Dear Paige,  thank you for your expeditious Management of the matters of the arms, which I have word from Mr Lear are enroute Hampden House.

Please deliver enclosed by your hand only to Firth Elder on Lombard-Street. Please observe his reading of it and obtain verbal confirmation that he understands.

Please advance Firth Younger travel-money to Portsmouth; those rumors on some Cavalier to seize the town for Carolus. Remind Firth that he is not to engage in other wasteful behavior, observe tumblers and acrobats, take fencing or dancing lessons, and all suchlike.

Departed St Albans before Dawn; to London in a Manner so Plodding I cannot but Think the Army, marching behind us, may Overtake us and teach the City first. Essex Dawdling Hourly for Pipes, a sup, &c &c &c until even Col Hampden, the most patient and forebearing of Christian Men, pursed his lips in a way I know connotes Annoyance; Capt Cromwell (his troop serving as Screen) positively Beet-red with impatience. Edmund galloping by every Once in a while and fixing me with a look designed I suppose to indicate at once his Great and Righteous Wrath, and Intention to achieve a sort of Satisfaction I suppose by Beating me about the head and Neck. Arrived London appx 3 of the Clock, Essex met by the Lord-Mayor and the Aldermen, and great Cheering crowds. I excused myself and rode to Westminster.

Warwick Castle, a third night – the road to London open, the King (it’s understood) a day’s march from Oxford. Essex counting men: fewer than hoped for; it would seem more than a few, sadly enough, having concluded from the Battle they made a terrible Mistake, and thus took the Reasoned decision to Discharge themselves from the Service. The London regiments hold firm, so too (most of) Col Hampden’s and it must be said the troop of Capt Cromwell, which shadowed the King’s army as it left Banbury and gave chase to Rupert after his horse attacked our baggage-train.

The night of October 23 -- Reached Radway, after chasing the sounds of the Guns all afternoon, appx seven of the clock; wounded men, great groaning and blood, women washing and binding in rags, etc; at which realize I’ve galloped straight into the Camp of the King, tho impossible to tell if that I’m witnessing is the Coin of Victory, or the Agony of defeat. Whilst endeavoring to determine Same, up trots a Horseman, who asks me my Business, and it is none but Sir Philip Clucas, of Aldborough, Yorks; one of my few Friends from my Inglorious interlude at Court. Why hello Holyfen, he says, come to Rejoice as we Drink our bitter Cup? I said, Is this Defeat? And Sir P says, A great Victory, it isn’t, who then bade me Follow him.

Yesterday saw Ralph, his Countenance somewhat forlorn, woebegone, etc; near to the Exchange, at the Periphery of a Gaggle of Merchant Adventurers and East India Men, yattering on about something or other for which his Opinion was not required. Hello Ralph, I said, two of my Pretend-Thug actors (Overton and Morris) behind me. How is your commerce? And why the Red ribbon? That in reference to a device in his Hat, an Obnoxiously bright Bow of an aggressive Red; the Monopolists wore them as well. He grabbed for the Hilts of his sword, and said, I’ll not be assaulted in the Street, you Brute. I said, that was not my Intention, and much to my surprise, a reasonably Civil conversation followed.

The Red ribbons, Ralph said, signify the King’s men, and those who expect, in the coming weeks, a Crushing Victory over the Rebels and Traitors, and his Triumphal march into London.

To Parliament again today; where Gratified to learn that Anglia Rediviva of the 10^th instant, the story on the matter of Mr Fountaine, has been declared an Obnoxious Publication by some fool of a committeeman, I assume because I refused to name Fountaine a Malignant for declining to Contribute to the War Fund on the basis of the Petition of Right. A veritable Bacchanal of trouble for the poor man; yesterday he was stripped of his Arms, and remanded to the Gatehouse, and otherwise held up for public Censure and calumny. At any rate, extant copies of that Number of A.R. to be Burned publicly at Cheapside, tonight, or perhaps Tomorrow. I believe I shall attend; half-suspecting that this may be the most Significant recognition my poor Scribblings ever receive.

It is a day much like any other in the past two years, meaning the Streets and the Booksellers are crawling with rumors and news, as an filthy bed does Lice, to wit:

That Parliament intents to assess the Pewter of every household in London, Westminster, and the Suburbs, and lay Excise taxes thereon. This is Not True; and Parliament as ordered that the Authors of these malignant rumors be discovered, apprehended, and brought before the House, there to receive their just Punishment.

There is a great quantity of Arms, Ordnance, and Ammunition, in Bristol, for conveyance to Wales, for the use of the Marquis of Hertford, recently impeached for High Treason, against the Parliament. This is a True. The Mayor of Bristol, &c have been ordered to Discover the munitions, and not allow them to be transported to Wales. They will meet with small Success in this regard; the estimable Paige having already seized it, and sequestered in my Warehouse; from which I will convey to Col Hampden in Worcester.

Dr Crisp once advised I should maintain a journal, therein recording musings (idle and otherwise), thoughts, struggles against the residue of Adam, despair, temptation etc; an exercise that lasted appx two weeks, when it occurred to me, should it ever happen my foot shall slide toward grave Error, God would to me indicate in a manner other than my own Scribblings. And more important, it is likely the preference of God that I be up and doing, and not sit idle like some Cistercian, chewing on the dry crusts of imagined Sin and the husks of the Old Law, with all of the great Waste of time attendant thereunto.

Dear Firth.

I like the idea of “Portraits of Tyranny.” I question Nell as the first Portrait, however. Absent lurid details of her Strumpetry – which would fascinate the Vulgar, but Offend the readers of Anglia Rediviva; and which I absolutely forbid you to seek to obtain – she’s really just a rather Dull girl whose head is overstuffed with the sort of foolery one sees in stage plays (did I mention they’ve been banned by an Act of Parliament? Certainly you must know, that being in the start of the month. There are many Actors about, looking for Work).

Col. Hampden,

Thank you for your letter, which reached me today in Ivinghoe. I thought it best to absent myself from London temporarily, given the affairs with Halpenny and it would seem a considerable part of the Merchant Adventurers and the East India men. Most recently Firth (goldsmith, Lombard street, who keeps my Capital) was prevailed on to cease business with me, or lose trade with them; though he made a brave face of it, I could never be the cause of an honest tradesman’s Ruin. What’s mine is thus Distributed, in several strong places; should one fall, there are other Redoubts.