Please reflect upon this attentively.  If you once render yourself familiar with the nature of the uncorrupted heart, from that time forth you will be immediately conscious of the slightest inclination towards bias or selfishness.  And why?  Because the natural heart is illumined.  When a man has once learned that which is perfect, he will never consent to accept that which is imperfect; but if, after having acquired this knowledge, he again keeps his natural heart at a distance, and gradually forgets to recognize that which is perfect, he finds himself in the dark again, and that he can no longer distinguish base money from good.  I beg you to take care.  If a man falls into bad habits, he is no longer able to perceive the difference between the good impulses of his natural heart and the evil impulses of his corrupt heart.  With this benighted heart as a starting-point, he can carry out none of his intentions, and he has to lift his shoulders sighing and sighing again.  A creature much to be pitied indeed!  Then he loses all self-reliance, so that, although it would be better for him to hold his tongue and say nothing about it, if he is in the slightest trouble or distress, he goes and confesses the crookedness of his heart to every man he meets.  What a wretched state for a man to be in!  For this reason, I beg you to learn thoroughly the true silver of the heart, in order that you may make no mistake about the base coin.  I pray that you and I, during our whole lives, may never leave the path of true principles.

I have an amusing story to tell you in connection with this, if you will be so good as to listen.

Once upon a time, when the autumn nights were beginning to grow chilly, five or six tradesmen in easy circumstances had assembled together to have a chat; and, having got ready their picnic box and wine-flask, went off to a temple on the hills, where a friendly priest lived, that they might listen to the stags roaring.  With this intention they went to call upon the priest, and borrowed the guests’ apartments[100] of the monastery; and as they were waiting to hear the deer roar, some of the party began to compose poetry.  One would write a verse of Chinese poetry, and another would write a verse of seventeen syllables; and as they were passing the wine-cup the hour of sunset came, but not a deer had uttered a call; eight o’clock came, and ten o’clock came; still not a sound from the deer.

[Footnote 100:  All the temples in China and Japan have guests’ apartments, which may be secured for a trifle, either for a long or short period.  It is false to suppose that there is any desecration of a sacred shrine in the act of using it as a hostelry; it is the custom of the country.]

“What can this mean?” said one.  “The deer surely ought to be roaring.”

But, in spite of their waiting, the deer would not roar.  At last the friends got sleepy, and, bored with writing songs and verses, began to yawn, and gave up twaddling about the woes and troubles of life; and as they were all silent, one of them, a man fifty years of age, stopping the circulation of the wine-cup, said—­