the
furniture of this most miscellaneous mind.

Everything in the world amuses him, and from first to last there is an
immense amount of travelling, both physical and mental. With him we
wander among companies of ladies and gentlemen walking in gardens, or
are rowed up and down the Thames in boats, and it is always exciting and
delightful. That is a kind of allegory of the man's view of life. But
nothing is quite so congenial to him, after all, as plays at the
theatre. One feels that he would never have been out of theatres had it
been possible, and in order to keep himself to his business he has to
make frequent vows (which are generally more or less broken) that he
will not go to see a play again until such and such a time. When the vow
is broken and the play is past he lamentably regrets the waste of
resolution, and stays away for a time until the next outburst comes. The
plays were then held in the middle of the day, and must have cut in
considerably upon the working-time of business men; although, to be
sure, the office hours began with earliest morning, and by the afternoon
things were growing slacker. The light, however, was artificial, and the
flare of the candles often hurt his eyes, and gave him a sufficient
physical reason to fortify his moral ones for abstention. His taste in
the dramatic art would commend itself to few moderns. He has no patience
with Shakespeare, and speaks disparagingly of _Twelfth Night_,
_Midsummer Night's Dream_, and _Othello_; while he constantly informs us
that he "never saw anything so good in his life" as the now
long-forgotten productions of little playwrights of his time. He would,
we suspect, prefer at all times a puppet show to a play; partly, no
doubt, because that was the fashion, and partly because that type of
drama was nearer his size. Throughout the volumes of the Diary there are
few things of which he speaks with franker and more enthusiastic delight
than the enjoyment which he derives from punchinello.

Next to the delight which he derived from the theatre must be mentioned
that which he continually found in music. He seems to have made an
expert and scientific study of it, and the reader hears continually the
sound of lutes, harpsichords, violas, theorbos, virginals, and
flageolets. He takes great numbers of music lessons, but quarrels with
his teacher from time to time. He praises extravagantly such music as he
hears, or criticises it unsparingly, passing on one occ