“The great mountain must crumble,
     The strong beam must break. 
     The wise man must wither like a flower.”

Heavy-hearted, Tse Kung followed him in.—­“What makes you so late?” said Confucius; and then:  “According to the rites of Hia, the dead lay in state at the top of the eastern steps, as if he were the host.  Under the Shangs, it was between the two pillars he lay, as if he were both host and guest.  The rite of the Chows is for him to lie at the top of the western steps, as if he were the guest.  I am a man of Shang,”—­it will be remembered that he was descended from that royal house; “and last night I dreamed that I was sitting between the pillars, with offerings set out before me.  No intelligent monarch arises; no prince will make me his teacher.  My time has come to die.”—­That day he took to his bed; his passing was a week later.

On the banks of the Sze his disciples buried him; and for three years mourned at his grave.  But Tse Kung built himself a cabin at the graveside, and remained there three years longer.  “All my life,” said he, “I have had heaven above my head, but I do not know its height.  I have had earth beneath my feet, but I have not known its magnitude.  I served Confucius:  I was like a thirsty man going with his pitcher to the river.  I drank my fill, but I never knew the depth of the water.”

And Tse Kung was right; and what he felt then, one feels now.  You read Boswell, and have your Johnson in the hollow of your hand:  body, soul, and spirit:  higher triad and lower quaternary.  Of Confucius we have a picture in some respects even more detailed than Boswell’s of Johnson; but when we have said everything, we still feel that nothing has been said.  Boswell lets you in through his master’s church-door; shows you nave and aisle, vault and vestry; climbs with you to the belfry; stands with you at the altar and in the pulpit; till you have seen everything there is to see.  But with Confucius as with every Adept the case is quite different.  “The Master’s wall is fathomless,” said Tse Kung; but he and the other disciples took care that China at least should find the gate of entry; and it is still possible for us to go in, and “see the beauty of the temple, the richness of the robes of the officiating priests.”  You go through everything; see him under all sorts of circumstances; and ask at last:  “Is this all?”—­No, says your guide; “see here!” and flings one last door open.  And that, like the door in Lord Dunsaney’s play, opens on to the vastness of the stars.  What is it that baffles us and remains undefined and undefinable?  Just this:  TAO:  the Infinite Nature.  You can survey the earth, and measure it with chains; but not Space, in which a billion leagues is nowise different from an inch or two, —­it bears the same proportion to the whole.