Young Clinton, who, though thoughtless and fond of pleasure, was not without many excellent points of character, began now to perceive, by every day’s successive intimacy, the full extent of Hycy Burke’s profligacy of morals, and utter want of all honorable principle.  Notwithstanding this knowledge, however, he felt it extremely difficult, nay, almost impossible, to separate himself from Hycy, who was an extremely pleasant young fellow, and a very agreeable companion when he pleased.  He had in fact gained that personal ascendancy over him, or that licentious influence which too many of his stamp are notorious for exercising over better men than themselves; and he found that he could not readily throw Hyoy off, without being considerably a loser by the act.

“I shall have nothing to do with his profligacy,” said he, “or his want of principle, and I shall let him know, at all events, that I will not abide by the agreement or compromise entered into between us some time since at his father’s.  He shall not injure an honest man for me, nor shall I promise him even neutrality with respect to his proposal for my sister, whom I would rather see dead a hundred times than the wife of such a fellow.”

The next morning, about half an hour before breakfast, he told his uncle that he was stepping into town and would bring him any letters that might be for him in the post-office.  He accordingly did so, and received two letters, one Hycy’s and the other with the crest and frank of the sitting member for the county, who was no other than young Chevydale.  His uncle was at breakfast when he handed them to him, and we need hardly say that the M.P. was honored by instant attention.  The Still-hound read it over very complacently.  “Very well,” he exclaimed; “very well, indeed, so far.  Harry, we must be on the alert, now the elections are approaching, and Chevydale will be stoutly opposed, it seems.  We must work for him, and secure as many votes as we can.  It is our interest to do so, Harry,—­and he will make it our interest besides.”

“Has principle nothing to do with it, sir?”

“Principle! begad, sir,” retorted the uncle, “there’s no such thing as principle—­lay that down as a fact—­there’s no such thing in this world as principle.”

“Well, but consistency, uncle.  For instance, you know you always vote on the Tory side, and Chevydale is a Liberal and an Emancipator.”

“Consistency is all d—­d stuff, Harry, as principle.  What does it mean? why that if a man’s once wrong he’s always to be wrong—­that is just the amount of it.  There’s Chevydale, for instance, he has a brother who is a rank Tory and a Commissioner of Excise, mark that; Chevydale and he play into each other’s hands, and Chevydale some of these days will sell the Liberals, that is, if he can get good value for them.  If I now vote on the Tory side against Chevydale, his brother, the Tory Commissioner, will be my enemy in spite of all his Toryism; but if I vote and exert myself for Chevydale, the Liberal, I make his Tory of a brother my friend for life.  And now, talk to me about principle, or consistency either.”