In the exploits of Hawke, Rodney, or
Nelson, this dead Mr. Pepys of the Navy Office had some
considerable share. He stood well by his business in the
appalling plague of 1666. He was loved and respected by some
of the best and wisest men in England. He was President of
the Royal Society; and when he came to die, people said of
his conduct in that solemn hour - thinking it needless to say
more - that it was answerable to the greatness of his life.
Thus he walked in dignity, guards of soldiers sometimes
attending him in his walks, subalterns bowing before his
periwig; and when he uttered his thoughts they were suitable
to his state and services. On February 8, 1668, we find him
writing to Evelyn, his mind bitterly occupied with the late
Dutch war, and some thoughts of the different story of the
repulse of the Great Armada: "Sir, you will not wonder at the
backwardness of my thanks for the present you made me, so
many days since, of the Prospect of the Medway, while the
Hollander rode master in it, when I have told you that the
sight of it hath led me to such reflections on my particular
interest, by my employment, in the reproach due to that
miscarriage, as have given me little less disquiet than he is
fancied to have who found his face in Michael Angelo's hell.
The same should serve me also in excuse for my silence in
celebrating your mastery shown in the design and draught, did
not indignation rather than courtship urge me so far to
commend them, as to wish the furniture of our House of Lords
changed from the story of '88 to that of '67 (of Evelyn's
designing), till the pravity of this were reformed to the
temper of that age, wherein God Almighty found his blessings
more operative than, I fear, he doth in ours his judgments.
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