“I really think,” replied his son, now considerably alarmed by what he had heard, “that you are dealing too severely with me.  I am not, so far as I know, profaning anything sacred; much less would I attempt to ridicule your lordship.  But the truth is, I know little or nothing of the Bible, and consequently any mistaken references to it that I may sincerely make, ought not to be uncharitably misinterpreted—­ahem!  ’We are going on swimmingly’ as Jonah said to the whale, or the whale to Jonah, I cannot say which, is an expression which I have frequently heard, and I took it for granted that it was a scriptural quotation.  Your lordship is not aware, besides, that I am afflicted with a very bad memory.”

“Perfectly aware of it, Dunroe:  since I have been forced to observe that you forget every duty of life.  What is there honorable to yourself or your position in the world, that you ever have remembered?  And supposing now, on the one hand, that you may for the present only affect a temporary reformation, and put in practice that worst of vices, a moral expediency, and taking it for granted, on the other, that your resolution to amend is sincere, by what act am I to test that sincerity?”

“I will begin and read the Bible, my lord, and engage a parson to instruct me in virtue.  Isn’t that generally the first step?”

“I do not forbid you the Bible, nor the instructions of a pious clergyman; but I beg to propose a test that will much more satisfactorily establish that sincerity.  First, give up your dissipated and immoral habits; contract your expenditure within reasonable limits; pay your just debts, by which I mean your debts of honesty, not of honor—­unless they have been lost to a man of honor, and not to notorious swindlers; forbear to associate any longer with sharpers and blacklegs, whether aristocratic or plebeian; and as a first proof of the sincerity you claim, dismiss forever from your society that fellow, Norton, who is, I am sorry to say, your bosom friend and boon companion.”

“With every condition you have proposed, my lord, I am willing and ready to comply, the last only excepted.  I am sorry to find that you have conceived so strong and unfounded a prejudice against Mr. Norton.  You do not know his value to me, my lord.  He has been a Mentor to me—­saved me thousands by his ability and devotion to my interests.  The fact is, he is my friend.  Now I am not prepared to give up and abandon my friend without a just cause; and I regret that any persuasion to such an act should proceed from you, my lord.  In all your other propositions I shall obey you implicitly; but in this your lordship must excuse me.  I cannot do it with honor, and therefore cannot do it at all.”

“Ah, I see, Dunroe, and I bitterly regret to see it—­this fellow, this Norton, has succeeded in gaining over you that iniquitous ascendancy which the talented knave gains over the weak and unsuspicious fool.  Pardon me, for I speak plainly.  He has studied your disposition and habits; he has catered for your enjoyments; he has availed himself of your weaknesses; he has flattered your vanity; he has mixed himself up in the management of your affairs; and, in fine, made himself necessary to your existence; yet you will not give him up?”