This strange Person was, when I entered the Wine-shop, in hot Dispute with the Master about some trifling Liquor Score. He would not Pay, he said; no, not he. He had been basely Robbed and Swindled. He had plenty of Money, but he would not disburse a Red Liard. He showed, indeed, a Leathern Purse with two or three Gold Pieces in it, and smaller Money; but declared that he would Die sooner than disburse. And as he said this, he drew out of his pocket a long Clasp-Knife, two-bladed; and opening it, brandished it about, and said they had better let him go, or Worse would come of it. The Master of the Tavern and his Wife, decent bodies both, were wofully frightened at the behaviour of this Desperado; but I was not to be frightened by such Racketing. I bade him put up his Toothpick, giving him at the same time a Back-Hander, which drove him into a Corner, where he crouched, snarling like a Wild-beast, but offering to do me no hurt. Then I asked what the To-do was about, and was told that he stood indebted but for Eight Sols, for Half a Litre of Wine, and that they could not account for his Fury. The Man was evidently not in Liquor, which was strange. These good people were so flustered at the Man's uncommon Demeanour, that, seeing I was Strong and Valiant, they begged me to take him away. This I did, first discharging his Reckoning; for as he had Money about him, I doubted not but that he would recoup me. I got him into the Street (which was close to the Market of the Innocents, and I lived in the Street of the Ancient Comedy, t'other side of the River), and asked him where he was going. "To get a Billet of Confession," he made answer. "Stuff and Nonsense!" I answered, in the French Tongue. "They sell them not at this Hour of Night. Where do you live?" "In the Parvis of Notre Dame," says he, staring like a Stuck Pig. "O Arnault! O Jansenius! O Monsieur de Paris! all this is your fault!" And he lugs out of his Pocket a ragged Sheet of Paper, which he said was the last Mandement or Charge of the Archbishop of Paris, and was for reading it to me by the Moonlight; but I stopped him short. I had heard in a vague manner that the Public Mind was just then much agitated by some Dispute between the Clergy and the Parliament concerning Billets or Certificates of Confession; but they concerned neither me nor the Opera House. Besides, an Hour after Midnight is not the time for reading Archbishops' Charges in the Public Streets. "'Tis my belief, Brother," I said, as soothingly as I could, "that you'd better go Home, and tie a Wet Clout round your Head; or, better still, hie to a Chirurgeon and be let Blood. Have you e'er a Home?"