a loose life) but once brought him to wish for a permanent union. The only woman whom he is recorded to have desired to marry was an actress, who, at the time he was “enraptured with her,” was (fit position for the wife of a great moral philosopher!) the recognized mistress of Duke Carl August. It has sometimes happened that men who have been lacking in those family and friendly affections which are the most beautiful things in human life have yet almost atoned for their deficiency by their fervent “Enthusiasm of Humanity.” It is needless to say that Schopenhauer’s character displayed an impartial negation of both orders of feeling. He neither loved men nor women in particular, nor man in general. He carefully defined himself to be not a misanthrope, only a despiser of men (p. 83). The higher a man stood mentally, he thought, the lower must his fellow-men appear. That it was the divine part of the greatest to serve the least was the very last suggestion which would have occurred to his mind. “I read,” he observed, “in the face of the Apollo Belvidere, the just and deep displeasure felt by the god of the Muses for the wretched obstinacy of the Philistines”; and, doubtless, Arthur Schopenhauer figuratively drew himself up, and felt as like the Apollo Belvidere as the corporeal circumstances of a German philosopher might permit. He was “penetrated with the conviction that he had been placed in a world peopled with beings morally and intellectually contemptible, from whom he must keep apart.” In his note-book (of rather a different cast from that of Marcus Aurelius), he wrote this piece of self-counsel: “Study to acquire an accurate and connected view of the utter despicability of mankind in general, then of your contemporaries, and of German scholars in particular.”