Hum. I have held you a stout tug at argument this many a year.
Sir R. And yet I could never teach you a syllogism. Now mind, when a poor
man assents to what a rich man says, I suspect he means to flatter him:
now I am rich, and hate flattery. Ergo--when a poor man subscribes to my
opinion, I hate him.
Hum. That's wrong.
Sir R. Very well; negatur; now prove it.
Hum. Put the case then, I am a poor man.
Sir R. You an't, you scoundrel. You know you shall never want while I have
a shilling.
Hum. Bless you!
Sir R. Pshaw! Proceed.
Hum. Well, then, I am a poor--I must be a poor man now, or I never shall
get on.
Sir R. Well, get on, be a poor man.
Hum. I am a poor man, and I argue with you, and convince you, you are
wrong; then you call yourself a blockhead, and I am of your opinion: now,
that's no flattery.
Sir R. Why, no; but when a man's of the same opinion with me, he puts an
end to the argument, and that puts an end to the conversation, and so I
hate him for that. But where's my nephew Frederic?
Hum. Been out these two hours.
Sir R. An undutiful cub! Only arrived from Russia last night, and though I
told him to stay at home till I rose, he's scampering over the fields like
a Calmuck Tartar.
Hum. He's a fine fellow.
Sir R. He has a touch of our family. Don't you think he is a little like
me, Humphrey?
Hum. No, not a bit; you are as ugly an old man as ever I clapped my eyes
on.
Sir R. Now that's plaguy impudent, but there's no flattery in it, and it
keeps up the independence of argument. His father, my brother Job, is of
as tame a spirit--Humphrey, you remember my brother Job?
Hum. Yes, you drove him to Russia five and twenty years ago.
Sir R. I did not drive him.
Hum. Yes, you did. You would never let him be at peace in the way of
argument.
Sir R. At peace! Zounds, he would never go to war.
Hum. He had the merit to be calm.
Sir R. So has a duck pond. He was a bit of still life; a chip; weak water
gruel; a tame rabbit, boiled to rags, without sauce or salt. He received
my arguments with his mouth open, like a poorbox gaping for half-pence,
and, good or bad, he swallowed them all without any resistance. We could
n't disagree, and so we parted.
Hum. And the poor, meek gentleman went to Russia for a quiet life.
Sir R. A quiet life! Why, he married the moment he got there, tacked
himself to the shrew relict of a Russian merchant, and continued a
speculation with her in furs, flax, potashes, tallow, linen, and leather;
what's the consequence? Thirteen months ago he broke.
Hum. Poor soul, his wife should have followed the business for him. Sir R.
I fancy she did follow it, for she died just as he broke, and now this
madcap, Frederic, is sent over to me for protection. Poor Job, now he is
in distress, I must not neglect his son.
Hum. Here comes his son; that's Mr. Frederic.
Enter FREDERIC.
Fred. Oh, my dear uncle, good morning! Your park is nothing but beauty.
Sir R. Who bid you caper over my beauty? I told you to stay in doors till
I got up.
Fred. So you did, but I entirely forgot it.
Sir R. And pray, what made you forget it?
Fred. The sun.
Sir R. The sun! he's mad; you mean the moon, 1 believe.
Fred. Oh, my dear uncle, you don't know the effect of a fine spring
morning upon a fellow just arrived from Russia. The day looked bright,
trees budding, birds singing, the park was so gay that I took a leap out
of your old balcony, made your deer fly before me like the wind, and
chased them all around the park to get an appetite for breakfast, while
you were snoring in bed, uncle.
Sir R. Oh, oh! So the effect of English sunshine upon a Russian, is to
make him jump out of a balcony, and worry my deer.
Fred. I confess it had that influence upon me.
Sir R. You had better be influenced by a rich old uncle, unless you think
the sun likely to leave you a fat legacy.
Fred. I hate legacies.
Sir R. Sir, that's mighty singular. They are pretty solid tokens, at
least.
Fred. Very melancholy tokens, uncle; they are the posthumous dispatches
Affection sends to Gratitude, to inform us we have lost a gracious friend.
Sir R. How charmingly the dog argues!
Fred. But I own my spirits ran away with me this morning. I will obey you
better in future; for they tell me you are a very worthy, good sort of old
gentleman.
Sir R. Now who had the familiar impudence to tell you that? Fred. Old
rusty, there.
Sir R. Why Humphrey, you didn't?
Hum. Yes, but I did though.
Fred, Yes, he did, and on that score I shall be anxious to show you
obedience, for 't is as meritorious to attempt sharing a good man's heart,
as it is paltry to have designs upon a rich man's money. A noble nature
aims its attentions full breast high, uncle; a mean mind levels its dirty
assiduities at the pocket.
Sir R. (Shaking him by the hand.) Jump out of every window I have in my
house; hunt my deer into high fevers, my fine fellow! Ay, that's right.
This is spunk, and plain speaking. Give me a man who is always flinging
his dissent to my doctrines smack in my teeth.
Fred. I disagree with you there, uncle.
Hum. And so do I.
Fred. You! you forward puppy! If you were not so old, I'd knock you down.
Sir R. I'll knock you down, if you do. I won't have my servants thumped
into dumb flattery.
Hum. Come, you are ruffled. Let us go to the business of the morning.
Sir R. I hate the business of the morning. Don't you see we are engaged in
discussion. I tell you, I hate the business of the morning.
Hum. No you don't.
Sir R. Don't I? Why not?
Hum. Because 't is charity.
Sir R. Pshaw! Well, we must not neglect the business, if there be any
distress in the parish. Read the list, Humphrey.
Hum. (Taking out a paper and reading.) "Jonathan Huggins, of Muck Mead, is
put in prison for debt."
Sir R. Why, it was only last week that Gripe, the attorney, recovered two
cottages for him by law, worth sixty pounds.
Hum. Yes, and charged a hundred for his trouble; so seized the cottages
for part of his bill, and threw Jonathan into jail for the remainder.
Sir R. A harpy! I must relieve the poor fellow's distress.
Fred. And I must kick his attorney.