Not the least enlivening of the prisoners was a decently educated
person who had been arrested for disturbing the peace. The
constable asserted that he was intoxicated, but the gentleman
himself insisted that he was merely a poet in a more than usually
inspired state.

"I am in the poetical advertising line, your worship. It is true I
was surrounded by a crowd, but I was merely practising my trade. I
don't mind telling your worship that this holiday-time makes things
a little lively, and the tradesmen drink my health a trifle oftener
than usual; poetry is dry work, your worship, and a poet needs a
good deal of liquid refreshment. I do not disturb the peace, your
worship, at least not more than any other poet. I go to a grocer's,
and, standing outside, I make up some rhymes about his nice sweet
sugar or his ale. If I want to please a butcher--well, I'll give
you a specimen:-

'Here's to the butcher who sells good meat--
In this world it's hard to beat;
It's the very best that's to be had,
And makes the human heart feel glad.
There's no necessity to purloin,
So step in and buy a good sirloin.'

I can go on in this style, like Tennyson's brook, for ever, your
worship." His worship was afraid that he might make the offer good,
and the poet was released, after promising to imbibe less frequently
when he felt the divine afflatus about to descend upon him.

These disagreements between light-hearted and bibulous persons who