company in the back room, and went to him. He began with asking me, "Whether I were the author of certain verses, wherein he was reflected on[1]." The singularity of the man, in his countenance, manner, action, style, and tone of voice, made me call to mind that I had once seen him, about two or three years ago, at Mr. Ludlow's countryhouse. But I could not recollect his name; and of what calling he might be I had never heard. I therefore desired to know who and what he was? said, "I heard of some such verses, but knew no more." He then signified to me, "That he was a serjeant at law, and a member of parliament." After which, he repeated the lines that concerned him with great emphasis; said, "I was mistaken in one thing; for he assured me he was no booby; but owned himself to be a coxcomb." However, that being a point of controversy wherein I had no concern, I let it drop. As to the verses, he insisted, "That, by his taste, and skill in poetry, he was as sure I writ them as if he had seen them fall from my pen." . But I found the chief weight of his argument lay upon two words that rhymed to his name, which he knew could come from none but me. He then told me, "That, since I would not own the verses, and that since he could not get satisfaction by any course of law, he would get it by his pen, and show the world what a man I was." When he began to grow over warm and eloquent, I called in the gentleman of the house,
