Being my birthday, and I now entering my great climacterical of 63, after serious recollections of the years past, giving Almighty God thanks for all his merciful preservations and forbearance, begging pardon for my sins and unworthiness, and his blessing on me the year entering, I went with my Lady Fox to survey her building, and give some directions for the garden at Chiswick; the architect is Mr. May,—somewhat heavy and thick, and not so well understood: the garden much too narrow, the place without water, near a highway, and near another great house of my Lord Burlington, little land about it, so that I wonder at the expense; but women will have their will.