/random/

On one occasion, in the neighborhood of Hampstead Health, a ruffianly
driver was pummelling a miserable bare-boned hack-horse. Lord Erskine's
sympathy provoked him to a smart remonstrance. "Why," said the fellow,
"it's my own; mayn't I use it as I please?" And as he spoke he discharged
a fresh shower of blows on the raw back of the beast. Lord Erskine,
excessively irritated, laid on his walking-stick sharply over the
shoulders of the offender, who, crouching and grumbling, asked him what
business he had to touch him with a stick. "Why," replied Erskine, to whom
the opportunity of a joke was irresistible, "it is my own; mayn't I use it
as I please?".