SIR LLEUELLIN JENKINS1 and Sir Joseph Williamson have been sent as plenipotentiaries to Nemeghen. They set off under the opposition of Saturn and Mars, so if their ambassadoring comes to any good I will never trust to astrology again! They are to attend a congress in Cologne to try and end our war with the Dutch. The Swedes will act as mediators.
. . .
My spirit is dejected2, but after this quartile aspect of Saturn and Mars, it will be better about Whitsuntide, for we are all governed by the planets just as the wheels and weights move the index of a clock. As soon as these ill aspects are over, and not before, I will treat with Mr Ogilby, who is a cunning Scot and must be held fast.
. . .
At last, Mr Ogilby3 has officially commissioned me to perform a survey of the County of Surrey. The licence, which he has signed, sealed and dated the 2nd of this month, requires, in His Majesty’s name, all Justices of the Peace, mayors, bailiffs, parsons, vicars, churchwardens, high constables, constables and headborows – in other words all His Majesty’s officers, ministers and subjects whatsoever – to aid and assist me in the conduct of my survey. I shall have free access to all public registers and other books, whereby the geographical and historical description of Surrey may be promoted or ascertained. I am delighted and will begin my perambulation of Surrey in about a fortnight. I will take notice of the county’s hundreds, parishes, villages and hamlets; the cities, corporate towns, market towns and fair towns; the houses of the nobility and gentry; castles, churches, chapels, monasteries, hospitals, schools, colleges; forests, woods, groves; waters, springs, baths; Roman ways, stations, coins and monuments, etc. And I will be sure to note any obsolete or peculiar words and any old customs I come across. In the meantime, I have some queries towards a description of Britannia to send Mr Wood.
. . .
Alas, I must wait4 another week or so to set off for Surrey, because my brother has lamed my good and handsome horse just as I need it. So now I shall have to ride my brother’s little nag. I have found a new servant: a pretty youth to wait on me who can read and write and loves ingenious things. I think he will do me good service on my perambulation.
I am still not free of the malicious aspects of Saturn, which will do me no good for two more years. I hope the delicate air and diversion of Surrey will cure my lassitude of spirit.
. . .
Dr Fell5, Dean of Christ Church, is making trouble for Mr Wood in Oxford and keeps trying to alter his book, for which I too have worked so hard. The History and Antiquities of the University of Oxford (Historia et antiquitates universitatis oxoniensis) will be published later this year in two volumes by the University Press, where Dr Fell is very influential. An undergraduate at Christ Church, Richard Peers, whom Mr Wood calls ‘a sullen, dogged, clownish and perverse fellow’, is translating the book into Latin and making vexatious changes that very much peeve Mr Wood.
I have sent6 Mr Wood some notes towards a description of Britannia.
. . .
Two days ago7, terrible flooding began. All the hay and grass on the low ground is spoiled, and enormous damage has been done.
Tonight I was in danger of being run through with a sword at Mr Burges’s chamber in Middle Temple.
I was with my friend Sir Robert Moray for three hours this morning; he seemed well enough, but he has died suddenly this evening around 8 p.m. This morning he drank at least half a pint of water, as was his custom. He died in his lodging in the leaded pavilion in the garden at Whitehall. He had just one shilling in his pocket, but the King will bury him.
Robert Moray’s death8 is a great loss, as I know he would have got some employment for me if I had needed it, if only he had lived. He was a good chemist and often assisted His Majesty in his chemical operations. He had the King’s ear as much as anyone and was indefatigable in his undertakings. He had promised to send me an account of some of the stone temples in Scotland and what the common people called them, but now death has prevented him. He was a courtier who would do courtesies for friendship’s sake. Mr Wood says he was an abhorrer of women, but this might be a gross mistake.
. . .
I leave for Surrey on Monday (the wet weather has hindered me so far).
I have decided9 not to include Southwark in my survey, since the great antiquary Mr Stowe carefully did it in folio (nine leaves) already. I will refer my readers to his work rather than repeat it.
I have decided to begin my own perambulation of the county in South Lambeth.
. . .
The celebrated River Thames10 washes its banks through the county of Surrey and divides it from Middlesex. The part of the Thames which lies between London Bridge11 and the Tower, as far as Blackwall, is generally called the Poole by the trading people; e.g. the orange-women, oyster-women, etc. say they bought things at the Poole, meaning this part of the Thames.
