told me that more than once
he had determined upon giving up the study, but when 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 old man, "only one circumstance has occurred which requires any
particular mention--the death of my old friend the surgeon--who was
carried off suddenly by a fit of apoplexy. His death was a great shock
to me, and for a time interrupted my studies. His son, however, who
succeeded him, was very kind to me, and, in some degree, supplied his
father's place; and I gradually returned to my Chinese locks and keys."

"And in applying keys to the Chinese locks you employ your time?"

"Yes," said the old man, "in making out the inscriptions on the various
pieces of porcelain, which I have at different times procured, I pass my
time. The first inscription which I translated was that on the teapot of
my beloved."

"And how many other pieces of porcelain may you have at present in your
possession?"

"About fifteen hundred."

"And how did you obtain them?" I demanded.

"Without much labour," said the old man, "in the neighbouring towns and
villages--chiefly at auctions--of which, about twenty years ago, there
were many in these parts."

"And may I ask your reasons for confining your studies entirely to the
crockery literature of China, when you have all the rest at your
disposal?"

"The inscriptions enable me to pass my time," said the old man; "what
more would the whole literature of China do?"

"And from these inscriptions," said I, "what a book it is in your power
to make, whenever so disposed. 'Translations from the crockery
literature of China.' Such a book would be sure to take; even glorious
John himself would not disdain to publish it." The old man smiled. "I
have no desire for literary distinction," said he; "no ambition. My
original wish was to