My Lord,--Now I am at rest, for I am come to the haven where I
have long expected to be. On Friday last (June 23rd), when I
had been, in christening a child, at Epworth, I was arrested in
my churchyard by one who had been my servant, and gathered my
tithe last year, at the suit of one of Mr. Whichcott's relations
and zealous friends (Mr Pinder) according to their promise when
they were in the Isle before the election. The sum was not
thirty pounds, but it was as good as five hundred. Now they
knew the burning of my flax, my London journey, and their
throwing me out of my regiment had both sunk my credit and
exhausted my money. My adversary was sent to, when I was on the
road, to meet me, that I might make some proposals to him.
But all his answer was that 'I must immediately pay the whole
sum, or go to prison.' Thither I went, with no great concern to
myself: and find much more civility and satisfaction here than
_in brevibus gyaris_ of my own Epworth. I thank God, my wife
was pretty well recovered and churched some days before I was
taken from her; and hope she'll be able to look to my family, if
they don't turn them out of doors as they have often threatened
to do. One of my biggest concerns was my being forced to leave
my poor lambs in the midst of so many wolves. But the great
Shepherd is able to provide for them and to preserve them.
My wife bears it with that courage which becomes her, and which
I expected from her.

I don't despair of doing some good here (and so I sha'n't quite
lose the end of living), and it may be, do more in this new
parish than in my old one: for I have leave to read prayers
every morning and afternoon here in the prison, and to preach