N. B.—A friendly German critic of the first edition of this work thought Confucius unfairly judged in the opening paragraph of the foregoing article. "Confucianism anticipated modern agnosticism, on the one hand," said he: "on the other—and this consideration deserves special weight—it has formed the basis of a social fabric far more lasting than any other that the world has seen. The endurance of the Papacy is often quoted in evidence of the truth of Roman Catholicism. What then, of Confucianism with its still higher antiquity?"
There is much force in this objection; and those who know China most intimately seem to agree in attributing her marvellous vitality and her power of assimilating barbarous tribes both those she conquers and those that conquer her—to the fact that this great ethical system has infused its strength into the national life, and practically rules the country. We incline to agree with our critic as much as with ourselves. The best plan may perhaps be to present both sides of a question which is too complicated for any sweeping assertion about it to be wholly true.
Books recommended. Dr. Legge's elaborate edition of The Chinese Classics in six large volumes, and Vol. XVI. of the Sacred Books of the East, containing the same writer's translation of the Book of Changes (Yi King).—Confucianism, published by the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, is a much briefer manual of the subject, in popular form.—The Japanese Confucianists have been made the subject of a careful study by Rev. Dr. G. W. Knox, in Vol. XX. Part I. of the "Asiatic Transactions." See also Aston's History of Japanese Literature.
Conventions. Whether we or the Japanese be the more conventional, might furnish a nice point for argument; but in any case it is their conventions that strike us. They admire certain flowers,—the plum and cherry-blossom, the wistaria, the chrysanthemum, the insignificant "seven herbs of autumn," and have written poems about these and a few others for centuries; but new flowers, however beautiful, they will not admit at any rate into literature. They rave about the moon; the glories and pathos of sunset touch no chord within them. Their art bristles with conventions. So do their social habits, as when, in greeting a friend, they crave pardon for rudeness of which they were never guilty. The oddest conventional item of daily life, or rather death, is their habit of inventing a fictitious date for decease. Thus, all the world knows that such and such an admiral or general died on Monday morning. Nevertheless, he receives visits on the Tuesday, is promoted on the Wednesday, perhaps makes a railway journey on the Thursday, and at last, maybe, receives official permission to die on the Friday at precisely 7.45 p.m. This make-believe is inspired by the most practical motives. In
