and grass have taken root in their bodies, and flourish luxuriantly; when a man approaches them they turn their eyes upon him, but do not speak. No wild beast ever attacks them, for they are in harmony with all nature. Some of them are over three hundred years old; others are not much over a century; but all have attained to immortality, and some day they will find that their bodies, which have been so long in wearing out, will collapse from sheer withdrawal of vitality, and their spirits be set free. This is all fanciful and fabulous enough; but it is undeniable that that indifference or aversion to vulgar objects of desire which characterises the true Taoist has laid China under many a debt of gratitude. The votary of the Naturalistic philosophy does not always become a hermit any more than the Christian always becomes a priest. He is often in the world, and occupies high offices of state. But circumstances make no difference in him. He is always the same, while living in mean and dirty lane and drinking from a gourd, as he is in the palace itself, the trusted Minister of a monarch. In this position he retains the same incorruptibility, the same indifference to power, that he has when living in obscurity. China has had many such Ministers, and she is rightly proud of them. Emperors and princes are said to have gone in person to solicit the services of some stern recluse whose fame had reached their ears, and to have been unsuccessful in their suit. The delineation of such characters forms a bright page in many a volume of dusty Chinese lore, and they are now held up to the reverence and imitation of the statesmen and scholars of the day.
