“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.

“That accounts for your not knowing the meaning of tawse,” said I; “had you received the rudiments of a classical education at the High School, you would have known the meaning of tawse full well.  It is a leathern thong, with which refractory urchins are recalled to a sense of their duty by the dominie.  Tau—­tawse—­how singular!”

“I cannot see what the two words have in common, except a slight agreement in sound.”

“You will see the connection,” said I, “when I inform you that the thong, from the middle to the bottom, is cut or slit into two or three parts, from which slits or cuts, unless I am very much mistaken, it derives its name—­tawse, a thong with slits or cuts, used for chastising disorderly urchins at the High School, from the French tailler, to cut; evidently connected with the Chinese tau, a knife—­how very extraordinary!”

CHAPTER XXXIII

Convalescence—­The Surgeon’s Bill—­Letter of Recommendation—­ Commencement of the Old Man’s History.

Two days—­three days passed away—­and I still remained at the house of my hospitable entertainer; my bruised limb rapidly recovering the power of performing its functions.  I passed my time agreeably enough, sometimes in my chamber, communing with my own thoughts; sometimes in the stable, attending to, and not unfrequently conversing with, my horse; and at meal-time—­for I seldom saw him at any other—­discoursing with the old gentleman, sometimes on the Chinese vocabulary, sometimes on Chinese syntax, and once or twice on English horseflesh; though on this latter subject, notwithstanding his descent from a race of horse-traders, he did not enter into with much alacrity.  As a small requital for his kindness, I gave him one day, after dinner, unasked, a brief account of my history and pursuits.  He listened with attention; and when it was concluded, thanked me for the confidence which I had reposed in him.  “Such conduct,” said he, “deserves a return.  I will tell you my own history; it is brief, but may perhaps not prove uninteresting to you—­though the relation of it will give me some pain.”  “Pray, then, do not recite it,” said I.  “Yes,” said the old man, “I will tell you, for I wish