THE MYSTICAL MASTER INTRODUCES THE PRACTICAL DISCIPLE.
"Both, the subject and the interlocutor," replied the stranger rising,
and waiting the return towards him of a promenader, that moment turning
at the further end of his walk.
"Egbert!" said he, calling.
Egbert, a well-dressed, commercial-looking gentleman of about thirty,
responded in a way strikingly deferential, and in a moment stood near,
in the attitude less of an equal companion apparently than a
confidential follower.
"This," said the stranger, taking Egbert by the hand and leading him to
the cosmopolitan, "this is Egbert, a disciple. I wish you to know
Egbert. Egbert was the first among mankind to reduce to practice the
principles of Mark Winsome--principles previously accounted as less
adapted to life than the closet. Egbert," turning to the disciple, who,
with seeming modesty, a little shrank under these compliments, "Egbert,
this," with a salute towards the cosmopolitan, "is, like all of us, a
stranger. I wish you, Egbert, to know this brother stranger; be
communicative with him. Particularly if, by anything hitherto dropped,
his curiosity has been roused as to the precise nature of my philosophy,
I trust you will not leave such curiosity ungratified. You, Egbert, by
simply setting forth your practice, can do more to enlighten one as to
my theory, than I myself can by mere speech. Indeed, it is by you that I
myself best understand myself. For to every philosophy are certain rear
parts, very important parts, and these, like the rear of one's head, are
best seen by reflection. Now, as in a glass, you, Egbert, in your life,
reflect to me the more important part of my system. He, who approves
you, approves the philosophy of Mark Winsome."
Though portions of this harangue may, perhaps, in the phraseology seem
self-complaisant, yet no trace of self-complacency was perceptible in
the speaker's manner, which throughout was plain, unassuming, dignified,
and manly; the teacher and prophet seemed to lurk more in the idea, so
to speak, than in the mere bearing of him who was the vehicle of it.
"Sir," said the cosmopolitan, who seemed not a little interested in this
new aspect of matters, "you speak of a certain philosophy, and a more or
less occult one it may be, and hint of its bearing upon practical life;
pray, tell me, if the study of this philosophy tends to the same
formation of character with the experiences of the world?"
"It does; and that is the test of its truth; for any philosophy that,
being in operation contradictory to the ways of the world, tends to
produce a character at odds with it, such a philosophy must necessarily
be but a cheat and a dream."
"You a little surprise me," answered the cosmopolitan; "for, from an
occasional profundity in you, and also from your allusions to a profound
work on the theology of Plato, it would seem but natural to surmise
that, if you are the originator of any philosophy, it must needs so
partake of the abstruse, as to exalt it above the comparatively vile
uses of life."
"No uncommon mistake with regard to me," rejoined the other. Then meekly
standing like a Raphael: "If still in golden accents old Memnon murmurs
his riddle, none the less does the balance-sheet of every man's ledger
unriddle the profit or loss of life. Sir," with calm energy, "man came
into this world, not to sit down and muse, not to befog himself with
vain subtleties, but to gird up his loins and to work. Mystery is in the
morning, and mystery in the night, and the beauty of mystery is
everywhere; but still the plain truth remains, that mouth and purse must
be filled. If, hitherto, you have supposed me a visionary, be
undeceived. I am no one-ideaed one, either; no more than the seers
before me. Was not Seneca a usurer? Bacon a courtier? and Swedenborg,
though with one eye on the invisible, did he not keep the other on the
main chance? Along with whatever else it may be given me to be, I am a
man of serviceable knowledge, and a man of the world. Know me for such.
And as for my disciple here," turning towards him, "if you look to find
any soft Utopianisms and last year's sunsets in him, I smile to think
how he will set you right. The doctrines I have taught him will, I
trust, lead him neither to the mad-house nor the poor-house, as so many
other doctrines have served credulous sticklers. Furthermore," glancing
upon him paternally, "Egbert is both my disciple and my poet. For poetry
is not a thing of ink and rhyme, but of thought and act, and, in the
latter way, is by any one to be found anywhere, when in useful action
sought. In a word, my disciple here is a thriving young merchant, a
practical poet in the West India trade. There," presenting Egbert's hand
to the cosmopolitan, "I join you, and leave you." With which words, and
without bowing, the master withdrew.