LIEH TZŬ.
[An imaginary philosopher, said by Chuang Tzŭ (q.v.) to have been able to “ride upon the wind and dispense with walking,” and generally regarded as a creature of Chuang Tzŭ's own brain. The small work from which the following extracts are taken, was written up some centuries later. It is in a pseudoarchaic style, and is not wanting in interest.]
REST.
TZŬ KUNG said to Confucius, “Master, I am aweary, and would fain have rest.”
“In life,” replied the sage, “there is no rest.”
“Shall I, then, never have rest?” asked the disciple.
“You will,” said Confucius. “Behold the tombs which lie around; some magnificent, some mean. In one of these you will find rest.”
“How wonderful is Death!” rejoined Tzŭ Kung. “The wise man rests, the wordly man is engulfed therein.”
“My son,” said Confucius, “I see that you understand. Other men know life only as a boon: they do not perceive that it is a bane. They know old age as a state of weakness: they do not perceive that it is a state of ease. They know death only as an abomination: they do not perceive that it is a state of rest.
“How grand,” cried Yen Tzŭ, “is the old conception of Death! The virtuous find rest, the wicked are engulfed therein. In death, each reverts to that from which he came. The ancients regarded death as a return to, and life as an absence from, home. And he who forgets his home becomes an outcast and a by-word in his generation.”
DREAM AND REALITY.
A man of the State of Cheng was one day gathering fuel, when he came across a startled deer, which he pursued and killed. Fearing lest any one should see him, he hastily concealed the carcass in a ditch and covered it with plaintain-leaves, rejoicing excessively at his good fortune. By-and-by, he forgot the place where he had put it; and, thinking he must have been dreaming, he set off towards home, humming over the affair on his way.
