“It was the time of the autumn floods.  Every stream poured into the river, which swelled in its turbid course.  The banks were so far apart that from one to the other you could not tell a cow from a horse.

“Then the Spirit of the River laughed for joy that all the beauty of the earth was gathered to himself.  Down with the current he journeyed east, until he reached the Ocean.  There looking eastward, and seeing no limit to its expanse of waves, his countenance changed.  As he gazed out, he sighed, and said to the Spirit of the Ocean:  ’A vulgar proverb says that he who has heard but a part of the truth thinks no one equal to himself.  Such a one am I.

“’When formerly I heard people detracting from the learning of Confucius, or underrating the heroism of Po I. I did not believe.  But now that I have looked on your inexhaustibility—­ alas for me had I not reached your abode!  I should have been forever a laughing-stock to those of comprehensive enlightenment.’

“To which the Spirit of the Ocean answered:  ’You cannot speak of ocean to a well-frog,—­the creature of a narrower sphere.  You cannot speak of ice to a summer insect,—­the creature of a season.  You cannot speak of Tao to a pedant; his scope is too restricted.  But now that you have emerged from your narrow sphere, and have seen the great sea, you know your own insignificance, and I can speak of great principles.

“Have you never heard of the Frog of the Old Well?  The Frog said to the Turtle of the Eastern Sea, ’Happy indeed am I!  I hop on the rail around the well.  I rest in the hollow of some broken brick.  Swimming, I gather the water under my arms and shut my mouth tight.  I plunge into the mud, burying my feet and toes.  Not one of the cockles, crabs, or tadpoles I see around me is my match.  Why do you not come, Sir, and pay me a visit?’”

“Now the Turtle of the Eastern Sea had not got its left leg down ere its right leg had stuck fast, so it shrank back and begged to be excused.  It then described the sea, saying, ’A thousand leagues would not measure its breadth, nor a thousand fathoms its depth.  In the days of Yu the Great there were nine years of flood out of ten; but this did not add to its contents.  In the days of T’ang there were seven years of drought out of eight, but this did not narrow its span.  Not to be affected by volume of water, not to be affected by duration of time—­this is the happiness of the Eastern Sea.’  At this the Frog of the Old Well was considerably astonished, and knew not what to say next.  And for one whose knowledge does not reach to the positive-negative domain the attempt to understand me is like a mosquito trying to carry a mountain, or an ant to swim the Yellow River,—­they cannot succeed.”