_Stanhope._ No, I can’t say that he has ever threatened me in his life; but I believe I had best not provoke him. _Englishman._ Pooh! you would have one angry letter from the old fellow, and there would be an end of it. _Stanhope._ You mistake him mightily; he always does more than he says. He has never been angry with me yet, that I remember, in his life; but if I were to provoke him, I am sure he would never forgive me; he would be coolly immovable, and I might beg and pray, and write my heart out to no purpose. _Englishman._ Why then, he is an old dog, that’s all I can say: and pray, are you to obey your dry-nurse too, this same what’s his name--Mr. Harte? _Stanhope._ Yes. _Englishman._ So he stuffs you all morning with Greek, and Latin, and logic, and all that. Egad, I have a dry-nurse too, but I never looked into a book with him in my life; I have not so much as seen the face of him this week, and don’t care a louse if I never see it again. _Stanhope._ My dry-nurse never desires anything of me that is not reasonable, and for my own good; and therefore I like to be with him. _Englishman._ Very sententious and edifying, upon my word! at this rate you will be reckoned a very good young man. _Stanhope._ Why, that will do me no harm. _Englishman._ Will you be with us to-morrow in the evening, then? We shall be ten with you; and I have got some excellent good wine; and we’ll be very merry. _Stanhope._ I am very much obliged to you but I am engaged for all the evening, to-morrow; first at Cardinal Albani’s; and then to sup at the Venetian Embassadress’s. _Englishman._ How the devil can you like being always with these foreigners? I never go amongst them, with all their formalities and ceremonies. I am never easy in company with them, and I don’t know why, but I am ashamed. _Stanhope._ I am neither ashamed nor afraid; I am very easy with them; they are very easy with me; I get the language, and I see their characters, by conversing with them; and that is what we are sent abroad for. Is it not? _Englishman._ I hate your modest women’s company; your women of fashion, as they call ’em. I don’t know what to say to them, for my part. _Stanhope._ Have you ever conversed with them? _Englishman._ No, I never conversed with them; but I have been sometimes in their company, though much against my will. _Stanhope._ But at least they have done you no hurt; which is, probably, more than you can say of the women you do converse with. _Englishman._ That’s true, I own; but for all that, I would rather keep company with my surgeon half the year, than with your women of fashion the year round. _Stanhope._ Tastes are different, you know, and every man follows his own. _Englishman._ That’s true; but thine’s a devilish odd one, Stanhope. All morning with thy dry-nurse; all the evening in formal fine company; and all day long afraid of old Daddy in England. Thou art a queer fellow, and I am afraid there’s nothing to be made of thee.