Brougham saw, perhaps, that the subject was not palatable, and he abandoned it. With an abrupt change of manner he flung the books from him with the recklessness of a boy, and raised his sombre figure to its height. “Well, well,” he said, “I hoped for better things; but I fear, as Tommy Moore sings— “_He’s pledged himself, though sore bereft_ _Of ways and means of ruling ill_, _To make the most of what are left_ _And stick to all that’s rotten still!_ And by the Lord, I don’t say that I don’t respect him. I respect every man who votes honestly as he thinks.” And grandly, with appropriate gestures, he spouted: “_Who spurns the expedient for the right_ _Scorns money’s all-attractive charms,_ _And through mean crowds that clogged his flight_ _Has nobly cleared his conquering arms_. That’s the Attorney-General’s. He turns old Horace well, doesn’t he?” Vaughan coloured. Young and candid, he could not bear the thought of taking credit where he did not deserve it. “I fear,” he said awkwardly, “that would bear rather hardly on me if we had a contest at Chippinge, my lord. Fortunately it is unlikely.” “How would it bear hardly on you?” Brougham asked, with interest. “I have a vote.” “You are one of the twelve burgesses?” in a tone of surprise. “Yes, by favour of Sir Robert.” The Chancellor, smiling gaily, shook his head. “No,” he said, “no; I do not believe you. You do yourself an injustice. Leave that sort of thing to older men, to Lyndhurst, if you will, d——d Jacobin as he is, preening himself in Tory feathers, and determined whoever’s in he’ll not be out; or to Peel. Leave it! And believe me you’ll not repent it. I,” he continued loftily, “have seen fifty years of life, Mr. Vaughan, and lived every year of them and every day of them, and I tell you that the thing is too dearly bought at that price.” Vaughan felt himself rebuked; but he made a fight. “And yet,” he said, “are there no circumstances, my lord, in which such a vote may be justified?” “A vote against your conscience—to oblige someone?” “Well, yes.” “A Jesuit might justify it. There is nothing which a Jesuit could not justify, I suppose. But though no man was stronger for the Catholic Claims than I was, I do not hold a Jesuit to be a man of honour. And that is where the difference lies. There! But,” he continued, with an abrupt change from the lofty to the confidential, “let me tell you a fact, Mr. Vaughan. In ’29—was it in April or May of ’29, Mr. Cornelius?” “I don’t know to what you refer,” Mr. Cornelius grunted.