en what is the good of pleasure when it is over, and you have given
your life for it?'

'Well, if pleasure won't do, take greatness, then.'

'What sort of greatness?' Pitt asked in the same tone. It was the tone
of one who had gone over the ground.

'Any sort will do, I suppose,' said Miss Frere, with half a laugh. 'The
thing is, I believe, to be great, no matter how. I never had that
ambition myself; but that is the idea, isn't it?'

'What is it worth, supposing it gained?'

'People seem to think it is worth a good deal, by the efforts they make
and the things they undergo for it.'

'Yes,' said Pitt thoughtfully; 'they pay a great price, and they have
their reward. And, I say, what is it worth?'

'Why, Mr. Dallas,' said the young lady, throwing up her head, 'it is
worth a great deal--all it costs. To be noble, to be distinguished, to
be great and remembered in the world,--what is a worthy ambition, if
that is not?'

'That is the general opinion; but what is it _worth_, when all is done?
Name any great man you think of as specially great'--

'Napoleon Buonaparte,' said the young lady immediately.

'Do not name _him_,' said Pitt. 'He wore a brilliant crown, but he got
it out of the dirt of low passions and cold-hearted selfishness. His
name will be remembered, but as a splendid example of wickedness. Name
some other.'

'Name one yourself,' said Betty. 'I have succeeded so ill.'

'Name them all,' said Pitt. 'Take all the conquerors, from Rameses the
Great down to our time; take all the statesmen, from Moses and onward.
Take Apelles, at the head of a long list of wonderful painters;
philosophers, from Socrates to Francis Bacon; discoverers and
inventors, from the man who first made musical instruments, in the
lifetime of Adam our forefather, to Watt and the steam engine. Take any
or all of them; _we_ are very glad they lived and worked, _we_ are the
better for remembering them; but I ask you, what are they the better
for it?'

This appeal, which was evidently meant in deep earnest, moved the mind
of the young lady with so great astonishment that she looked at Pitt as
at a _lusus naturae_. But he was quite serious and simply matter of
fact in his way of putting things. He looked at her, waiting for an
answer, but got none.

'We speak of Alexander, and praise him to the skies, him of Macedon, I
mean. What is that, do you think, to Alexander now?'

'If it is nothing to him, then what is the use of being gre