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.