“But, my dear Conshy”
“Hold your tongue, Tom—let me say out my say, and finish my advice—and how will you answer to my father, in your old age, when youth, and health, and wealth, may have flown, if you find any thing in this your Log calculated to bring a blush on an innocent cheek, Tom, when the time shall have for ever passed away wherein you could have remedied the injury? For Conscience will speak to you then, not as I do now, in friendly confidence, and impelled by a sincere regard for you, you right hearted, but thoughtless, slapdash vagabond.”
There must have been a great deal of absurd perplexity in my visage, as I sat receiving my rebuke, for I noticed Conshy smile, which gave me courage.
“I will reform, Conshy, and that immediately; but my moral is good, man.”
“Well, well, Tom, I will take you at your word, so set about it, set about it.”
“But, Conshy—a word in your starboard lug—why don’t you go to the fountain-head—why don’t you try your hand in a curtain lecture on Old Kit North himself, the hoary sinner who seduced me?”
Conshy could no longer contain himself; the very idea of Old Kit having a conscience of any kind or description whatever, so tickled him, that he burst into a most uproarious fit of laughter, which I was in great hopes would have choked him, and thus made me well quit of him for ever. For some time I listened in great amazement, but there was something so infectious in his fun, that presently I began to laugh too, which only increased his cachinnation, so there were Conshy and I roaring, and shouting, with the tears running down our cheeks.
“Kit listen to me!—Oh, Lord”
“You are swearing, Conshy,” said I, rubbing my hands at having caught him tripping.
“And enough to make a Quaker swear,” quoth he, still laughing. “No, no, Kit never listens to me—why, he would never listen even to my father, until the gout and the Catholic Relief Bill, and last of all, the Reform Bill, broke him down, and softened his heart.”