I was about to reply very severely to this paradox, when I perceived that my companion was growing a little out of temper. And he who wishes to catch a Rosicrucian, must take care not to disturb the waters. I thought it better, therefore, to turn the conversation. “Revenons a nos moutons,” said I; “you promised to enlighten my ignorance as to the Rosicrucians.” “Well!” quoth he, rather sternly; “but for what purpose? Perhaps you desire only to enter the temple in order to ridicule the rites?” “What do you take me for! Surely, were I so inclined, the fate of the Abbe de Villars is a sufficient warning to all men not to treat idly of the realms of the Salamander and the Sylph. Everybody knows how mysteriously that ingenious personage was deprived of his life, in revenge for the witty mockeries of his ‘Comte de Gabalis.’” “Salamander and Sylph! I see that you fall into the vulgar error, and translate literally the allegorical language of the mystics.” With that the old gentleman condescended to enter into a very interesting, and, as it seemed to me, a very erudite relation, of the tenets of the Rosicrucians, some of whom, he asserted, still existed, and still prosecuted, in august secrecy, their profound researches into natural science and occult philosophy. “But this fraternity,” said he, “however respectable and virtuous,--virtuous I say, for no monastic order is more severe in the practice of moral precepts, or more ardent in Christian faith,--this fraternity is but a branch of others yet more transcendent in the powers they have obtained, and yet more illustrious in their origin. Are you acquainted with the Platonists?” “I have occasionally lost my way in their labyrinth,” said I. “Faith, they are rather difficult gentlemen to understand.” “Yet their knottiest problems have never yet been published. Their sublimest works are in manuscript, and constitute the initiatory learning, not only of the Rosicrucians, but of the nobler brotherhoods I have referred to. More solemn and sublime still is the knowledge to be gleaned from the elder Pythagoreans, and the immortal masterpieces of Apollonius.” “Apollonius, the imposter of Tyanea! are his writings extant?” “Imposter!” cried my host; “Apollonius an imposter!” “I beg your pardon; I did not know he was a friend of yours; and if you vouch for his character, I will believe him to have been a very respectable man, who only spoke the truth when he boasted of his power to be in two places at the same time.” “Is that so difficult?” said the old gentleman; “if so, you have never dreamed!”