"You cannot see him to-day," said I; "but you were talking of an assault. Has any one been beating you?" "Not exactly; I got into a bit of a ruffle, and am threatened with an action." "Oh! so you have been beating somebody." "And if I did, how could I help it? I'll tell you how it happened. I have a gift of making verses, as perhaps you know--in fact, everybody knows. When I had sowed my little trifle of corn in the bit of ground that my father left me, having nothing better to do, I sat down and wrote a set of lines to my lord, in which I told him what a fine old gentleman he was. Then I took my stick and walked off to ---, where, after a little difficulty, I saw my lord, and read the verses to him which I had made, offering to print them if he thought proper. Well, he was mightily pleased with them, and said they were too good to be printed, and begged that I would do no such thing, which I promised him I would not, and left him, not before, however, he had given me a King James' guinea, which they say is worth two of King George's. Well, I made my bow and went to the village, and in going past the ale-house I thought I would just step in, which I did. The house was full of people, chiefly farmers, and when they saw me they asked me to sit down and take a glass with them, which I did, and being called upon for a song I sang one, and then began talking about myself and how much my lord thought of me, and I repeated the lines which I had written to him, and showed them the James' guinea he had given me. You should have seen the faces they cast upon me at the sight of the gold; they couldn't stand it, for it was a confirmation to their envious hearts of all I had told them. Presently one called me a boasting fool, and getting up said that my lord was a yet greater fool for listening to me, and then added that the lines I had been reading were not of my own making. 'No, you dog,' said he, 'they are not of your own making; you got somebody to make them for you.' Now, I do not mind being called a boaster, nor a dog either, but when he told me that my verses were not my own, I couldn't contain myself, so I told him he lied, whereupon he flung a glass of liquor in my face, and I knocked him down." "Mr. Parkinson," said I, "are you much in the habit of writing verses to great people?" "Great and small. I consider nothing too high or too low. I have written verses upon the king, and upon a prize ox; for the first I got nothing, but the owner of the ox at Christmas sent me the better part of the chine." "In fact, you write on all kinds of subjects." "And I carry them to the people whom I think they'll please." "And what subjects please best?" "Animals; my work chiefly lies in the country, and people in the country prefer their animals to anything else." "Have you ever written on amatory subjects?"