assumed a high philosophic calm. But no; he never bothered to;
even though reproached for inconsistency. His mother died when
he was twenty-four; and he broke through all rites and customs
by raising a mound over her grave; that, as he said, he might
have a place to turn to and think of as his home whereever he
might be on his wanderings. He mourned for her the orthodox
twenty-seven months; then for five days longer would not touch
his lute. On the sixth day he took it and began to play; but
when he tried to sing, broke down and wept. One is surprised;
but there is no posing about it. Yen Hui was his saint John, the
Beloved disciple. "When Yen Hui died," we read, "the Master
cried, 'Woe is me! I am undone of Heaven! I am undone of
Heaven!' When Yen Hui died the Master gave way to grief. The
disciples said: 'Sir, you are giving way.'--'Am I giving way?'
said he. 'If for this man I do not give way, for whom shall I
give way?... Hui treated me as a son his father; I have failed
to treat him as a father his son.'" Confucius was old then, and
near his own death... But what I think you will recognise in his
speech, again and again, is the peculiarly spontaneous... indeed
impetuous ... ring of it. He had that way of repeating a
sentence twice that marks a naturally impetuous man.--Of his
sense of humor I shall speak later.

He dearly loved his disciples, and was homesick when away from
them.--"My batch of boys, ambitious and hasty--I must go home to
them! I must go home to them!" said he. Once when he was very
ill, Tse Lu "moved the disciples to act as ministers":--to behave
to him as if he were a king and they his ministers.--"I know, I
know!" said Confucius; "Tse Lu has been making believe. This show
of ministers, when I have none,--whom will it deceive? Will it
deceive Heaven? I had rather die in your arms, my boys, than be
a king and die in the arms of my ministers."--"Seeing the
disciple Min standing at his side in winning strength, Tse Lu
with warlike front, Jan Yu and Tse Kung fresh and strong, the
Master's heart was glad," we read. He considered what he calls
'love' the highest state,--the condition of the Adept or Sage;
but that other thing that goes by the same name,--of that he
would not speak;--nor of crime,--nor of feats of strength,
--nor of doom,--nor of ghosts and spirits. Anything that
implied a forsaking of middle lines, a losing of the balance,
extravagance,--he abhorred.--And now ba