on a teapot at home.’ ‘Pray walk in, sir,’ said the young fellow, extending his mouth till it reached nearly from ear to ear; ‘pray walk in, and I shall be happy to give you any information respecting the manners and customs of the Chinese in my power.’ Thereupon I followed him into his shop, where he began to harangue on the manners, customs and peculiarities of the Chinese, especially their manner of preparing tea, not forgetting to tell me that the only genuine Chinese tea ever imported into England was to be found in his shop. ‘With respect to those marks,’ said he, ‘on the bowl and chests, they are nothing more nor less than Chinese writing, expressing something, though what I can’t exactly tell you. Allow me to sell you this pound of tea,’ he added, showing me a paper parcel. ‘On the envelope there is a printed account of the Chinese system of writing, extracted from authors of the most established reputation. These things I print principally with the hope of, in some degree, removing the worse than Gothic ignorance prevalent amongst the natives of these parts. I am from London myself. With respect to all that relates to the Chinese real imperial tea, I assure you sir, that—’ Well, to make short of what you doubtless consider a very tiresome story, I purchased the tea and carried it home. The tea proved imperially bad, but the paper envelope really contained some information on the Chinese language and writing, amounting to about as much as you gained from me the other day. On learning that the marks on the teapot expressed words, I felt my interest with respect to them considerably increased and returned to the task of inspecting them with greater zeal than before, hoping, by continually looking at them, to be able eventually to understand their meaning, in which hope you may easily believe I was disappointed, though my desire to understand what they represented continued on the increase. In this dilemma I determined to apply again to the shopkeeper from whom I bought the tea. I found him in rather low spirits, his shirtsleeves were soiled, and his hair was out of curl. On my inquiring how he got on, he informed me that he intended speedily to leave, having received little or no encouragement, the people, in their Gothic ignorance, preferring to deal with an old-fashioned shopkeeper over the way, who, so far from possessing any acquaintance with the polity and institutions of the Chinese, did not, he firmly believed, know that tea came from China. ‘You are come for some more, I suppose?’ said he. On receiving an answer in the negative he looked somewhat blank, but when I added that I came to consult with him as to the means which I must take in order to acquire the Chinese language he brightened up. ‘You must get a grammar,’ said he, rubbing his hands. ‘Have you not one?’ said I. ‘No,’ he replied, ‘but any bookseller can procure you one.’ As I was taking my departure, he told me that as he was about to leave the neighbourhood, the bowl at the window, which bore the inscription, besides some other pieces of porcelain of a similar description, were at my service, provided I chose to purchase them. I consented, and two or three days afterwards took from off his hands all the china in his possession which bore inscriptions, paying what he demanded. Had I waited till the sale of his effects, which occurred within a few weeks, I could probably have procured it for a fifth part of the sum which I paid, the other pieces realising very little. I did not, however, grudge the poor fellow what he got from me, as I considered myself to be somewhat in his debt for the information he had afforded me.
“As for the rest of my story it may be briefly told. I followed the advice of the shopkeeper, and applied to a bookseller who wrote to his correspondent in London. After a long interval, I was informed that if I wished to learn Chinese I must do so through the medium of French, there being neither Chinese grammar nor dictionary in our language. I was at first very much disheartened. I determined, however, at last to gratify my desire of learning Chinese, even at the expense of learning French. I procured the books, and in order to qualify myself to turn them to account, took lessons in French from a little Swiss, the usher of a neighbouring boarding-school. I was very stupid in acquiring French; perseverance, however, enabled me to acquire a knowledge sufficient for the object I had in view. In about two years I began to study Chinese by myself, through the medium of the French.”
“Well,” said I, “and how did you get on with the study of the Chinese?”
And then the old man proceeded to inform me how he got on with the study of Chinese, enumerated all the difficulties he had had to encounter; dilating upon his frequent despondency of mind, and occasionally his utter despair of ever mastering Chinese. He told me that more than once he had determined upon giving up the study, but then the misery in his head forthwith returned, to escape from which he had as often resumed it. It appeared, however, that ten years elapsed before he was able to use ten of the two hundred and fourteen keys, which serve to undo the locks of Chinese writing.
“And are you able at present to use the entire number?” I demanded.
“Yes,” said the old man; “I can at present use the whole number. I know the key for every particular lock, though I frequently find the wards unwilling to give way.”
“Has nothing particular occurred to you,” said I, “during the time that you have been prosecuting your studies?”
“During the whole time in which I have been engaged in these studies,” said the
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