The two figures now appeared at the door. The contrast was not much less singular than the scholar had represented; and there was a sort of faint prelude to a universal laugh, which, however, a timely look from the Master instantly quelled. Lycaon, from the lightness of his figure, and delicacy of his features and complexion, might have been mistaken for a female: his skin had the whiteness of the lily, and the blushing red of the rose: his lips the vermil of coral: his hair soft and flowing; in texture, silk; in color, gold: his dress was chosen with studied nicety, and disposed with studied elegance: the tunic of the whitest and finest linen, fastened at the shoulder with a beautiful onyx: the sash of exquisite embroidery, and the robe of the richest Tyrian, falling in luxuriant folds from the shoulders, and over the right arm, which gracefully sustained its length, for the greater convenience in walking: the sandals, purple, with buttons of gold. Gryphus, short, square, and muscular; his tunic of the coarsest and not the cleanest woollen, in some places worn threadbare, and with one open rent of considerable magnitude that proved the skin to be as well engrained as its covering; his girdle, a rope: his cloak, or rather rag, had the appearance of a sail taken from the wreck of an old trader: his feet bare, and thickly powdered with dust: of his face, little more might be distinguished than the nose; the lower part being obscured by a bushy and wide-spreading beard, and the upper, by a profusion of long, tangled and grisly hair. The wondering disciples opened a passage for this singular intruder, who, without looking to the right or the left, walked on, and stopped before Epicurus.
“I suppose you are the Master, by the needless trouble I see you take, in coming to meet me.”
“When Gryphus has possibly walked a mile to meet Epicurus, Epicurus may without much trouble walk a step to meet Gryphus.”
“In my walk of a mile,” returned the cynic, “there was no trouble: I took it for my own pleasure.”
“And my walk of a step I also took for mine.”
“Aye, the pleasure of ceremony!”
“I may hope, then, this your visit is from something more than ceremony—perhaps a feeling of real friendship, or as a mark of your good opinion.”
“I hate useless words,” returned the cynic, “and am not come here either to make any, or hearken to any. I have heard you much talked of lately. Our streets and our porticoes buzz eternally with your name, till now all wise men are weary of it. I come to tell you this, and to advise you to shut the gates of your gardens forthwith, and to cease the harangues of a master; since you only pass for a philosopher among fools, and for a fool among philosophers.”
“I thank you for your honest advice and information, friend; but as the object of a master is not to teach the wise, but only the unwise, do you not think I may still harangue among fools to some little purpose, though Gryphus, and all sages, will of course justly hold me in contempt?”
“And so that fools may be made wise, the wise are to be plagued with folly?”