the West so brilliant and fickle,—­of duality such poles apart,—­so lobsided and, I think, in a true sense, so little progressive.  For see how many centuries we have had to wait while ignorance, bigotry, wrong ideas, and persecution, have prevented the establishment on any large scale of a Theosophical Movement—­and be not too ready to accept a whirl of political changes, experiment after experiment,—­and latterly a spurt of mechanical inventions,—­for True Progress:  which I take to mean, rightly considered, the growth of human egos, and freedom and an atmosphere in which they may grow.  But these they had in China abundantly while China was in manvantara; do not think I am urging as our example the fallen China of these pralayic times.  Balance was the truth Confucius impressed on the Chinese mentality:  the saving Truth of truths, I may say; and it is perhaps the truth which most of all will stand connected with the name of Katherine Tingley in the ages to come:—­the saving Truth of truths, which will make a new and better world for us.  You must have it, if you are to build solidly; it is the foundation of any true social order; the bedrock on which alone a veritable civilization can be built.  Oh, your unbalanced genius can produce things of startling beauty; and they have their value, heaven knows.  The Soul watches for its chances, and leaps in at surprising moments:  the arm clothed in white samite may reach forth out of the bosom of all sorts of curious quagmires; and when it does, should be held in reverence as still and always a proof of the underlying divinity of man.  But—­there where the basis of things is not firmly set:  where that mystic, wonderful reaching out is not from the clear lake, but from turbidity and festering waters—­ where the grand balance has not been acquired:—­You must look to come on tragedy.  The world has gained something from the speech of the Soul there; but the man through whom It spoke;—­it has proved too much for him.  The vibrations were too strong, and shattered him.  Think of Keats . . . and of thousands of others, poets, musicians, artists.  Where you get the grand creations, the unfitful shining,—­there you get evidence of a balance:  with genius—­the daimonic force—­no greater than, perhaps not so keen as, that of those others, you find a strong moral will.  Dante and Milton suffered no less than others from those perils to which all creative artists are subject:  both complain bitterly of inner assailments and torment; but they had, to balance their genius, the strong moral urge to fight their weaknesses all through life.  It could not save their personalities from suffering; but it gave the Soul in each of them a basis on which to build the grand steadfast creations.—­All of which Chinese Liehtse tells you without comment, and with an air of being too childish-foolish for this world, in the following story:—­