‘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 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!’