Parson.—“The vulgarest, self-interest; the loftiest, beneficence.”
Randal suppressed the half disdainful smile that rose to his lip.
“You speak, sir, as a clergyman should do. I admire your sentiment, and adopt it; but I fear that the knowledge which aims only at beneficence very rarely in this world gets any power at all.”
Squire (seriously).—“That’s true: I never get my own way when I want to do a kindness, and Stirn always gets his when he insists on something diabolically brutal and harsh.”
Parson.—“Pray, Mr. Leslie, what does intellectual power refined to the utmost, but entirely stripped of beneficence, most resemble?”
Randal.—“Resemble?—I can hardly say, some very great man—almost any very great man—who has baffled all his foes, and attained all his ends.”
Parson.—“I doubt if any man has ever become very great who has not meant to be beneficent, though he might err in the means. Cæsar was naturally beneficent, and so was Alexander. But intellectual power refined to the utmost, and wholly void of beneficence, resembles only one being, and that, sir, is the Principle of Evil.”
Randal (startled).—“Do you mean the Devil?”
Parson.—“Yes, sir—the Devil; and even he, sir, did not succeed! Even he, sir, is what your great men would call a most decided failure.”
Mrs. Dale.—“My dear—my dear.”