I had not gone far before Fame, I thought, replied for herself, and
said: "Know, son of a fisherman, that I am a capricious goddess; at
least, I am so called by the critics. And they, being adepts in deep
knowledge, render verdicts the world must not dispute. I have the
world for my court: my shrine is everywhere, and millions worship at
it. Genius, learning, and valor, are my handmaids. I have great and
good men for my vassals; and upon them it affords me comfort to
bestow my gifts. I seek out the wise and the virtuous, and place
garlands of immortality upon their heads; I toy with my victims, and
then hurl them into merited obscurity. Little men most beset me,
most hang about my garments, and sigh most for my smiles. The rich
man would have me build monuments to his memory; the ambitious poor
man repines when I forget him. Novel-writing damsels, their eyes
bedimmed with bodkin shaped tears, and their fingers steeled with
envious pens it seems their love to dip in gall, cast longing looks
at me. Peter Parley, and other poets, have laid their offerings low
at my feet. I have crowned kings and emperors; and I have cast a
favor to a fool. With queens and princes have I coquetted, and
laughed when they were laid in common dust. I have dragged the
humble from his obscurity, and sent him forth to overthrow kingdoms
and guard the destinies of peoples. Millions have gone in search of
me; few have found me. Great men are content with small favors;
small men would, being the more ambitious of the two, take me all to
themselves. Millions have aspired to my hand; few have been found
worthy of it. Editors, critics, chambermaids and priests, (without
whom we would have no great wars,) annoy me much. I am generous
enough to forgive them, to charge their evil designs to want of
discretion, to think the world would scarce miss them, and certainly
could get along well enough without them.