My reader will, I am sure, not take this transition from the "profoundest respect" to the loftiest insolence for an apocraphical correspondence, to use a word I find in the Prospectus: on my honor it is genuine. He will be better employed in discovering whether I exist by patronizing others, or by being patronized by them. I make any one who can find it out a fair offer: I will give him my patronage if I turn out to be Bufo, on condition he gives me his, if I turn out to be Bavius.[[660]] I need hardly say that I considered the last letter to be one of those to which no answer is so good as no answer.
These letters remind me in one respect of the correspondents of the newspapers. My other party wrote because a friend had pointed me out: but he would not have written if he had known what another friend told him just in time for the second letter. The man who sends his complaint to the newspaper very often says, in effect, "Don't imagine, Sir, that I read your columns; but a friend who sometimes does has told me ..." It is worded thus: "My attention
has been directed to an article in your paper of ..." Many thanks to my friend's friends for not mentioning the Budget: had my friend's attention been directed to it I might have lost a striking example of the paradoxer in search of a patron. That my Friend was on this scent in the first letter is revealed in the second. Language was given to man to conceal his thoughts; but it is not every one who can do it.
Among the most valuable information which my readers will get from me is comparison of the reactions of paradoxers, when not admitted to argument, or when laughed at. Of course, they are misrepresented; and at this they are angry, or which is the same thing, take great pains to assure the reader that they are not. So far natural, and so far good; anything short of concession of a case which must be seriously met by counter-reasons is sure to be misrepresentation. My friend Mr. James Smith and my friend Mr. Reddie are both terribly misrepresented: they resent it by some insinuations in which it is not easy to detect whether I am a conscious smotherer of truth, or only muddle-headed and ignorant. [This was written before I received my last communication from Mr. James Smith. He tells me that I am wrong in saying that his work in which I stand in the pillory is all reprint: I have no doubt I confounded some of it with some of the manuscript or slips which I had received from my much not-agreed-with correspondent. He adds that my mistake was intentional, and that my reason is obvious to the reader. This is information, as the sea-serpent said when he read in the newspaper that he had a mane and tusks.]
THE DOUBLE VAHU PROCESS.
My friend Dr. Thorn[[661]] sees deeper into my mystery. By the way, he still sends an occasional touch at the old
subject; and he wants me particularly to tell my readers that the Latin numeral letters, if M be left out, give 666. And so they do: witness DCLXVI. A person who thinks of the origin of symbols will soon see that 666 is our number because we have five fingers on each hand: had we had but four, our mystic number would have been expressed by 555, and would have stood for our present 365. Had n been the number on each hand, the great number would have been
(n + 1) (4n2 + 2n + 1)
With no finger on each hand, the number would have been 1: with one finger less than none at all on each hand, it would have been 0. But what does this mean? Here is a question for an algebraical paradoxer! So soon as we have found out how many fingers the inhabitants of any one planet have on each hand, we have the means of knowing their number of the Beast, and thence all about them. Very much struck with this hint of discovery, I turned my attention to the means of developing it. The first point was to clear my vision of all the old cataracts. I propose the following experiment, subject of course to the consent of parties. Let Dr. Thorn Double-Vahu Mr. James Smith, and Thau Mr. Reddie: if either be deparadoxed by the treatment, I will consent to undergo it myself. Provided always that the temperature required be not so high as the Doctor hints at: if the Turkish Baths will do for this world, I am content.
The three paradoxers last named and myself have a pentasyllable convention, under which, though we go far beyond civility, we keep within civilization. Though Mr. James Smith pronounced that I must be dishonest if I did not see his argument, which he knew I should not do [to say nothing of recent accusation]; though Dr. Thorn declared me a competitor for fire and brimstone—and my wife, too, which doubles the joke: though Mr. Reddie