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From the Imposicion on Coles.
And are the Coles not the blackest Element, which with their Smoak hide the Su
Certainly they feed the Fires of this City, says he.
And where is the Light and Easinesse there? Since we take our Revenues from the Under-world, what does it Signifie if we also Build upon the Dead?
There was a Noise in the adjoining Chamber (it is two Rooms struck into one, and thus has more of an Eccho), a Noise like to someone's quick Steps and I broke off my Discourse as Sir Chris, walk'd in, accouter'd as the Boys that run with the Gazette -Hat under Arm, and Breathless, and yet despite his Age not so corpulent neither. Walter rose up in a fright and spilt the Inke upon his Draught (which was no great Loss), but Sir Chris, did not perceive anything of this and stepp'd up to me wheezing like an old Goat. Master Dyer, says he, the Commission are expecting your Report on the New Churches: if it be not done already get it done now, since they are in great Hast- -Hast is for Fools, I murmur'd beneath my Breath.
And your Church in the Spittle-Fields, is it near complete?
It needs only the Lead on the Portico.
Well make hast to buy it now, since Lead is under 9L a tun but in a fair way to go up by next month. And then Sir Chris, stood biting his under-lip like an Infant without his Toy or a Wretch at the Foot of the Gallows. And the other Churches, he asks after a Pause, are they well advanc'd?
I have fixed on their Situacon, I replied, and three already are being Laid.
I must have exact Plans of the Buildings as they stand at present, says he, and you must press the Joyner to build severall Moddells The Modells are of my own devising, Sir Christopher.
What you will, Master Dyer, what you will. And he waved at my Draughts with inexpressible Weariness before he departed, leaving the Mustiness of his Wig behind him. When I was young and vigorous, and first in his Service, I composed some verses on Sir Chris.: The Globe's thy Studye; for thy restless Mind In a less limit ca
Thy Portrait I admire: thy very lookes
Shew Wren is read in Farts as well as Books.
He that shall scan this Face may judge by it, Thou hast an Head peece that is throng'd with Shit.
But this was in another Time. Now I call'd out to Walter who linger'd in the Paymaster's Closet until Sir Chris, be gone. Did I tell you, says I when he returned to me, of the story of Nestor? And Walter shook his Head. Nestor, I continu'd, was the inventor of Mechanick Power, which is now so cryed up, and once he designed an Edifice of Gracefull Form but which was so finely contriv'd that it could bear only its own Weight. And Walter nodded sagely at this. It fell down, Master Pyne, with no other Pressure than the setting of a Wren on top of it. And he lets out a Laugh, which stops as short as it was begun like the Bark of a Dogge.
Walter is of a reserv'd Disposition and speaks little, but this is of no matter since it is a Temper like to my own. And be pleased to take a Scetch of his Figure as follows: He wears an old Coat with odd Buttons and a Pair of Trowsers patched in Leather so that he is all of a pickle.
His awkward Garb and his odd Trim (as they call it in the Office) make him an Object of Humour: Master Dyer's Gentleman, they call him.
But this is a fitting Title since thus can I mould him as the Baker moulds the Dough before he pops it in the Oven: I have turn'd him into a proper Scholar, and steer'd him safe among the Books which lie in his way. I acquainted him with certain Prints of the Aegyptian Obelisks, and advised him to studdy them well and copy them; I instructed him in my own Scriptures -in Aylet Sammes his Brita
I have only room to add: there is a mad-drunken Catch, Hey ho! The Devil is dead! If that be true, I have been in the wrong Suit all my Life.
But to return to the Thread of this History. Sir Chris, presses hard at our Heels, says I to Walter, and we must make an Account to the Commission: I will dictate it to you now and you must fair-write it later. And I clear my Throat, savoring the Blood in my Mouth. To the Honble. The Commission for Building Seven New Churches in the Cities of London and Westminster. Dated: 13 January 1712, from the Office of Works, Scotland Yard. Sirs, in obedience to your orders, I most humbly submit my Account, having been instructed by Sir Xtofer Wren, Surveyor to Her Majesty's Works, to have such Churches quite in my Charge. The weather being mighty favourable, there has been great forwardness in carrying on the New Church in Spittle-Fields. The masonry of the West End is now intirely com- pleated and the Portico is to be covered with Lead presently. The Plaistering is pretty forward, and withi