_Talb._ Yes, because you have used other people’s understandings instead of your own. Be yourself, my lord. See with your own eyes, and hear with your own ears, and then you’ll find me still, what I’ve been these seven years; not your understrapper, your hanger-on, your flatterer, but your friend! If you choose to have me for a friend, here’s my hand. I am your friend, and you’ll not find a better. _Lord J._ (_giving his hand_). You are a strange fellow, Talbot; I thought I never could have forgiven you for what you said last night. _Talb._ What? for I don’t keep a register of my sayings. Oh, it was something about gaming—Wheeler was flattering your taste for it, and he put me into a passion—I forget what I said. But, whatever it was, I’m sure it was well meant, and I believe it was well said. _Lord J._ But you laugh at me sometimes to my face. _Talb._ Would you rather I should laugh at you behind your back? _Lord J._ But of all things in the world I hate to be laughed at. Listen to me, and don’t fumble in your pockets while I’m talking to you. _Talb._ I’m fumbling for—oh, here it is. Now, Lord John, I once did laugh at you behind your back, and what’s droll enough, it was at your back I laughed. Here’s a caricature I drew of you—I really am sorry I did it; but ’tis best to show it to you myself. _Lord J._ (_aside_). It is all I can do to forgive this. (_After a pause, he tears the paper_.) I have heard of this caricature before; but I did not expect, Talbot, that you would come and show it to me, yourself, Talbot, so handsomely, especially at such a time as this. Wheeler might well say you are a bad electioneerer. _Talb._ Oh, hang it! I forgot my election, and your fifty-six friends. _Enter_ RORY O’RYAN. _Rory_ (_claps Talbot on the back_). Fifty-six friends, have you, Talbot? Say seven—fifty-seven, I mean; for I’ll lay you a wager, you’ve forget me; and that’s a shame for you, too; for out of the whole posse-comitatus entirely now, you have not a stauncher friend than Poor little Rory O’Ryan. And a good right he has to befriend you; for you stood by him when many who ought to have known better were hunting him down for a wild Irishman. Now that same wild Irishman has as much gratitude in him as any tame Englishman of them all. But don’t let’s be talking sintimint; for, for my share I’d not give a bogberry a bushel for sintimint, when I could get anything better. _Lord J._ And pray, sir, what may a bogberry be?