. . .
London Bridge was first built of wood and then, with thirty-three years of labour, finished with stone. There is a commonly received tradition that when this bridge was to be made, the River Thames was turned into Surrey by a channel drawn from somewhere towards Cuckold’s Point (I think Venerable Bede’s Chronicle mentions this). But making such a channel would have been a Herculean labour. It sounds more like old romance than true history.
. . .
It is generally agreed12 that the Tower of London was built by some of the Roman emperors. The great square tower (wherein is the magazine for gunpowder) is called Caesar’s Tower. At the posterior gate of the Tower, before the Great Conflagration, I saw many Roman bricks. Since the fire there is only a piece or part of it remaining, but it is still possible to see some Roman bricks.
. . .
At South Lambeth the farthest house is the house where the botanist and collector John Tradescant the Younger lived and showed his collection of rarities and curiosities, which he inherited from his father, John Tradescant the Elder, who was royal gardener to the late King. After his father’s death, John Tradescant the Younger was appointed Keeper of His Majesty’s gardens in his place.
The Tradescants’ garden at Lambeth was once stocked with choice plants, among them the rare Balm of Gilead tree. My friend Edmund Wylde had some layers of this tree, and grew it very well in Bedfordshire, until one hard winter the mice killed it. I have not heard of any other examples of it growing in England.
Very few rare plants remain here; there is only a very fair horse chestnut tree, some pine trees, sumach trees, Phylereas, etc. And at the entrance to the gate, over the bridge of the moat, are two vast ribs of a whale. Before John Tradescant the Younger died in 1662, people came to view his collection here and it was known as ‘The Ark’.
The Tradescant collection13 was given to my friend Mr Ashmole by Deed of Gift in 1659.
. . .
In the ditches14 about South Lambeth, Our Lady’s Thistle grows frequently. But on the journey between South Lambeth and Kingston towards the Thames side is the greatest abundance of Upright Blite, or All Feed, that ever I have seen.
. . .
East of Kingston15 on the rising of the hill stands the gallows, in dry gravelly ground, where they often find Roman urns.
. . .
All Saints’ Church16, Kingston-upon-Thames, is spacious and the steeple is leaded, wherein eight bells hang. Three of the Saxon kings were crowned here: Athelstan, Edwin and Eldred. The windows of the church are of several fashions, which is as much as to say they are of several ages, but most are of the time of King Richard II.
. . .
West of Kingston-upon-Thames, near Thames-side, is a spring that is cold in summer and warm in winter. It bubbles and is called Seething Well. The inhabitants wash their eyes in its water and drink it for health.
. . .
At Cobham17 there is a medicinal well that was discovered a few years ago by a countryman using the water in his food and giving it to his pigs. I am told that at the bottom of this well are stones like Bristol Diamonds.
. . .
At Norbury18 near Letherhed, Sir Richard Stidulph has 40,000 walnut trees. It is likely that there are more walnut trees in this county than there are in all England besides.
. . .
At Deepdene19, Sir Charles Howard of Norfolk has contrived a long valley in the most pleasant and delightful solitude for house, gardens, orchards and boscages that I have seen in England. From the top of the hill and vineyard there is a prospect over Sussex, towards Kent, and so to the sea.
I have spent today drawing a careful plan of Deepdene, but it deserves a poem! This place is a subject worthy of Mr Abraham Cowley’s Muse.
Sir Charles has shaped his valley in the form of a theatre with more than six narrow walks on the sides, like rows of seats, one above the other. They were made with a plough and are bordered by thyme (there are twenty-one varieties in this garden), cherry trees and myrtles. There are many orange trees and syringas too, which are in flower at this time of year. The pit (or bottom of the valley) is full of rare flowers and choice plants.
The gardens are tended by two pretty lads who wonderfully delight in their occupation and the lovely solitude. It is as though they are outside this troublesome world and live in the state of innocency.
There is a cave on the left-hand side of the hill, thirty-six paces long, four broad and five yards high, and two thirds of the way up the hill there is another subterranean walk through which there is a vista over all of southern Surrey towards the sea.
