“Honorably or DIShonorably,—­it doesn’t matter which,”—­said Villiers, “That is just the worst of it.  One day it is an author who is ‘interviewed,’ the next it is a murderer,—­now a statesman,—­then a ballet dancer,—­the same honor is paid to all who have won any distinct notoriety.  And what is so absurd is, that the reading million don’t seem able to distinguish between ‘notoriety’ and ‘fame.’  The two things are so widely, utterly apart!  Byron’s reputation, for instance, was much more notoriety during his life than fame—­while Keats had actually laid hold on fame while as yet deeming himself unfamous.  It’s curious, but true, nevertheless, that very often the writers who thought least of themselves during their lifetime have become the most universally renowned after their deaths.  Shakespeare, I dare say, had no very exaggerated idea of the beauty of his own plays,—­he seems to have written just the best that was in him, without caring what anybody thought of it.  And I believe that is the only way to succeed in the end.”

“In the end!” repeated Alwyn dreamily—­“In the end, no worldly success is worth attaining,—­a few thousand years and the greatest are forgotten!”

“Not the greatest,”—­said Villiers warmly—­“The greatest must always be remembered.”

“No, my friend!—­Not even the greatest!  Do you not think there must have been great and wise and gifted men in Tyre, in Sidon, in Carthage, in Babylon?—­There are five men mentioned in Scripture, as being ’ready to write swiftly’—­Sarea, Dabria, Selemia, Ecanus, and Ariel—­where is the no doubt admirable work done by these?  Perhaps ... who knows? ... one of them was as great as Homer in genius,—­we cannot tell!”

“True,—­we cannot tell!” responded Villiers meditatively—­“But, Alwyn, if you persist in viewing things through such tremendous vistas of time, and in measuring the Future by the Past, then one may ask what is the use of anything?”

“There is no use in anything, except in the making of a strong, persistent, steady effort after good,” said Alwyn earnestly ...  “We men are cast, as it were, between two swift currents, Wrong and Right,—­Self and God,—­and it seems more easy to shut our eyes and drift into Self and Wrong, than to strike out brave arms, and swim, despite all difficulty, toward God and Right, yet if we once take the latter course, we shall find it the most natural and the least fatiguing.  And with every separate stroke of high endeavor we carry others with us,—­we raise our race,—­we bear it onward,—­ upward!  And the true reward, or best result of fame, is, that having succeeded in winning brief attention from the multitude, a man may be able to pronounce one of God’s lightning messages of inspired Truth plainly to them, while they are yet willing to stand and listen.  This momentary hearing from the people is, as I take it, the sole reward any writer can dare to hope for,—­and when he obtains it, he should remember that his audience remains with him but a very short while,—­so that it is his duty to see that he employ his chance well, not to win applause for himself, but to cheer and lift others to noble thought, and still more noble fulfilment.”