sprawled like a crab upon its back. His coarse
hair rebelled upon his head and chin; and he had a broad, flat nose,
that had been broken in two places by the kick of an Assyrian mule.
Withal, Socrates talked delightfully; and it is not hard to imagine
that Xanthippe's pretty face, plump figure, and vivacious manners
served as an inspiration to the young philosopher's wit. So it was not
long ere Xanthippe found herself entertaining a profound respect for
Socrates.

At all events, Xanthippe, the Athenian beauty, was wed to Socrates the
philosopher. Putting all thought of Gatippus, the son of Heliopharnes
the plasterer, out of her mind, Xanthippe went to the temple of
Aphrodite, and was wed to Socrates. Historians differ as to the
details of the affair; but it seems generally agreed that Socrates was
late at the ceremony, having been delayed on his way to the temple by
one Diogenes, who asked to converse with him on the immortality of the
soul. Socrates stopped to talk, and would perhaps have been stopping
there still had not Kimon hunted him up, and fetched him to the wedding.

A great wedding it was. A complete report of it was written by one of
Socrates' friends, another literary man, named Xenophon. The literary
guild, including philosophers by the score, were there in full feather,
and Xenophon put himself to the trouble of giving a complete list of
these distinguished persons; and to the report, as it was penned for
the "Athens Weekly Papyrus," he appended a fine puff of Socrates, which
has led posterity to surmise that Socrates conferred a great compliment
on Xanthippe in marrying her. Yet, what else could we expect of this
man Xenophon? The only other thing he ever did was to conduct a
retreat from a Persian battle-field.

And now began the trials of Xanthippe, the wife of the literary man.
Ay, it was not long ere the young wife discovered that, of all husbands
in the world, the literary husband was the hardest to get along with.
Always late at his meals, always absorbed in his work, always
indifferent to the comforts of home--what a trial this man Socrates
must have been! Why, half the time, poor Xanthippe did n't know where
the next month's rent was coming from; and as for the grocer's and
butcher's bills--well, between this creditor and that creditor the
tormented little wife's life fast became a burden to her. Had it not
been for her father's convenient fruit-stall, Xanthippe must have
starved; an