level at the church of Rome, but when it is, through a supposed sameness or resemblance, to wound that of England, which they can't so decently attack by name.

Temp. This also is very observable. New fashions I find in religion as well as in clothes, or rather new improvements on the old, are manufactured abroad, and varied to the taste of a people more immediately subject to the changeable dominion of the moon than any other nation, and indeed, than all other things, except the tides. The new opinion, and the new cuff, of the year, are imported with the same wind.

Shep. By this time, sir, I believe you have enough of a conversation, that turns on topics so very foreign to the thoughts of a young gentleman. Your disposition to forsake a way of thinking most opposite to my own, and, if I mistake not, more dangerous to yourself than any other you could have had the misfortune to fall into, hath encouraged me to be too tedious and talkative; for which I have no other apology to make, but that of assuring you, from a heart which knows not how to dissemble, that I was prompted to run out into such lengths, only by a sincere affection and zeal for your happiness.

Temp. I cannot tell, whether your conversation, or the motive that gave birth to it, afforded me the greater pleasure. I regard your acquaintance, Mr. Shepherd, as the greatest blessing of my life; and with good reason; for you have been the means, under God, of restoring me to the use of my senses, and my understanding, and in so doing, to the dignity of my nature, from whence I had unhappily lapsed into blindness and brutality.

Shep. I bless God, whose wisdom and power can make even me, unworthy and contemptible as I am, the instrument of so much good.

Temp. And I have too much reason to be thankful for his compassion, shewn to me through you, not to make his servant taste the effects of that gratitude, which I cannot, at present, otherwise so well manifest to his Master. Mr. Dechaine and his chaplain have taken great offence, not only at your freedom, but your principles; insomuch that measures are already considered of, to distress you in your present situation.

Shep. His will be done, for whose service I esteem it a small matter to suffer all that Deism itself can dictate. Am I then to have the honour of a Confessor, who think myself unworthy to stand among the meanest of his servants?

Temp. You are indeed to have the honour and merit, but not the suffering: that, if you will give me leave, I intend to provide against. Your tenderness for me hath made a man your enemy, who is too powerful for you to cope with. I should therefore give but an ill account of the principles you have revived in me, should I leave you dependent on his benevolence, which he intends to shew you by all imaginable mortifications, those being, as he says, on your own principles, the chief ingredients in that discipline, which is necessary to train you to a true Christian humility. No tenant hereafter is to make you a single present; and not only your little ecclesiastical income, but your lease too, is to be disputed at law. You will pardon me, sir, if I say, I rejoice at this, because it throws you into my hands, and leaves you no room to decline the offer I am going to make you. If you will remove to my seat, you shall have a handsome apartment, and somewhat more by year, than the profits both of your lease and parish.

Shep. I was always awkward at acknowledgments; but your goodness, on this occasion, so confounds me, that I know not what to say.

Temp. I enter a caveat against all acknowledgments. Will you go with me? Will you consent to be my friend, and to improve on the good foundation you have laid in me?

Shep. I am absolutely the most unfit man in the world to live in a great family. I know nothing of ceremony and politeness, and am too old to learn. Besides, the frequent indispositions, brought on me by age and trouble, would make it extremely inconvenient, both to my dear patron and myself, to take up my abode in his house. The relation, who manages my little farm, and my other affairs for me, who comes between me and all worldly occasions of vexation, is also the only man on earth who can comfort me in my illnesses.

Temp. I begin to feel a selfish uneasiness at hearing you are sickly; because for the future I shall suffer a share of

every evil that afflicts you, and, on every attack of your disorder, shall be under apprehensions of losing a second father.

Shep. Your goodness does more honour to Christianity, than all that is said for it in the apologies of divines.

Temp. It is more in regard to your satisfaction than my own, that I will propose another scheme to you, better suited to your inclinations and state of health. On the farther side of my gardens, which are pretty extensive, stands a neat farm-house, with convenient offices, orchards, &c. To this I can annex a little parcel of grounds, and a small annuity, on which you, your relation, and two or three servants, may be as happy, as ease, innocence, and retirement, can make you. I will furnish the house, stock the farm, and provide it with all the necessary implements of husbandry. There is a door, opening out of my gardens into the fields I intend for you, to which you shall have a key, and another to my library, where you will find about three thousand volumes, collected by my father and grandfather, who were men of learning and taste. These you may use at your discretion, either in the library, or at your own house.

Shep. You open to me the most pleasing prospect that a well-disposed mind can possibly entertain itself within this world. But with what face could I accept of so much for nothing?

Temp. Do not mistake me. You have already paid the fine for this little tenure, which notwithstanding, I intend to let you at a very great rent. Somewhat more than an equivalent for them must come in to me, my family, and my other tenants. You shall be my almoner, and adviser in every thing. Your conversation is to be my chief entertainment; your exhortations and reproofs, my guides to happiness; and, that I may not too selfishly confine your talents and piety to my own use, you shall preach, visit the sick and poor, and do the other duties of a clergy man, as often as you please. Our poor sorry parson will be pleased to get an assistant, without a salary. This I tender, sir, as an offering to God, and as the first fruits of my return to him from principles odious in his sight, and a life of folly.

Shep. Undoubtedly he accepts of it as such, although I cannot, without offending him, desert a post that is now be

come of more importance than formerly, when there was no one to corrupt the principles of my flock.

Temp. As all you can wish for, is the power of doing good, will you not be able to do more in my neighbourhood, when aided by my fortune and influence, than here, opposed by those of Mr. Dechaine?

Shep. God only knows, and to him I submit the event. I love my hitherto good and innocent people, and cannot desert them in the midst of the danger they are threatened with, either through dread of the persecution I am to suffer at the hands of one gentleman, or through the desire of all those worldly comforts that are proposed to me by another. I am, however, in extreme anxiety, lest you, dear sir, should imagine, the refusal of your most generous offer proceeds from the smallest distrust of your constancy, or the most remote apprehension of your grudging the bounty, great as it is, which you have tendered.

Temp. I am fully persuaded, your soul is incapable of such a thought. Although it grieves me that I cannot more closely unite you to me, yet I dare not farther dispute the justness of your resolution, which hath something in it, that appears awful and sacred to me. But I hope, after sharing thus, by my resignation, in your sufferings, you will grant me what I am going to ask.

Shep. You can hardly ask any thing of me, which, considering what hath passed between us, you are not fully entitled to receive.

Temp. In the first place then, I ask your friendship, and every testimony that can be given of it, in your closet, in your letters, and by your visits to my house, as often as you can be spared from your duty here. In the next place, you must give me leave, in case I cannot soften Mr. Dechaine, who wants neither compassion nor good-nature, nor prevail on him to lay aside a resentment so unworthy of a gentleman, to make, out of my superfluity, some small provision against the distresses of my friend, and his relation.

Shep. As to my friendship, and the utmost demonstrations I can give of it, if I can commute them for yours, I shall make a most advantageous exchange. And as to your kind intentions to relieve me, in case I should be distressed, the rules of friendship will not suffer me to lay a disobling

ing bar against them. However, I must insist, that, my relation and I being the best judges of our own wants, you shall do nothing till he points out the proper season for that purpose.

Temp. This latter condition is a little hard; but due regard shall be had to your modesty, as well as your necessities. My dear and worthy friend, farewell.

Shep. Farewell, good sir; and, that you may be always happy, stand fast in the faith; quit you like a man; be strong. Stand fast in the liberty, wherewith Christ hath made you free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage.'

END OF VOL. IV.

Printed by J. F. Dove, St. John's Square.