But the hour of publication came; and to half-a-dozen persons, described as the learned world of two hemispheres, it became known that Grampus was attacked.  This might have been a small matter; for who or what on earth that is good for anything is not assailed by ignorance, stupidity, or malice—­and sometimes even by just objection?  But on examination it appeared that the attack might possibly be held damaging, unless the ignorance of the author were well exposed and his pretended facts shown to be chimeras of that remarkably hideous kind begotten by imperfect learning on the more feminine element of original incapacity.  Grampus himself did not immediately cut open the volume which Merman had been careful to send him, not without a very lively and shifting conception of the possible effects which the explosive gift might produce on the too eminent scholar—­effects that must certainly have set in on the third day from the despatch of the parcel.  But in point of fact Grampus knew nothing of the book until his friend Lord Narwhal sent him an American newspaper containing a spirited article by the well-known Professor Sperm N. Whale which was rather equivocal in its bearing, the passages quoted from Merman being of rather a telling sort, and the paragraphs which seemed to blow defiance being unaccountably feeble, coming from so distinguished a Cetacean.  Then, by another post, arrived letters from Butzkopf and Dugong, both men whose signatures were familiar to the Teutonic world in the Selten-erscheinende Monat-schrift or Hayrick for the insertion of Split Hairs, asking their Master whether he meant to take up the combat, because, in the contrary case, both were ready.

Thus America and Germany were roused, though England was still drowsy, and it seemed time now for Grampus to find Merman’s book under the heap and cut it open.  For his own part he was perfectly at ease about his system; but this is a world in which the truth requires defence, and specious falsehood must be met with exposure.  Grampus having once looked through the book, no longer wanted any urging to write the most crushing of replies.  This, and nothing less than this, was due from him to the cause of sound inquiry; and the punishment would cost him little pains.  In three weeks from that time the palpitating Merman saw his book announced in the programme of the leading Review.  No need for Grampus to put his signature.  Who else had his vast yet microscopic knowledge, who else his power of epithet?  This article in which Merman was pilloried and as good as mutilated—­for he was shown to have neither ear nor nose for the subtleties of philological and archaeological study—­was much read and more talked of, not because of any interest in the system of Grampus, or any precise conception of the danger attending lax views of the Magicodumbras and Zuzumotzis, but because the sharp epigrams with which the victim was lacerated, and the soaring fountains of acrid mud which were shot upward and poured over