Thomas Sydenham, who began practising medicine in King Street in 1655, is reputed by some to be the first Western physician to introduce the use of laudanum for the relief of pain ( the use of quinine for malaria is also accredited to him). However, some of his ideas were viewed as distinctly new-fangled, so Pepys/Hollier may either not have known of these specifics or perhaps did not trust them. Sam does not seem to have been given any effective pain relief for his operation for the stone.
Laudanum did not come fully into fashion until the next century.
I read this a little differently from Paul. Sam discovers that he is in a good position to "secure" the £60 loan out of the Sandwich plate that he holds and has already mentioned that the plate was probably brought to him in the first place as a security for the cash
Sandwich needs ready cash to meet a bill of exchange. Pepys can supply this, but holds the plate as security for the loan after having ascertained that his risk is well covered.
Probably the 'set or case of small instruments' that appears as the head definition in OED. Not, I think, a small pair of pincers with which to keep his eyebrows tidy.
Agreed, Nix. Apart from anything else, the royal personage mentioned immediately before this statement is, indeed, the King. Not minding his business is an accusation fairly often levelled at laisser-faire Charles, whereas James is usually reasonably attentive.
This just reminds me that we have heard very little of late of the state of Sam's bowels. In the earlier years of the diary he seemed quite often to be costive and to need to resort to physic, which in turn meant that he had to stay closeted at home the following day. This now rarely seems to happen. Is he eating a better diet? Has he found a less drastic answer to the problem than violent physic? He certainly doesn't appear to take more exercise.
To elaborate just a little on John's note above .....
We learnt that Pepys amassed 122 volumes either of music or about music and that he acquired an Arca Musarhythmica (a sort of 'difference machine' for enabling the user to identify orthodox four-part harmonies for a given melody-line).
The programme also presented a performance of "Beauty, retire" - very melancholy, though probably affecting if you're in that sort of mood. One can see why it didn't catch on and become a popular favourite.
Oatcakes, as suggested by the L&M glossary (Companion volume) makes good sense. They would (and do) make an acceptable supper eaten with cheese.
Oatcakes are fairly thin biscuits made from oatmeal (with sometimes a little added flour), a small quantity of fat and salt, all bound together with milk or water. The proportion of fat to meal is approximately 1:4.
Yes, but are we certain that a 17th century scotch cake and a 20th century scotch pancake are the same thing? I have found an early recipe for scotch cake that sounds remarkably like shortbread, but I'm not at all sure that that is what Pepys has bought either. Not a very substantial supper-dish.
"he's not the type of man to make a public display of his cowardice for laughs."
Indeed he's not, but do you think that he's having a tentative private laugh at himself here? We don't see much evidence of Sam's sense of humour in the diary, but I could persuade myself that all those repetitions of 'safely' imply a glimmering of self-ridicule in this instance.
Oh dear, always more difficult to prove beyond doubt that something didn't happen. No wonder that Sam is giving so much effort to getting all his ducks in a row.
I had made the same assumption as Fern though I find no direct evidence for either course of action. In general the office clerks are not part of the Pepys' social scene, so I take this to be a business (and politic) move on Sam's part.
A delightful note in L&M shows that the purchase of two yards of pure, fine, black cloth and five yards of cloth was made by Pepys (or his wife?) on this day. This is recorded in the ledgers of the draper, Sir William Turner. The cost came to £6 and the bill was settled on 29th December. (Pepys clearing his debts before the end of the year, we presume).
An L&M footnote suggests that this may have been the notebook containing prices for victualling provisions 1660-1661 and 1664-1667 (listed in Rawl. D 794).
TF - we really need a constitutional historian here. Perhaps the publication date cited (1769) gives a clue?
My tentative suggestion is that parliamentary privilege would have been maintained if the only reports that existed were reserved exclusively for the members themselves and lodged, perhaps, in the library of the house. It would have been circulation outside parliament that breached that privilege.
However, I'm getting out of my depth and would welcome clarification, like TF, from someone who has greater knowledge of English constitutional and political history.
At this date it was still officially a breach of parliamentary privilege to report who had spoken and what he had said in parliament. Anyone who did so could be fined. This policy of secrecy began to be eroded by 'leakage' during the 17th century (often for purposes of propaganda) but officially remained in force until the latter part of the 18th century, when punishment for the publication of parliamentary debates ceased to be enforced.
Sam is acquiring decidedly unofficial reports of the speeches in question.
Comments
First Reading
About Friday 20 December 1667
Mary • Link
Pain relief
Thomas Sydenham, who began practising medicine in King Street in 1655, is reputed by some to be the first Western physician to introduce the use of laudanum for the relief of pain ( the use of quinine for malaria is also accredited to him). However, some of his ideas were viewed as distinctly new-fangled, so Pepys/Hollier may either not have known of these specifics or perhaps did not trust them. Sam does not seem to have been given any effective pain relief for his operation for the stone.
Laudanum did not come fully into fashion until the next century.
About Wednesday 18 December 1667
Mary • Link
The deal with Sandwich.
I read this a little differently from Paul. Sam discovers that he is in a good position to "secure" the £60 loan out of the Sandwich plate that he holds and has already mentioned that the plate was probably brought to him in the first place as a security for the cash
http://www.pepysdiary.com/archive…
Sandwich needs ready cash to meet a bill of exchange. Pepys can supply this, but holds the plate as security for the loan after having ascertained that his risk is well covered.
