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Title: The Little Cryptogram - A Literal Application to the Play of Hamlet of the Cipher - Syatem of Mr. Ignatius Donnelly.
Author: Fyle, J. Gilfin
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Little Cryptogram - A Literal Application to the Play of Hamlet of the Cipher - Syatem of Mr. Ignatius Donnelly." ***
The Little Cryptogram:
A Literal Application to the Play of Hamlet of the Cipher System of MR.
IGNATIUS DONNELLY.
By J. GILPIN PYLE, Assistant Editor of The Saint Paul Pioneer Press.
“As I do live by foode, I met a foole,
When I did heare
The motley Foole, thus morall on the time,
My Lungs began to crow like Chanticleere,
That Fooles should be so deepe contemplative;
And I did laugh, sans intermission,
An houre by his diall. Oh noble foole,
A worthy foole: Motley’s the onely weare.”
AS YOU LIKE IT: II., 7.
Saint Paul.
The Pioneer Press Co.
1888.
Copyright, 1888.
BY J. GILPIN PYLE.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Author’s Note.
_A considerable portion of the contents of these pages appeared first as
an editorial article in the Pioneer Press. By request of many friends,
this practical application of Mr. Donnelly’s cipher system to six pages
of Hamlet is presented, revised and enlarged, to the general public._
_J. G. P._
The Little Cryptogram.
“The Great Cryptogram,” the monumental work in which Mr. Ignatius
Donnelly essays to prove that the so-called Shakespeare plays contain a
cipher story, discoverable by a system which he has worked out with
infinite labor, is at last in the hands of an expectant public. No book
so thoroughly advertised has appeared for many a year. For months and
months the eye has been assailed by paragraphs and pages in the
literature of two worlds, contending for or against the existence in the
Shakespeare plays of a cipher that would assign the honor of their
authorship to Lord Bacon. It has been admitted on all sides, and
declared by Mr. Donnelly himself, that the appearance of this volume
would rid the world of a delusion forever, and stamp the successful
explorer of the mystery with undying fame, or write him down as the most
daring and stupendous literary fraud that all the ages have produced.
The author has challenged the test. It is his due that the results of
his labor should have a candid and impartial investigation.
Those who are interested in knowing whether “The Great Cryptogram” is a
record of discovery or a record of ingenious and plausible invention may
pass quickly over the first book of the volume, which deals with “The
Argument,” because in this Mr. Donnelly does not lay claim to
originality. It is devoted to a careful and systematic marshaling of the
circumstantial evidence used in the past to prove that the historical
Shakespeare did not write the plays commonly ascribed to him. There is,
as every literary man knows, a great deal of evidence that will pass
muster under this head. There is an inconsistency between such fragments
of a life of Shakespeare as have come down to us, and the experiences
and the acquirements which we should declare indispensable to the
writing of that matchless drama. It is dwelt upon but lightly here; not
because any part of Mr. Donnelly’s work should be slighted, but because
it is the cipher discovery by which he must stand or fall. For the same
reason it will be unnecessary to deal with the historical objections,
equally numerous and unanswerable, to the theory of Baconian authorship.
That Mr. Donnelly has made out a plausible and not unreasonable case, no
one will deny. As a collector and editor of the works of others; as a
curator of the museum in which patches and shreds of fact and theory,
gathered from diverse sources, are to be arranged and classified in
orderly succession, Mr. Donnelly is a master. His “Atlantis” and
“Ragnarok” gave proof of a marvelous memory and a rare ability to
dovetail disconnected and discordant facts into a homogeneous whole,
such as few can equal. Able to forget what does not accord with his
preconceived theory, blessed with a memory as serviceable in dismissing
as in retaining, and thoroughly possessed, for the time being, with a
conviction that he is pursuing truth, he is the most dexterous of
workmen. It is only natural, therefore, that his cumulative evidence
from history and fable and gossip should be well presented. He has
browsed in the pastures of Delia Bacon and Judge Holmes and Appleton
Morgan and Mrs. Potts. He has republished the best of their work,
joining the crevices skillfully, and the reader will find himself
entertained if not converted by this argument, which occupies more than
half of the bulky volume devoted to the cryptogram. This, however, is a
well-trodden field. These arguments are but a rehearsal of the clever
counsel’s brief. Not to these, but to the Cæsar of the cipher, has Mr.
Donnelly appealed for judgment. To the cipher and its mathematical
demonstrations he shall go.
Mr. Donnelly claims that there is concealed in the plays not only a
declaration that Bacon wrote them, but a detailed history of the times.
This is to be read by means of a word cipher, depending on a series of
fixed numbers. The root numbers which he gives as the starting point are
505, 506, 513, 516, 523. These numbers are combined, at pleasure, with a
vast number of “modifiers.” The latter consist of the number of words in
a column, page or subdivision of the play selected; and of these numbers
plus or minus the hyphenated and bracketed words. By this method the
first two pages attacked yield him the following thirty-four “modifying”
numbers: 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 50, 51, 62, 63, 79, 80, 90, 91, 141,
142, 167, 168, 169, 189, 208, 209, 211, 212, 218, 219, 237, 240, 283,
284, 291, 294, 301, and 302. Counting forward or backward, at pleasure,
from the top or the bottom of each page, and from the beginning or the
end of each scene, he finds himself directed to the specific words that
tell the tale; each new count supplying a new “modifier.” He does not
tell whence he derives his root numbers—and the world loses little by
that—because he is informed by his publishers that there is nothing in
our law of copyright to prevent some ingenious fellow, less
conscientious than himself, from studying out his whole system, applying
it to the rest of the plays, and bursting upon the world with the
remainder of the story, which Mr. Donnelly wants to reserve for a future
volume and future profits. How well grounded were his apprehensions the
appearance of this lesser cryptogram may serve to show. Therefore he
wraps himself in congenial mystery, and both his root numbers and his
modifiers must be taken on faith. It is hard for the average man, at
this point, to repress his scepticism, and to refuse straightforward
treatment to a man who advertises for two years a great discovery and
then reserves it for the future. There is a strong flavor of the Keeley
motor about the process. But not thus unjustly shall the public deal
with Minnesota’s gifted son. We, the people, want to get at the bottom
of this cipher, and re-read our history of the Elizabethan era and its
literature.
