rom
the extraordinary Pepys. There is a sense of propriety in him, and a
conscience of obeying the letter of the law and keeping up appearances
even in his own eyes. If he can persuade himself that he has done that,
all things are open to him. He will receive a bribe, but it must be
given in such a way that he can satisfy his conscience with ingenious
words. The envelope has coins in it, but then he opens it behind his
back and the coins fall out upon the floor. He has only picked them up
when he found them there, and can defy the world to accuse him of having
received any coins in the envelope. That was the sort of conscience
which he had, and whose verdicts he never seems seriously to have
questioned. He vows he will drink no wine till Christmas, but is
delighted to find that hippocras, being a mixture of two wines, is not
necessarily included in his vow. He vows he will not go to the play
until Christmas, but then he borrows money from another man and goes
with the borrowed money; or goes to a new playhouse which was not open
when the vow was made. He buys books which no decent man would own to
having bought, but then he excuses himself on the plea that he has only
read them and has not put them in his library. Thus, along the whole
course of his life, he cheats himself continually. He prefers the way of
honour if it be consistent with a sufficient number of other
preferences, and yet practises a multitude of curiously ingenious
methods of being excusably dishonourable. On the whole, in regard to
public business and matters of which society takes note, he keeps his
conduct surprisingly correct, but all the time he is remembering, not
without gusto, what he might be doing if he were a knave. It is a
curious question what idea of God can be entertained by a man who plays
tricks with himself in this fashion. Of Pepys certainly it cannot be
said that God "is not in all his thoughts," for the name and the
remembrance are constantly recurring. Yet God seems to occupy a quite
hermetically sealed compartment of the universe; for His servant in
London shamelessly goes on with the game he is playing, and appears to
take a pride in the very conscience he systematically hoodwinks.

It is peculiarly interesting to remember that Samuel Pepys and John
Bunyan were contemporaries. There is, as we said, much in common between
them, and still more in violent contrast. He had never heard of the
Tinker or his Allegory so far as his Diary