About Sunday 15 December 1667
Mary • Link
Tweezers.
Probably the 'set or case of small instruments' that appears as the head definition in OED. Not, I think, a small pair of pincers with which to keep his eyebrows tidy.
About Tuesday 10 December 1667
Mary • Link
Pepys the frustrated composer.
Presumably it was, in part at least, to allay this deficiency that Pepys eventually acquired an Arca Musarhythmica.
About Sunday 8 December 1667
Mary • Link
A Prince that minds not his business.
Agreed, Nix. Apart from anything else, the royal personage mentioned immediately before this statement is, indeed, the King. Not minding his business is an accusation fairly often levelled at laisser-faire Charles, whereas James is usually reasonably attentive.
About Wednesday 4 December 1667
Mary • Link
Elizabeth's unquiet night.
This just reminds me that we have heard very little of late of the state of Sam's bowels. In the earlier years of the diary he seemed quite often to be costive and to need to resort to physic, which in turn meant that he had to stay closeted at home the following day. This now rarely seems to happen. Is he eating a better diet? Has he found a less drastic answer to the problem than violent physic? He certainly doesn't appear to take more exercise.
About Wednesday 4 December 1667
Mary • Link
Poor Elizabeth. What the late 18th century might have referred to as an attack of the "werry-go-nimbles."
About Sunday 1 December 1667
Mary • Link
To elaborate just a little on John's note above .....
We learnt that Pepys amassed 122 volumes either of music or about music and that he acquired an Arca Musarhythmica (a sort of 'difference machine' for enabling the user to identify orthodox four-part harmonies for a given melody-line).
The programme also presented a performance of "Beauty, retire" - very melancholy, though probably affecting if you're in that sort of mood. One can see why it didn't catch on and become a popular favourite.
About Wednesday 4 December 1667
Mary • Link
"waiting on the Duke of York today.."
So we are to understand that the duke has now recovered from smallpox. It must have been a fairly light attack, as previously reported.
About Scotch cakes
Mary • Link
Oatcakes, as suggested by the L&M glossary (Companion volume) makes good sense. They would (and do) make an acceptable supper eaten with cheese.
Oatcakes are fairly thin biscuits made from oatmeal (with sometimes a little added flour), a small quantity of fat and salt, all bound together with milk or water. The proportion of fat to meal is approximately 1:4.
About Scotch cakes
Mary • Link
Yes, but are we certain that a 17th century scotch cake and a 20th century scotch pancake are the same thing? I have found an early recipe for scotch cake that sounds remarkably like shortbread, but I'm not at all sure that that is what Pepys has bought either. Not a very substantial supper-dish.
About Friday 29 November 1667
Mary • Link
"he's not the type of man to make a public display of his cowardice for laughs."
Indeed he's not, but do you think that he's having a tentative private laugh at himself here? We don't see much evidence of Sam's sense of humour in the diary, but I could persuade myself that all those repetitions of 'safely' imply a glimmering of self-ridicule in this instance.
About Tuesday 26 November 1667
Mary • Link
It's a handsome gift indeed, the more so in view of all those deadly dull sermons of Mills's that Sam has sat through over the years.
About Saturday 23 November 1667
Mary • Link
"whereas, indeed, there was no such order."
Oh dear, always more difficult to prove beyond doubt that something didn't happen. No wonder that Sam is giving so much effort to getting all his ducks in a row.
About Wednesday 20 November 1667
Mary • Link
a working lunch?
I had made the same assumption as Fern though I find no direct evidence for either course of action. In general the office clerks are not part of the Pepys' social scene, so I take this to be a business (and politic) move on Sam's part.
About Monday 18 November 1667
Mary • Link
more expense at the tailor's
A delightful note in L&M shows that the purchase of two yards of pure, fine, black cloth and five yards of cloth was made by Pepys (or his wife?) on this day. This is recorded in the ledgers of the draper, Sir William Turner. The cost came to £6 and the bill was settled on 29th December. (Pepys clearing his debts before the end of the year, we presume).
About Monday 18 November 1667
Mary • Link
the little pocket market book.
An L&M footnote suggests that this may have been the notebook containing prices for victualling provisions 1660-1661 and 1664-1667 (listed in Rawl. D 794).
About Monday 11 November 1667
Mary • Link
In support of the idea that Nell was not best seen in tragedy, the following lines were allegedly written for her.
"We have been all ill-us'd, by this day's poet.
'Tis our joint cause; I know you in your hearts
Hate serious plays, as I do serious parts."
About Monday 4 November 1667
Mary • Link
TF - we really need a constitutional historian here. Perhaps the publication date cited (1769) gives a clue?
My tentative suggestion is that parliamentary privilege would have been maintained if the only reports that existed were reserved exclusively for the members themselves and lodged, perhaps, in the library of the house. It would have been circulation outside parliament that breached that privilege.
However, I'm getting out of my depth and would welcome clarification, like TF, from someone who has greater knowledge of English constitutional and political history.
About Monday 4 November 1667
Mary • Link
At this date it was still officially a breach of parliamentary privilege to report who had spoken and what he had said in parliament. Anyone who did so could be fined. This policy of secrecy began to be eroded by 'leakage' during the 17th century (often for purposes of propaganda) but officially remained in force until the latter part of the 18th century, when punishment for the publication of parliamentary debates ceased to be enforced.
Sam is acquiring decidedly unofficial reports of the speeches in question.