Page:Paul Clifford Vol 3.djvu/13

Rh "You look unwell, uncle, to-night," she said, when one evening he entered the room with looks more fatigued than usual; and, rising, she leant tenderly over him, and kissed his forehead.

"Ay!" said Brandon, utterly unwon by, and even unheeding, the caress, "our way of life soon passes into the sear and yellow leaf; and when Macbeth grieved that he might not look to have that which should accompany old age, he had grown doting, and grieved for what was worthless."

"Nay, uncle, 'honour, faith, obedience, troops of friends,'—these surely were worth the sighing for?"

"Pooh! not worth a single sigh! The foolish wishes we form in youth have something noble, and something bodily in them; but those of age are utter shadows, and the shadows of pigmies! Why, what is honour, after all? What is this good name among men? only a sort of heathenish idol, set up to be adored by one set of fools, and scorned by another. Do you not observe, Lucy, that the man you hear most praised by the party you meet to-day, is most abused by that which