“And as a hare, when hounds and horns pursue,
    Pants to the place from whence at first he flew,”

he had lately been possessed with an absorbing desire to return once more to Loo.  This had at last been brought about, and he made up his mind to spend the remainder of his days in his native state.  He had now leisure to finish editing the Shoo King, or Book of History, to which he wrote a preface; he also “carefully digested the rites and ceremonies determined by the wisdom of the more ancient sages and kings; collected and arranged the ancient poetry; and undertook the reform of music.”  He made a diligent study of the Book of Changes, and added a commentary to it, which is sufficient to show that the original meaning of the work was as much a mystery to him as it has been to others.  His idea of what would probably be the value of the kernel encased in this unusually hard shell, if it were once rightly understood, is illustrated by his remark, “that if some years could be added to his life, he would give fifty of them to the study of the Book of Changes and that then he expected to be without great faults.”

In the year B.C. 482 his son Le died, and in the following year he lost by death his faithful disciple Yen Hwuy.  When the news of this last misfortune reached him, he exclaimed, “Alas!  Heaven is destroying me!” A year later a servant of Ke K’ang caught a strange one-horned animal while on a hunting excursion, and as no one present, could tell what animal it was, Confucius was sent for.  At once he declared it to be a K’e-lin, and legend says that its identity with the one which appeared before his birth was proved by its having the piece of ribbon on its horn which Ching-tsae tied to the weird animal which presented itself to her in a dream on Mount Ne.  This second apparition could only have one meaning, and Confucius was profoundly affected at the portent.  “For whom have you come?” he cried, “for whom have you come?” and then, bursting into tears, he added, “The course of my doctrine is run, and I am unknown.”

“How do you mean that you are unknown?” asked Tsze-kung.  “I don’t complain of Providence,” answered the Sage, “nor find fault with men that learning is neglected and success is worshipped.  Heaven knows me.  Never does a superior man pass away without leaving a name behind him.  But my principles make no progress, and I, how shall I be viewed in future ages?”

At this time, notwithstanding his declining strength and his many employments, he wrote the Ch’un ts’ew, or Spring and Autumn Annals, in which he followed the history of his native state of Loo, from the time of the duke Yin to the fourteenth year of the duke Gae, that is, to the time when the appearance of the K’e-lin warned him to consider his life at an end.