English?"

"Yes," said I, "I know a little of two or three."

"May I ask their names?"

"Why not?" said I, "I know a little French."

"Anything else?"

"Yes, a little Welsh, and a little Haik."

"What is Haik?"

"Armenian."

"I am glad to see you in my house," said the old man, shaking me by the
hand; "how singular that one coming as you did should know Armenian!"

"Not more singular," said I, "than that one living in such a place as
this should know Chinese. How came you to acquire it?"

The old man looked at me, and sighed. "I beg pardon," said I, "for
asking what is, perhaps, an impertinent question; I have not imitated
your own delicacy; you have never asked me a question without first
desiring permission, and here I have been days and nights in your house
an intruder on your hospitality, and you have never so much as asked me
who I am."

"In forbearing to do that," said the old man, "I merely obeyed the
Chinese precept, 'Ask no questions of a guest;' it is written on both
sides of the teapot out of which you have had your tea."

"I wish I knew Chinese," said I. "Is it a difficult language to
acquire?"

"I have reason to think so," said the old man. "I have been occupied
upon it five-and-thirty years, and I am still very imperfectly acquainted
with it; at least, I frequently find upon my crockery sentences the
meaning of which to me is very dark, though it is true these sentences
are mostly verses, which are, of course, more difficult to understand
than mere prose."

"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 t