“Mr. Griggs,” said John Westonhaugh, “since you are the accused, pray define what you mean by a cynic, and then Mr. Isaacs, as the accuser, can have a chance too.”

“Very well, I will.  A man is a cynic if he will do no good to any one because he believes every one past improvement.  Most men who do good actions are also cynics, because they well know that they are doing more harm than good by their charity.  Mr. Westonhaugh has the discrimination to appreciate this, and therefore he is not a cynic.”

“It is well you introduced the saving clause, Griggs,” said Isaacs to me from across the table.  “I am going to define you now; for I strongly suspect that you are the very ideal of a philosopher of that class.  You are a man who believes in all that is good and beautiful in theory, but by too much indifference to good in small measures—­for you want a thing perfect, or you want it not at all—–­you have abstracted yourself from perceiving it anywhere, except in the most brilliant examples of heroism that history affords.  You set up in your imagination an ideal which you call the good man, and you are utterly dissatisfied with anything less perfect than perfection.  The result is that, though you might do a good action from your philosophical longing to approach the ideal in your own person, you will not suffer yourself to believe that others are consciously or unconsciously striving to make themselves better also.  And you do not believe that any one can be made a better man by any one else, by any exterior agency, by any good that you or others may do to him.  What makes you what you are is the fact that you really cherish this beautiful ideal image of your worship and reverence, and love it; but for this, you would be the most insufferable man of my acquaintance, instead of being the most agreeable.”

Isaacs was gifted with a marvellous frankness of speech.  He always said what he meant, with a supreme indifference to consequences; but he said it with such perfect honesty and evident appreciation of what was good, even when he most vehemently condemned what he did not like, that it was impossible to be annoyed.  Every one laughed at his attack on me, and having satisfied my desire to observe Miss Westonhaugh, which had prompted my first remark about griffins, I thought it was time to turn the conversation to the projected hunt.

“My dear fellow,” I said, “I think that in spite of your Parthian shaft, your definition of a cynic is as complimentary to the school at large as to me in particular.  Meanwhile, however,” I added, turning to Mr. Ghyrkins, “I am inclined to believe with Lord Steepleton that the subject uppermost in the thoughts of most of us is the crusade against the tigers.  What do you say?  Shall we not all go as we are, a neat party of six?”

“Well, well, Mr. Griggs, we shall see, you know.  Now, if we are going at all, when do you mean to start?”