64 CHINESE LITERATURE
ing, for which a bent body is no drawback, but escapes the dreaded press-gang in time of war.
With a few illustrative extracts we must now take leave of Chuang Tzu, a writer who, although heterodox in the eyes of a Confucianist, has always been justly esteemed for his pointed wit and charming style.
(i.) " It was the time of autumn floods. Every stream poured into the river, which swelled in its turbid course. The banks receded so far from one another that it was impossible to 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 stream he journeyed east, until he reached the ocean. There, looking eastwards and seeing no limit to its waves, his countenance changed. And as he gazed over the expanse, he sighed and said to the Spirit of the Ocean, ' A vulgar proverb says, that he who has heard but part of the truth thinks no one equal to him- self. And 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 upon your inexhaustibility alas for me had I not reached your abode, I should have been for ever a laughing-stock to those of comprehensive enlighten- ment !'
" To which the Spirit of the Ocean replied, ' You can- not 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 oi Tao to a pedagogue : his scope is too restricted. But now that you have emerged from your narrow sphere
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