From the letter and papers in the box, continued Sable, I concluded, I was now the property of an author. Early in the morning, Mr. _Stanza_ (that being my owner’s name) got up, and taking down the blue curtain, wrapt it about him, tying it round with a garter; so that it made a tolerable good morning gown, wanting nothing but sleeves, and sitting down to the table, he put the finishing stroke to the poem, and then read it over with great satisfaction. He next prepared to equip himself to go out, which took up the best part of two hours; (including the cleaning of his shoes,) and performing some very dexterous operations on his stockings) however, at length, he was drest, and carefully folding up his poem put it into his pocket, and after reconnoitring the street door through the casement, sallied forth. Near Gray’s-Inn, in Holborn, two men stept up to him, and one of them whispering him in the ear, informed him of a piece of news, that I found by his “rueful length of face” was rather disagreeable to him, and these two gentlemen conducting him to a house in Gray’s-Inn-Lane, I found the bard was under an arrest, though I did not imagine a poet was within the jurisdiction of any court, but the court of criticism, or that he was liable to answer any plaint but what arose within the province of _Parnassus_. However Mr. Stanza was left by his two companions under lock and key; but as he soon began to recover his spirits, I imagined he intended to remove the plaint, and have his cause tried before _Apollo_, but he was the next day, for want of bail, removed to the _Fleet-Prison_. This prison, continued Sable, tho’ it is said to be the best in the kingdom, is a most shocking place, the generality of the inhabitants being those who have brought themselves here, either by idleness or extravagance, and very few of those bring in with them any principle of honesty or sense of shame, or if they do, they generally get rid of such troublesome companions in a very short time; most of them divert reflection by amusement, or drown it by debauchery, which weakens the mind to such a degree, that they scarce ever after are capable of reflection, as some colds take away the voice, which is never to be recovered again; those who are forced thither by misfortunes, find it difficult to maintain their principles; so naturally and imperceptibly do we imbibe the sentiments and manners of those with whom we are accustomed to converse.