There is a vineyard20 of about eight acres on the south side of the hill. On the west side there is a little building, which Sir Charles uses as a laboratory and oratory.
The house was not made for grandeur, but for retirement. It is a noble hermitage: neat, elegant and suitable to the modesty and solitude of its proprietor, who is a Christian philosopher, who lives up to those of primitive times.
On the orders of Sir Charles, his steward, Mr Newman, gave me a very civil entertainment. The pleasure of the garden, etc. was so ravishing that I can never expect enjoyment beyond it, except in the Kingdom of Heaven. It is an epitome of paradise; an imitation of the Garden of Eden.
. . .
I have copied21 a draft of the River Mole from Sir Charles Howard’s map of the Manor of Dorking.
. . .
As I rode22 over Albury Down, I was wonderfully surprised by the prodigious snails there, which are two or three times as big as our common snails.
On Letherhed Down23 there is a perfect Roman way in the road from London to Dorking. I asked the shepherds if there are any traces of it on Bansted Downs, but they know not. The shepherds here use a half horn nailed to the end of a long staff, with which they can throw a stone a good way to keep their sheep within their bounds or from going into the corn. I have seen pictures of such staffs in some old hangings and at the front of the first edition of Sir Philip Sidney’s Arcadia, but never saw the thing itself but on these downs.
. . .
In Albury Park24 there is a spring called Shirburn Spring which breaks out at the side of the hill, over which is built a handsome banqueting house, surrounded by trees, which yield a pleasant solemn shade. Below the house is a pond that entertains you with the reflection of the trees above. Albury was purchased by Sir Thomas Howard, Lord Marshall in 1638.
. . .
Today I went to find the place of the great mathematician Mr William Oughtred’s burial in the chancel at Albury, on the north side near the cancelli. I had much ado to find the very place where the bones of this learned and good man lay. When I first asked his son Ben, who lodges with my cousin, where to look, he said his grief for his father was so great that he could not remember. But after he put on his considering cap (which is nothing like his father’s), he did remember.
In the chancel there is no memorial to Mr Oughtred, which grieves me, so I will ask Mr John Evelyn to speak to our patron the Duke of Norfolk about bestowing a decent marble inscription to perpetuate his fame. He did honour to the English nation as a mathematician and was rector of this parish for many years. During his lifetime he was more famous abroad than at home; foreign mathematicians would travel to England to consult him. He died on 13 June 1660, aged eighty-eight. His great friend Ralph Greatrex said he died for joy at the coming-in of the King. ‘And are you sure he is restored?’ Mr Oughtred asked. ‘Then give me a glass of sack to drink his sacred majesty’s health.’ Afterwards his spirits were on the wing to fly away.
I have questioned Ben closely about his father and whether he died a Roman Catholic. Ben insists not. It is true that when Mr Oughtred was sick, some came to tamper with him, but he was past understanding. Ben was by his bedside.
Ben remembers25 how his father talked much of the philosopher’s stone. He remembers him using quicksilver, refined and strained, and gold, to try and make the stone. Mr Oughtred was an astrologer who foretold luckily. His wit was always working – I say the same of myself – and he would draw lines and diagrams in the dust.
. . .
I went to see the remains26 at Blackheath, where there is a toft (as the lawyers term it) of a Roman temple on a plain a stone’s throw eastwards from the road to Cranley. Some of the Roman tiles here are of a pretty kind of moulding with eight angles and there are some lumps of stone with Roman mortar. Ben Oughtred says that forty years ago one might have seen the remains plainly which were as high as the top of the banks are now. I deduced from a piece of extant ground pinning that it was square, since it goes straight at an angle. But two years ago the wall was dug up for stone and brick, and now the remains are so mangled that I cannot tell what to make of them. I found some pieces of Roman tiles and brick on the heath, where there was a great deal of building in old times. The tradition of the old people hereabouts is that there was once a river that ran below the temple. And that is all I could discover. What a pity a drawing of the temple was not taken some hundred years ago. Posterity would have been grateful! But there were many more Roman temples in Britain of which no vestiges at all remain.
. . .
