A FATHER’S ANXIETY.--It seems extraordinary, but it is very true, that my anxiety for you increases in proportion to the good accounts which I receive of you from all hands. I promise myself so much from you, that I dread the least disappointment. You are now so near the port, which I have so long wished and labored to bring you safe into, that my concern would be doubled, should you be shipwrecked within sight of it. The object, therefore, of this letter is (laying aside all the authority of the parent), to conjure you as a friend, by the affection you have for me (and surely you have reason to have some), and by the regard you have for yourself, to go on with assiduity and attention, to complete that work, which, of late, you have carried on so well, and which is now so near being finished. My wishes, and my plan, were to make you shine, and distinguish yourself equally in the learned and the polite world. Few have been able to do it. [_Sept. 12, 1749._] THE STUDENT OF LIFE AND THE TRIFLER: A DIALOGUE.--I will suppose you at Rome, studying six hours uninterruptedly with Mr. Harte, every morning, and passing your evenings with the best company of Rome, observing their manners and forming your own; and I will suppose a number of idle, sauntering, illiterate English, as there commonly is there, living entirely with one another, supping, drinking, and sitting up late at each other’s lodgings; commonly in riots and scrapes when drunk, and never in good company when sober. I will take one of these pretty fellows, and give you the dialogue between him and yourself; such as I dare say it will be on his side, and such as I hope it will be on yours. _Englishman._ Will you come and breakfast with me to-morrow; there will be four or five of our countrymen; we have provided chaises, and we will drive somewhere out of town after breakfast? _Stanhope._ I am very sorry I cannot; but I am obliged to be at home all the morning. _Englishman._ Why then we will come and breakfast with you. _Stanhope._ I can’t do that neither, I am engaged. _Englishman._ Well, then, let it be the next day. _Stanhope._ To tell you the truth, it can be no day in the morning; for I neither go out, nor see anybody at home before twelve. _Englishman._ And what the devil do you do with yourself till twelve o’clock? _Stanhope._ I am not by myself, I am with Mr. Harte. _Englishman._ Then what the devil do you do with him? _Stanhope._ We study different things; we read, we converse. _Englishman._ Very pretty amusement indeed! Are you to take orders then? _Stanhope._ Yes, my father’s orders, I believe, I must take. _Englishman._ Why, hast thou no more spirit than to mind an old fellow a thousand miles off? _Stanhope._ If I don’t mind his orders he won’t mind my draughts. _Englishman._ What, does the old prig threaten, then? Threatened folks live long; never mind threats.