“Well,” said I, musingly, “suppose we take our departure the beginning of next week?--our way will be the same as far as London, and the plea of attending you will be a good excuse to my uncle, for proceeding no farther in these confounded books.” “C’est une affaire finie,” replied my mother, “and I will speak to your uncle myself.” Accordingly the necessary disclosure of our intentions was made. Lord Glenmorris received it with proper indifference, so far as my mother was concerned; but expressed much pain at my leaving him so soon. However, when he found I was not so much gratified as honoured by his wishes for my longer sejour, he gave up the point with a delicacy that enchanted me. The morning of our departure arrived. Carriage at the door--bandboxes in the passage--breakfast on the table--myself in my great coat--my uncle in his great chair. “My dear boy,” said he, “I trust we shall meet again soon: you have abilities that may make you capable of effecting much good to your fellow-creatures; but you are fond of the world, and, though not averse to application, devoted to pleasure, and likely to pervert the gifts you possess. At all events, you have now learned, both as a public character and a private individual, the difference between good and evil. Make but this distinction, that whereas, in political science, though the rules you have learned be fixed and unerring, yet the application of them must vary with time and circumstance. We must bend, temporize, and frequently withdraw, doctrines, which, invariable in their truth, the prejudices of the time will not invariably allow, and even relinquish a faint hope of obtaining a great good, for the certainty of obtaining a lesser; yet in the science of private morals, which relate for the main part to ourselves individually, we have no right to deviate one single iota from the rule of our conduct. Neither time nor circumstance must cause us to modify or to change. Integrity knows no variation; honesty no shadow of turning. We must pursue the same course--stern and uncompromising--in the full persuasion that the path of right is like the bridge from earth to heaven, in the Mahometan creed--if we swerve but a single hair’s breadth, we are irrevocably lost.” At this moment my mother joined us, with a “Well, my dear Henry, every thing is ready--we have no time to lose.” My uncle rose, pressed my hand, and left in it a pocket-book, which I afterwards discovered to be most satisfactorily furnished. We took an edifying and affectionate farewell of each other, passed through the two rows of servants, drawn up in martial array, along the great hall, entered the carriage, and went off with the rapidity of a novel upon “fashionable life.” CHAPTER XXXIX. Dic--si grave non est--Quae prima iratum ventrem placaverit esca. --Horace.