I have reached Guilford27. Here is a stately almshouse built of brick with a quadrangle and a noble tower with a turret over the gate. There is a fair dining room at the upper end where there is a picture of the founder, George Abbot, Archbishop of Canterbury. Here is also a picture of Sir Nicholas Kempe, the knight who gave a hundred pounds in his lifetime at the laying of the first stone and at his death five hundred more to this hospital: a worthy benefactor.
. . .
In Our Lady’s Chapel at Trinity Church in Guilford is a sumptuous monument of marble of Archbishop George Abbot. He was the son of a Sherman. When his mother was pregnant with him, she longed for pike, and dreamed that if she could eat pike her son would be a great man. The next morning, going down to the river to collect some water, she caught a pike in her pail and ate it.
. . .
Mayden-hair grows28 plentifully about Lothesley Manor (the seat of Sir William Moore) and about the heath nearby grows plentiful wild sage, St John’s Wort, whorehound and a great store of Chamaepitys or ground-pine, which the apothecaries make much use of: they send for it from beyond the sea.
. . .
Here at Frensham29 is an extraordinary great pond, made famous by the London fishmongers for the best carp in England. It contains 114 acres and is accounted three miles about.
. . .
Waverley Abbey is situated30 low, but in very good air, and is as romantic a place as most I have seen. Within the walls are sixty acres. The walls are very strong, chiefly of ragstone, ten foot high. There are also remains of a fair church and cloister, and handsome chapel, which is now a stable, larger than that at Trinity College, Oxford. The windows are of the same fashion as the chapel windows at St Mary’s Priory in Wiltshire.
Waverley was the mother church31 to the church at Farnham. The vicarage is a living of 80 li. per annum, in the gift of the Bishop of Winchester. My old tutor at Trinity College, Mr William Browne, became vicar of Farnham and lies buried here around the middle of the chancel, but without any memorial. I paid my respects to him today. He died of smallpox on 21 October 1669, after he had been vicar here for about eight years, appointed by Bishop Morley. He was born at Churchill in Dorset and his father was rector there. Like me he was educated at Blandford, then went on to Trinity College. He was an ingenious person, a good scholar and as admirable a disputant as any in the University at that time. It was my happiness to have been his pupil. He wrote often to me from Oxford after my father summoned me home during the civil wars.
. . .
Above the town32 of Farnham there is a stately castle, belonging to the Bishop of Winchester. At the beginning of the civil wars, in 1642, Sir John Denham of Egham was High Sheriff of this county. He secured the castle for the King for some time, but being so near to London, he could not hold it. It became a garrison for Parliament and was much damaged. After the wars, Bishop Morley repaired it, but without the advice of an architect, as may be seen from the way the windows are not placed exactly over one another. Not only does this weaken the building, it also offends the eye.
. . .
In Woking I spoke33 with a gravedigger today whose father gave him a rule whereby you may avoid digging a grave in ground where a corpse has already rotted. There is a certain plant – about the size of the middle of a tobacco pipe – which grows near the surface of the earth, but never appears above it. It is very tough and about a yard long, the rind of it is almost black and tender so that when you pluck it, it slips off, and underneath is red. It has a small button on the top, resembling the top of an asparagus. The gravedigger says he always finds two or three of these plants in a grave, and has promised to send me some. He is sure it is not a fern root, and finds that it springs from the putrefaction of the dead body. In this fine soil, graves quickly disappear: the wind and the scuffing of boys playing above them soon merge them back into the ground. So it is often not easy for the gravedigger to tell where graves have been before, but when he comes across the plant that feeds on putrefying flesh, he knows to dig no further. He tells me this holds true only for his own churchyard, and the one at Seend a mile or two away. Of others he would say nothing. The plant he described reminded me of µολη (moly), mentioned by Homer, except that Homer says it puts forth a little white flower just above the earth’s surface.
. . .
The cheese of this county34 is very bad and poor. They rob their cheese by taking out the butter, which they sell to London. They are miserably ignorant as to making dairy produce, except butter. A gentlewoman of Cheshire moved into these parts (near Albury) and misliking the cheese here sent for a dairymaid out of her own county. But when the dairymaid came she could not, with all her Cheshire, make any good cheese here.
. . .
Croydon market35 is considerable for oats.
. . .
Bordering on Hampshire36, Berkshire, Buckinghamshire and Middlesex lies the Hundred of Godley or Chertsey, which takes its name from the town Chertsey, lying on the banks of the River Thames.
