guilty to adding the verse the woodman crooned.
------

XIII. MANG THE PHILOSOPHER, AND BUTTERFLY CHWANG

Liehtse's tale of the Dream and the Deer leads me naturally to
this characteristic bit from Chwangtse:*--

"Once upon a time, I, Chwangtse, dreamed I was a butterfly
fluttering hither and thither; to all intents and purposes a
veritable butterfly. I followed my butterfly fancies, and was
unconscious of my individuality as a man. Suddenly I awoke, and
there I lay, a man again. Now how am I to know whether I was
then, Chwangtse dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a
butterfly dreaming I am Chwang?"

------
* Which, like nearly all the other passages from him in this
lecture, is quoted from Dr. H. A. Giles's _Chinese Literature,_
in the Literatures of the World series; New York, Appleton.
------

For which reason he is, says Dr. Giles, known to this day as
"Butterfly Chwang"; and the name is not all inappropriate. He
flits from fun to philosophy, and from philosoply to fun, as if
they were dark rose and laughing pansy; when he has you in the
gravest depths of wisdom and metaphysic, he will not be content
till with a flirt of his wings and an aspect gravely solemn he
has you in fits of laughter again. His is really a book that
belongs to world-literature; as good reading, for us now, as for
any ancient Chinaman of them all. I think he worked more
strenuously in the field of sheer intellect--stirred the thought
stuff more--than most other Chinese thinkers,--and so is more
akin to the Western mind; he carves his cerebrations more
definitely, and leaves less to the intuition. The great lack in
him is his failure to appreciate Confucius; and to explain that,
before I go further with Butterfly Chwang, I shall take a glance
at the times he lived in.

They were out of joint when Confucius came; they were a couple
of centuries more so now. Still more was the Tiger stalking
abroad: there were two or three tigers in particular, among the
Great Powers, evidentlv crouching for a spring--that should
settle things. Time was building the funeral pyre for the
Phoenix, and building it of the debris of ruined worlds. In the
early sixth century, the best minds were retiring in disgust to
the wilds;--you remember the anchorite's rebuke to Tse-Lu. But
now they were all coming from their retirement--the most active
minds, whether the best or not--to shout their nostrums and make
confusion worse confo