iron, and directly closed it upon us and two or three others, and we found ourselves in a tower, with a dark winding staircase, consisting of half a hundred stone steps. When we got to the top there was no way out; we ran down again, called, and beat the door till the whole pile resounded with our cries. Here we staid half an hour in perfect agony; we were sure it would be all over: nay, we might never be let out; we might starve; we might perish. At length our clamours brought an honest man--a guardian angel, I then thought him. We implored him to take care of us, and get us into a part of the Abbey whence we might see the grave. He asked for the Bishop's ticket, we had given it away to the wrong person, and he was not obliged to believe we ever had one: yet he saw so much truth in our grief, that though we were most shabby, and a hundred fine people were soliciting the same favour, he took us under each arm--carried us safely through the crowd, and put us in a little gallery directly over the grave, where we could see and hear everything as distinctly as if the Abbey had been a parlour. Little things sometimes affect the mind strongly! We were no sooner recovered from the fresh burst of grief than I cast my eyes, the first thing, on Handel's monument and read the scroll in his hand, "I know that my Redeemer liveth." Just at three the great doors burst open with a noise that shook the roof; the organ struck up, and the whole choir advanced to the grave, in hoods