John Thomson: No. 52 is a picture of a literary agent, as we may call him. So great is the veneration of the Ch inese for letters, that men such as our old friend here are employed to collect scraps of printed paper, which are afterwards burned before some shrine. This is however only one branch of the old man's business— he picks up rags and bones from the dust-heaps as well, and disposes of his miscellaneous collection to some dealer when the day's work is done. He can exist on very little, poor old fellow, and he has no expenses to speak of. He never removes his coat unless on a warm, sunny day, and then it is with an eye to business, for as he suns the garment, he coaxes out his tiny enemies and slays them. Poor and miserable as he seems, he is not without a family and friends of his own, and his old age gains him respect.