"
"Are your Chinese studies," said I, "confined to crockery
literature?"
"Entirely," said the old man; "I read nothing else."
"I have heard," said I, "that the Chinese have no letters, but that
for every word they have a separate character--is it so?"
"For every word they have a particular character," said the old
man; "though, to prevent confusion, they have arranged their words
under two hundred and fourteen what we should call radicals, but
which they call keys. As we arrange all our words in a dictionary
under twenty-four letters, so do they arrange all their words, or
characters, under two hundred and fourteen radical signs; the
simplest radicals being the first, and the more complex the last."
"Does the Chinese resemble any of the European languages in words?"
said I.
"I am scarcely competent to inform you," said the old man; "but I
believe not."
"What does that character represent?" said I, pointing to one on
the vase.
"A knife," said the old man, "that character is one of the simplest
radicals or keys."
"And what is the sound of it?" said I.
"Tau," said the old man.
"Tau!" said I; "tau!"
"A strange word for a knife is it not?" said the old man.
"Tawse!" said I; "tawse!"
"What is tawse?" said the old man.
"You were never at school at Edinburgh, I suppose?"
"Never," said the old man.
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