and hospitable, but not ostentatious.  He generally travelled in a carriage with two horses, driven by one of his disciples; but a carriage in those days was like one of our carts.  In his village, it is said, he looked simple and sincere, as if he were one not able to speak; when waiting at court, or speaking with officers of an inferior grade, he spoke freely, but in a straightforward manner; with officers of a higher, grade he spoke blandly, but precisely; with the prince he was grave, but self-possessed.  When eating he did not converse; when in bed he did not speak.  If his mat were not straight he did not sit on it.  When a friend sent him a present he did not bow; the only present for which he bowed was that of the flesh of sacrifice.  He was capable of excessive grief, with all his placidity.  When his favorite pupil died, he exclaimed, “Heaven is destroying me!” His disciples on this said, “Sir, your grief is excessive.”  “It is excessive,” he replied.  “If I am not to mourn bitterly for this man, for whom should I mourn?”

The reigning prince of Loo caused a temple to be erected over the remains of Confucius, and the number of his disciples continually increased.  The emperors of the falling dynasty of Chow had neither the intelligence nor the will to do honor to the departed philosopher, but the emperors of the succeeding dynasties did all they could to perpetuate his memory.  During his life Confucius found ready acceptance for his doctrines, and was everywhere revered among the people, though not uniformly appreciated by the rulers, nor able permanently to establish the reforms he inaugurated.  After his death, however, no honor was too great to be rendered him.  The most splendid temple in China was built over his grave, and he received a homage little removed from worship.  His writings became a sacred rule of faith and practice; schools were based upon them, and scholars devoted themselves to their interpretation.  For two thousand years Confucius has reigned supreme,—­the undisputed teacher of a population of three or four hundred millions.

Confucius must be regarded as a man of great humility, conscious of infirmities and faults, but striving after virtue and perfection.  He said of himself, “I have striven to become a man of perfect virtue, and to teach others without weariness; but the character of the superior man, carrying out in his conduct what he professes, is what I have not attained to.  I am not one born in the possession of knowledge, but I am one who is fond of antiquity, and earnest in seeking it there.  I am a transmitter, and not a maker.”  If he did not lay claim to divine illumination, he felt that he was born into the world for a special purpose; not to declare new truths, not to initiate any new ceremony, but to confirm what he felt was in danger of being lost,—­the most conservative of all known reformers.