Came to visit me the old Marquis of Argyle (since executed), Lord Lothian, and some other Scotch noblemen, all strangers to me. Note, the Marquis took the turtle-doves in the aviary for owls.
The Earl of Southampton (since Treasurer) and Mr. Spencer, brother to the Earl of Sunderland, came to see my garden.
7th July, 1656. I began my journey to see some parts of the northeast of England; but the weather was so excessively hot and dusty, I shortened my progress.
8th July, 1656. To Colchester, a fair town, but now wretchedly demolished by the late siege, especially the suburbs, which were all burned, but were then repairing. The town is built on a rising ground, having fair meadows on one side, and a river with a strong ancient castle, said to have been built by King Coilus, father of Helena, mother of Constantine the Great, of whom I find no memory save at the pinnacle of one of their wool-staple houses, where is a statue of Coilus, in wood, wretchedly carved. The walls are exceedingly strong, deeply trenched, and filled with earth. It has six gates, and some watchtowers, and some handsome churches. But what was shown us as a kind of miracle, at the outside of the Castle, the wall where Sir Charles Lucas and Sir George Lisle, those valiant and noble persons who so bravely behaved themselves in the last siege, were barbarously shot, murdered by Ireton in cold blood, after surrendering on articles; having been disappointed of relief from the Scotch army, which had been defeated with the King at Worcester. The place was bare of grass for a large space, all the rest of it abounding with herbage. For the rest, this is a ragged and factious town, now swarming with sectaries. Their trading is in cloth with the Dutch, and baize and says with Spain; it is the only place in England where these stuffs are made unsophisticated. It is also famous for oysters and eringo root, growing hereabout, and candied for sale.
Went to Dedham, a pretty country town, having a very fair church, finely situated, the valley well watered. Here, I met with Dr. Stokes, a young gentleman, but an excellent mathematician. This is a clothing town, as most are in Essex, but lies in the unwholesome hundreds.
Hence to Ipswich, doubtless one of the sweetest, most pleasant, well-built towns in England. It has twelve fair churches, many noble houses, especially the Lord Devereux's; a brave quay, and commodious harbor, being about seven miles from the main; an ample market place. Here was born the great Cardinal Wolsey, who began a palace here, which was not finished.
I had the curiosity to visit some Quakers here in prison; a new fanatic sect, of dangerous principles, who show no respect to any man, magistrate, or other, and seem a melancholy, proud sort of people, and exceedingly ignorant. One of these was said to have fasted twenty days; but another, endeavoring to do the like, perished on the 10th, when he would have eaten, but could not.
10th July, 1656. I returned homeward, passing again through Colchester; and, by the way, near the ancient town of Chelmsford, saw New Hall, built in a park by Henry VII. and VIII., and given by Queen Elizabeth to the Earl of Sussex, who sold it to the late great Duke of Buckingham, and since seized on by Oliver Cromwell (pretended Protector). It is a fair old house, built with brick, low, being only of two stories, as the manner then was; the gate-house better; the court, large and pretty; the staircase, of extraordinary wideness, with a piece representing Sir Francis Drake's action in the year 1580, an excellent sea-piece; the galleries are trifling; the hall is noble; the garden a fair plot, and the whole seat well accommodated with water; but, above all, I admired the fair avenue planted with stately lime trees, in four rows, for near a mile in length. It has three descents, which is the only fault, and may be reformed. There is another fair walk of the same at the mall and wilderness, with a tennis-court, and pleasant terrace toward the park, which was well stored with deer and ponds.
11th July, 1656. Came home by Greenwich ferry, where I saw Sir J. Winter's project of charring sea-coal, to burn out the sulphur, and render it sweet. He did it by burning the coals in such earthen pots as the glass men melt their metal, so firing them without consuming them, using a bar of iron in each crucible, or pot, which bar has a hook at one end, that so the coals being melted in a furnace with other crude sea-coals under them, may be drawn out of the pots sticking to the iron, whence they are beaten off in great half-exhausted cinders, which being rekindled, make a clear, pleasant chamber-fire, deprived of their sulphur and arsenic malignity. What success it may have, time will discover.[55]
LONDON