the fresh wounds, were found amusing in recital.  A favourite passage was one in which a certain kind of sciolist was described as a creature of the Walrus kind, having a phantasmal resemblance to higher animals when seen by ignorant minds in the twilight, dabbling or hobbling in first one element and then the other, without parts or organs suited to either, in fact one of Nature’s impostors who could not be said to have any artful pretences, since a congenital incompetence to all precision of aim and movement made their every action a pretence—­just as a being born in doeskin gloves would necessarily pass a judgment on surfaces, but we all know what his judgment would be worth.  In drawing-room circles, and for the immediate hour, this ingenious comparison was as damaging as the showing up of Merman’s mistakes and the mere smattering of linguistic and historical knowledge which he had presumed to be a sufficient basis for theorising; but the more learned cited his blunders aside to each other and laughed the laugh of the initiated.  In fact, Merman’s was a remarkable case of sudden notoriety.  In London drums and clubs he was spoken of abundantly as one who had written ridiculously about the Magicodumbras and Zuzumotzis:  the leaders of conversation, whether Christians, Jews, infidels, or of any other confession except the confession of ignorance, pronouncing him shallow and indiscreet if not presumptuous and absurd.  He was heard of at Warsaw, and even Paris took knowledge of him.  M. Cachalot had not read either Grampus or Merman, but he heard of their dispute in time to insert a paragraph upon it in his brilliant work, L’orient au point de vue actuel, in which he was dispassionate enough to speak of Grampus as possessing a coup d’oeil presque francais in matters of historical interpretation, and of Merman as nevertheless an objector qui merite d’etre connu.  M. Porpesse, also, availing himself of M. Cachalot’s knowledge, reproduced it in an article with certain additions, which it is only fair to distinguish as his own, implying that the vigorous English of Grampus was not always as correct as a Frenchman could desire, while Merman’s objections were more sophistical than solid.  Presently, indeed, there appeared an able extrait of Grampus’s article in the valuable Rapporteur scientifique et historique, and Merman’s mistakes were thus brought under the notice of certain Frenchmen who are among the masters of those who know on oriental subjects.  In a word, Merman, though not extensively read, was extensively read about.

Meanwhile, how did he like it?  Perhaps nobody, except his wife, for a moment reflected on that.  An amused society considered that he was severely punished, but did not take the trouble to imagine his sensations; indeed this would have been a difficulty for persons less sensitive and excitable than Merman himself.  Perhaps that popular comparison of the Walrus had truth enough to bite and blister on thorough