120 ROBERT POCOCK. 



"Friday, 8th. Fine, mild, sunny. Saw in the 

 paper that the ship Ablierton, Captain Gilpin, had 

 arrived in Madras Roads September 24th last. In 

 this ship went Charles Pocock, my youngest son (as 

 baker). 



" Saturday, 9th. Fine day. Mr. Millen (the mayor), 

 kindly offered to be my friend (in case I could find a 

 friend). Some author has observed a man may think 

 himself happy if he finds six friends in his life. I have 

 often said I keep three books : a little one for my 

 friends, a large one for my acquaintances, and a 

 small one for my customers. My late wife used to say 

 our acquaintances were so numerous that we kept a 

 public-house without profit. The best sentiment to 

 give in company is, { From injudicious friends, good 

 Lord, deliver me/ 



" Sunday, I0th. Fine. Mr. Matthew Buchinger 

 called and dined and spent the day. He is a plain, 

 stout, blunt man, grandson of the famous Buchinger, 

 born without hands or feet in Germany. He lays 

 claim to the estate of the late George Arnold, Esq., 

 in this parish, lying to the south of Wilson's garden, 

 and extending from the Fair Field Road (now Bath 

 Street,) to Princess Street, so now called. At four 

 o'clock George Powell (having been conveyed to the 

 Odd Fellows' Hall, where he laid in state) was buried 

 in Gravesend churchyard, aged sixty-four, escorted 

 thereto by the society of which he was a member. 

 And no person enjoyed himself better than George, 

 when he had money and spirits ! He once imported 

 West India produce, as sugar, pepper, &c., and was 

 a member of that useful scientific society, formed some 

 years since by the writer of this article, and the 



