carriage; and business has long been to me duty, inclination, mistress, friend. But tell me that we part kindly?"
"My dear uncle!" replied Norbourne, who accompanied the traveller to his carriage with very different feelings from what, an hour before, he had deemed it possible that he could have entertained.
A feather on the wind, a straw on the stream—such are, indeed, the emblems of humanity. We resolve, and our resolutions melt away with a word and a look: we are the toys of an emotion. And yet I think Norbourne was right in his sudden revulsion in favour of his uncle. We are rarely wrong when we act from impulse. By that I do not mean every rash, and wayward, and selfish fantasy; but by allowing its natural course to the first warm and generous feeling that springs up in the heart. Second thoughts are more worldly, more cold, and calculate on some advantage. This is what the ancients meant when they said that the impulse came from the gods, but the motive from men. Our eager belief, our
