"'Our next-door neighbour, undoubtedly,' asserted Mr. Ellison, a young barrister, residing at No. 31.

"When a man turns his back on this world, and is in good earnest resolved for everlasting life, his carnal friends, and ungodly neighbours, will pursue him with hue and cry; but death is at his heels, and he cannot stop short of the city of Refuge."

Thus like a stone (says Winstanley) did he trundle about, but never gathered any moss, dying but poor, as may be seen by his epitaph in Mr. Camden's Remains, which runs thus: Come Alecto, lend me thy torch To find a Church-yard in a Church-porch; Poverty and poetry his tomb doth enclose, Wherefore good neighbours, be merry in prose.