Don't share the ruin of a man who is an utter stranger! We have troubles enough of our own." And with this consolation Arsinoe left him, again consumed with impotent rage.
"Villain," fumed Pisander to himself, "if I could only place my fingers round your neck! But what can I do?
What can I do?
I am helpless, friendless, penniless! And I can only tear out my heart, and pretend to play the philosopher.

I, a philosopher! If I were a true one, I would have had the courage to kill myself before this." And in this mental state he continued, till he learned that Pratinas had taken his farewell, and that Calatinus wished him--since all the slaves seemed busy, and the poor house philosopher was often sent on menial errands--to go to the _Forum Boarium_,[70] and bring back some ribs of beef for a dinner that evening.

Pisander went as bidden, tugging a large basket, and trying to muster up courage to continue his walk to the Fabrician Bridge, and plunge into the Tiber.

In classic days suicide was a commendable act under a great many circumstances, and Pisander was perfectly serious and sincere in his belief that he and the world had been companions too long for the good of either.

But the jar and din of the streets certainly served to make connected philosophical meditation upon the futility and unimportance of human existence decidedly unfruitful.