Such was the state of China at the time of the birth of Confucius (B.C. 551).  Of the parents of the Sage we know but little, except that his father, Shuh-leang Heih, was a military officer, eminent for his commanding stature, his great bravery, and immense strength, and that his mother’s name was Yen Ching-tsai The marriage of this couple took place when Heih was seventy years old, and the prospect, therefore, of his having an heir having been but slight, unusual rejoicings commemorated the birth of the son, who was destined to achieve such everlasting fame.

Report says that the child was born in a cave on Mount Ne, whither Ching-tsai went in obedience to a vision to be confined.  But this is but one of the many legends with which Chinese historians love to surround the birth of Confucius.  With the same desire to glorify the Sage, and in perfect good faith, they narrate how the event was heralded by strange portents and miraculous appearances, how genii announced to Ching-tsai the honor that was in store for her, and how fairies attended at his nativity.

Of the early years of Confucius we have but scanty record.  It would seem that from his childhood he showed ritualistic tendencies, and we are told that as a boy he delighted to play at the arrangement of vessels and postures of ceremony.  As he advanced in years he became an earnest student of history, and looked back with love and reverence to the time when the great and good Yaou and Shun reigned in: 

    “A golden age, fruitful of golden deeds.”

At the age of fifteen “he bent his mind to learning,” and when he was nineteen years old he married a lady from the state of Sung.  As has befallen many other great men, Confucius’ married life was not a happy one, and he finally divorced his wife, not, however, before she had borne him a son.

Soon after his marriage, at the instigation of poverty, Confucius accepted the office of keeper of the stores of grain, and in the following year he was promoted to be guardian of the public fields and lands.  It was while holding this latter office that his son was born, and so well known and highly esteemed had he already become that the reigning duke, on hearing of the event, sent him a present of a carp, from which circumstance the infant derived his name, Le ("a carp").  The name of this son seldom occurs in the life of his illustrious father, and the few references we have to him are enough to show that a small share of paternal affection fell to his lot.  “Have you heard any lessons from your father different from what we have all heard?” asked an inquisitive disciple of him.  “No,” replied Le, “he was standing alone once when I was passing through the court below with hasty steps, and said to me, ‘Have you read the Odes?’ On my replying, ‘Not yet,’ he added, ’If you do not learn the Odes, you will not be fit to converse with.’  Another day, in the same place and the same way, he said to me, ‘Have you read