_Harry._ Well, sir, pray mind, that familiarity is all over now. My frolic's out, I now throw off the player, and shall directly return. My father must by this time, have heard of my departure from the academy at Portsmouth; and, though I was deluded away by my rage for a little acting, yet 'twas wrong of me to give the gay old fellow any cause of uneasiness. _Midge._ And, sir, shall you and I never act another scene together? Shall I never again play Colonel Standard for my own benefit? Never again have the pleasure of caning your honour in the character of Tom Errand. _Harry._ In future, act the part of a smart hat and coat brusher; or I shall have the honour of kicking you in the character of an idle puppy. You were a good servant; but I find, by letting you crack your jokes, and sit in my company, you're grown quite a rascal. _Midge._ Yes, sir, I was a modest, well behaved lad; but evil communication corrupts good manners. _Harry._ Begone, sirrah, 'till I call for you. [_Exit_ MIDGE, _grumbling_. _Harry._ Well, if my father but forgives me.--This three month's excursion has shewn me some life, and a devilish deal of fun. For one circumstance, I shall ever remember it with delight. Its bringing me acquainted with Jack Rover. How long he stays! Jack! In this forlorn stroller, I have discovered qualities that honour human nature, and accomplishments that might grace a prince. I don't know a pleasanter fellow, except when he gets to his abominable habit of quotation. I hope he will not find the purse I've hid in his coat pocket, before we part. I dread the moment, but it's come. _Rover._ [_Without._] "The brisk li-li-lightening I." _Harry._ Ay, here's the rattle. Hurried on by the impetuous flow of his own volatile spirits, his life is a rapid stream of extravagant whim; and while the serious voice of humanity prompts his heart to the best of actions, his features shine in laugh and levity. Studying Bays, eh, Jack? _Enter_ ROVER. _Rover._ "I am the bold Thunder." _Harry._ [_Aside._] I am, if he knew but all.--Keep one standing in the road. _Rover._ Beg your pardon, my dear Dick; but all the fault of--Plague on't, that a man can't sleep and breakfast at an inn, then return up to his bedchamber for his gloves that he'd forgot, but there he must find chambermaids, thumping feathers and knocking pillows about, and keep one when one has affairs and business. 'Pon my soul, these girls' conduct to us is intolerable. The very thought brings the blood into my face, and whenever they attempt to serve, provoke me so, damme but I will, I will--An't I right, Dick? _Harry._ No; "all in the wrong." _Rover._ No matter, Dick; that's the universal play "all round the wrekin:" but you are so conceited, because, by this company you're going to join at Winchester, you are engaged for high tragedy. _Harry._ And you for Rangers, Plumes, and Foppingtons.