Your poor mother would never forgive me if she thought I had made you a dauber by my example." LIONEL (gloomily).--"No.

I shall not be a painter! But what can I be?
How shall I ever build on the earth one of the castles I have built in the air?
Fame looks so far,--Fortune so impossible.

But one thing I am bent upon" (speaking with knit brow and clenched teeth), "I will gain an independence somehow, and support my mother." VANCE.--"Your mother is supported: she has the pension--" LIONEL.--"Of a captain's widow; and" (he added with a flushed cheek) "a first floor that she lets to lodgers." VANCE.--"No shame in that! Peers let houses; and on the Continent, princes let not only first floors, but fifth and sixth floors, to say nothing of attics and cellars.

In beginning the world, friend Lionel, if you don't wish to get chafed at every turn, fold up your pride carefully, put it under lock and key, and only let it out to air upon grand occasions.

Pride is a garment all stiff brocade outside, all grating sackcloth on the side next to the skin.