. . .
I made diligent enquiry37 at Egham for Cooper’s Hill, the setting of Sir John Denham’s poem, which I remember printed at Oxford on brown paper during the war. But the inhabitants did not know any such place. At length an old man (Mr Ansted) sent his servant with me to the place.
. . .
I have reached Runnymede38 where the Great Charter – the Magna Carta – was first sealed in 1215.
I have had the pleasantest pilgrimage that ever any man has had I think since the Reformation. Strangers in Surrey were very civil to me, much more so than the ones I met on my perambulations of Wiltshire.
I shall go next to Sussex if the weather holds and the ways are travellable, and afterwards to either Berkshire or Oxfordshire.
I am still searching39 for answers to Mr Wood’s questions. He is still hard at work collecting information for his biographical register of the authors and bishops who have attended the University of Oxford since 1500.
. . .
Quaere40: if Mr John Evelyn, who has written on planting and gardening, is an Oxford man? I know him from the Royal Society, but would like to know him better. During my perambulation of Surrey I visited his house at Wotton. It has a good prospect, which I made a sketch of.
. . .
I think and hope41 that Mr Wood will help find me some money to ease the cost of my perambulation: it would be a token in return for all the information I have been collecting to help him in his researches.
. . .
I am back42 at my lodgings in London and have seen Mr Hooke and Sir Christopher Wren and have talked to them of my description of Surrey. I have another week of work to do the other side of the Thames, which I kept for last. I have taken great pains over this task, but with much delight. If Mr Ogilby deals honourably with me, he will print all the extracts of the records in the Tower and in the Domesday Book, which I have obtained, and it will be a pretty piece. But I begin to fear that Mr Ogilby is a fickle and subtle man who cannot be trusted. I suspect he might discard the notes I have so diligently collected and not include them in his printed work.
. . .
On this day James, Duke of York, whose first wife died two years ago, married the Italian Princess Mary of Modena. She is fifteen years old and widely regarded as an agent of the Pope.
. . .
I met Mr Ogilby43 and Mr Hooke at Garraway’s coffee house, which was, as usual, a hive of speculators and lotteries. Mr Hooke seemed weary.
Garraway’s is Mr Hooke’s favourite coffee house. It is in Exchange Alley, near the Royal Exchange. It was built above an old monastery crypt after the Great Conflagration. There are small rooms downstairs and a large coffee room upstairs, full of people reading or talking about the news.
My friend Christopher Wase44 – schoolmaster and scholar – has been commissioned by the Vice Chancellor and Regius Professor of Civil Law to report on the state of our free schools in England. He tells me it would greatly help to procure a table of the exhibitions for maintaining poor scholars at school or university. This is much needed as the corporations studiously suppress divulgence of their trusts, perhaps because they are afraid the funds will be seized if discovered. Mr Wase asks me to help him by seeing the Lord Mayor to this purpose. Here is a list of the questions about the free schools in each diocese that the enquiry will use to gather information:
. . .
Three days into my journey to complete my survey of Surrey my horse either broke out of the pound at Esher, or else was stolen. I have been searching for him and heard nothing of him ever since. I walked yesterday from Esher to Richmond on foot. In some respects I would rather do this work pedestrian than equestrian anyway. But by the middle of next week I shall either buy another horse or have a friend lend me one.
I am ashamed45 to have discovered that no one from Magdalen Hall wrote to thank Mr Hobbes for his copy of his works. It cost him 25s. to have the book printed and bound, but he was not even sent word from the college that it had been received.
I hope that my Templa Druidum is to be printed at last.
I have news that my horse is at Kingston.
. . .
I went to collect my horse: his fees for pounds, etc. came to eight shillings. I have learnt that Mr Ogilby has changed his mind and will make no use of my work after all (he will include no more than four or five pages on any county in his book, and will get what scraps he can out of existing books or by hearsay). Nor will he reimburse the expenses I have incurred all this time on his account: for God, not a shilling. So I have perambulated Surrey to my very great content but am out of purse by about 4 or 5 li. at least. God deliver me of such men. Mr Hooke believes he will be able to bring Mr Ogilby round again by next spring. I do not much care, but I should have been glad to go on and survey Sussex.
