"My dear friend," said the little man, with unusual gravity, "you do not say so?" "I do say so. Pythagoras was a fool, a madman, an impostor." "You don't speak thus of the divine Pythagoras?" returned he, putting his bust upon the table. "No, not of the divine Pythagoras, for such a person never existed. I speak of Pythagoras the Samian--him of the golden thigh, the founder of what is called the Pythagorean philosophy." "And the most rational system of philosophy that ever existed. Begging your pardon, I think it goes far beyond that of Plato or the Stagyrite." "If you mean that it goes beyond them in being as full of absurdity as they are of wisdom, I really agree with you," said I, my anger rising at hearing the divine doctrines of Aristotle and the disciple of Socrates so irreverently spoken of. "Pray, what were its absurdities?" asked he with the most imperturbable good-nature. "Did not Pythagoras enjoin silence to his disciples for a period of five years,--absolute silence, muteness, dumbness?" "And a very good injunction it was. No man can be philosopher unless he knows how to keep his tongue under a restraint." "I am afraid, then, _you_ will never be one," I remarked, forcing a smile, although I was at bottom considerably nettled. He did not seem to take my observation ill, but passed it off with one of his characteristic giggles of laughter. "You were talking of his absurdities, my dear friend." "Ah, well, did he not forbid the use of animal food to his followers? and, to crown all, did he not teach the monstrous doctrine of transmigration of souls--sending the spirits of men, after death, to inhabit the bodies of dogs, and cats, and frogs, and geese, and even insects?" "And call you this a monstrous doctrine?" "Monstrous!" I exclaimed with surprise--"it is the _ne plus ultra_, the climax of fatuity, the raving of a disordered imagination." "So you do not believe in Metempsychosis?" asked he with a smile. "I would as soon believe in demonology, or magic. There is nothing I would not rather credit. Kenelm Digby's sympathetic powder, the philosopher's stone, the elixir vitæ, animal magnetism, metallic tractors, judicial astrology--anything, in fact, would more readily find a place in my belief than this nonsensical jargon, which is credited by nobody but the superstitious Brahmins of India. But perhaps you are a believer?" He shrugged up his shoulders at this last remark, stroked his chin, and, giving me a sarcastic look, said, with a familiar nod and smile, "Yes, _I am_ a believer." "What!" said I, "you--you with your immense learning, can _you_ put faith in such doctrines?" "If I put faith in them," said he, "it is my learning which has taught me to do so. If I were less learned, I might perhaps spurn at them as erroneous. Doubt is as often the offspring of ignorance as of credulity. Your great doubters are generally as ill-informed as your great believers, and much more self-conceited."