The philosopher’s study was a very different place from the green wood,—­perched up, as it was, on the summit of a bare, bleak mountain.  The room was fitted up with the frugality demanded by philosophic indifference to luxury, and the abundance necessitated by a wide range of study.  The walls were hung with a number of pictures, in whose subjects an observer might detect a remarkable similarity.  A satirical pencil had been engaged in depicting some of the most striking instances of successful manly resistance to female tyranny, of manly contempt for feminine weakness, of manly endurance of woman-inflicted injury.  The unfortunate Longinus turned with contemptuous pity from the trembling Zenobia; the valiant Thomas Aquinas hurled his protesting firebrand against the too charming interruption of his scholastic pursuits; the redoubtable Conqueror beat his rebellious sweetheart into matrimony.  The flickering light of a wood fire served not merely to illuminate the actual portraits, but almost to discover the sarcastic face of the anonymous artist, smiling in triumph from the background.  On the hearth in front of the fire stood the philosopher in earnest conversation with a venerable friend.

“I am provoked beyond measure,” exclaimed our friend, in an exceedingly vexed tone.  “So much as I had hoped from the boy,—­that he, too, could not keep from the silly snare!  It is shameful, abominable;—­she is always in my way, upsetting all my plans, interfering with everything I undertake.  Would you believe it? at the death of one of her sisters, the fools were not content with giving her a funeral good enough for a man, but they must place her hair in the sky for a constellation!”

“That was indeed an insult to Orion,” said his sympathizing friend, soothingly.

“My hands are absolutely tied,” continued the irate philosopher.  “I bestow upon the boys the most careful education, enlarge their minds by the study of the history and destiny of man, of the world, of the stellar system, till I may hope that in the contemplation of the vast universe they have lost their little prejudices and personal preferences.  I strengthen their judgment, assiduously exercise their powers of ratiocination, fortify their minds with philosophy, train them to habits of accuracy, patience, and perseverance by long scientific research; and at the moment when I ought to find them useful as philosophers, as seekers after eternal Truth, as lovers of imperishable Wisdom, they degenerate into seekers after eyes and hair and cheeks, and I know not what nonsense, lovers of frail, perishable women, who appear to preserve an astonishing longevity on purpose to plague and thwart rational people.”

His friend pondered deeply upon the vexatious problem.

“You say,” he remarked, “that this unfortunate attraction exists in spite of philosophical training,—­that it is exerted towards the antipodes of their previous associations; that, as they have been trained to yield only to well-grounded syllogisms, it is the illogical mode of assault that vanquishes them unguarded; that their reasonable minds have nothing to say to such, perfectly unreasonable fascinations; that, in short, the enemy succeeds by supplying a vacuum, as the walls of Visibis gave way under the pressure of the dammed-up river?”