host of mine must be an extraordinary individual.  On the evening of the fourth day, feeling tired of my confinement, I put my clothes on in the best manner I could, and left the chamber.  Descending a flight of stairs, I reached a kind of quadrangle, from which branched two or three passages; one of these I entered, which had a door at the farther end, and one on each side; the one to the left standing partly open, I entered it, and found myself in a middle-sized room with a large window, or rather glass-door, which looked into a garden, and which stood open.  There was nothing remarkable in this room, except a large quantity of china.  There was china on the mantelpiece—­china on two tables, and a small beaufet, which stood opposite the glass-door, was covered with china—­there were cups, teapots, and vases of various forms, and on all of them I observed characters—­not a teapot, not a tea-cup, not a vase of whatever form or size, but appeared to possess hieroglyphics on some part or other.  After surveying these articles for some time with no little interest, I passed into the garden, in which there were small parterres of flowers, and two or three trees, and which, where the house did not abut, was bounded by a wall; turning to the right by a walk by the side of a house, I passed by a door—­probably the one I had seen at the end of the passage—­and arrived at another window similar to that through which I had come, and which also stood open; I was about to pass through it, when I heard the voice of my entertainer exclaiming, “Is that you? pray come in.”

I entered the room, which seemed to be a counterpart of the one which I had just left.  It was of the same size, had the same kind of furniture, and appeared to be equally well stocked with china; one prominent article it possessed, however, which the other room did not exhibit—­namely, a clock, which, with its pendulum moving tick-a-tick, hung against the wall opposite to the door, the sight of which made me conclude that the sound which methought I had heard in the stillness of the night was not an imaginary one.  There it hung on the wall, with its pendulum moving tick-a-tick.  The old gentleman was seated in an easy chair a little way into the room, having the glass-door on his right hand.  On a table before him lay a large open volume, in which I observed Roman letters as well as characters.  A few inches beyond the book on the table, covered all over with hieroglyphics, stood a china vase.  The eyes of the old man were fixed upon it.

“Sit down,” said he, motioning me with his hand to a stool close by, but without taking his eyes from the vase.

“I can’t make it out,” said he, at last, removing his eyes from the vase, and leaning back on the chair, “I can’t make it out.”

“I wish I could assist you,” said I.

“Assist me,” said the old man, looking at me with a half smile.

“Yes,” said I, “but I don’t understand Chinese.”