The first step is to take an actual illustration of the cipher and Mr.
Donnelly’s use of it, in order that the public may see just how the
thing works. The names “Shakespeare” and “Cecil” do not occur in the
plays. To obtain them, Mr. Donnelly’s arithmetical process points him to
the words “shakes” and “peere,” and to the other words “seas” and “ill;”
combining the former he gets Shakespeare, and the latter give him Cecil.
Now if the reader is the happy possessor of a copy of “The Great
Cryptogram,” let him turn to page 718 as a base of operations. If his
library is not so enriched, what he finds here is ample for purposes of
illustration. This chapter deals with the revelations growing out of the
root number 516, judiciously modified. There are 167 words in the second
column of page 74 of King Henry IV, following the subdivision made by a
stage direction. There are 21 words in brackets, and one hyphenated
word, making 22 in all. Add 22 to 167, and you have 189. Subtract 189
from 516, and you have 327. This 327 is combined with other numbers,
derived from previous operations; the number of words on an antecedent
page or a former column, or some of the “modifiers” that wait modestly
till their assistance is needed. Out of these additions and
subtractions, perfectly arbitrary in their nature, comes finally a
number which directs the searcher to a word on page 76. How intricate
are these mathematical operations will be perceived only upon
examination. Therefore, the following, taken literally from pages 718,
719, is subjoined as fairly illustrative of the cipher gambols:
WORD PAGE
AND
COLUMN
516-167=349-22_b_ & _h_=327 182 76:1 Seas}
498-327=171+1=172+10_b_ & _h_=182
516-167=349-22_b_ & _h_=327 447-327=120+1= 121 75:1 ill}
516-167=349-22_b_ & _h_=327-30=297-50 (76:1)= 247 76:2 said
516-167=349-22_b_ & _h_=327-284=43 408 75:1 that
447-43=404+1=405+3_b_=408
516-167=349-22_b_ & _h_=327-254=73-15_b_ & _h_=58 391 76:1 More}
448-58=390+1 = 391
516-167=349-22_b_ & _h_=327-50=277-50 226 74:1 low}
(74:2)=227-1_h_=226
516-167=349-22_b_ & _h_=327-254=73-50 22 76:1 or
(76:2)=23-1_h_=22
516-167=349-22_b_ & _h_=327-30=297-254=43-15_b_ & 28 75:2 Shak’st}
_h_=28
516-167=349-22_b_ & _h_=327-248=79 (121) 75:1 spar}
193-79=114+1=115_b_ & _h_=(121)
516-167=349-22_b_ & _h_=327-254=73-15_b_ & _h_=58 441 76:1 never
498-58=440+1=441
516-167=349-22_b_ & _h_=327-50=227-7_b_ & _h_= 220 76:2 writ
516-167=349-22_b_ & _h_=327 327 76:1 a
516-167=349-22_b_ & _h_=327-145 (76:2)=182 317 76:1 word
498-182=316+1=317
516-167=349-22_b_ & _h_=327-193=134 115 74:2 of
248-134=114+1=115
516-167=349-22_b_ & _h_=327-254=73-15_b_ & 53 74:1 them
_h_=58-5_b_=53
Before I proceed to the obviously fair and conclusive test of applying
the same numbers and the same method elsewhere, there are some
reflections to be noted, which will occur spontaneously to almost every
reader. In the first place, the cipher seems, like the man who claimed
that he never borrowed the kettle, that he had returned it and that it
was cracked when he borrowed it, to prove too much. If it led directly
to important disclosures concerning the authorship of the plays or
historical events of the time when they were written, and to these
alone, it might lay claim to credibility. But this cipher, prepared by
Bacon to prevent Shakespeare from stealing his laurels, requires the
appropriation of page after page to describe minutely Shakespeare’s
personal appearance. A glance at the sample printed will show how great
the labor required to encase such a story, by mathematical rule, in the
body of the plays. Yet this labor Bacon must have undergone, to tell the
coming ages that “He,” Shakespeare, “is troubled with several dangerous
diseases; he is subject to the gout in his great toe; and I hear
moreover he hath fallen into a consumption.” The spectacle of Bacon,
holding weary vigil to complete, at infinite labor, the cipher story,
and devoting hours to the construction of a play in which the movement
of the plot, the fate of the _personæ_ and the majesty of the dialogue
should be unconsidered trifles, subordinated to the all-important
infolded chronicle of the fact that Shakespeare had the gout in his
great toe, is one for gods to weep at. Nor was this the limit of the
Baconian genius. Complicated as is the work of reading this involved
tale by the cipher’s help, it bears no comparison to the work of
incorporating originally that story in the plays. To write the Donnelly
memoirs first, and then so to write the dramas that each word of the one
shall fit into its appropriate place in the other, by mathematical rule,
would fall little short of miracle. From Archimedes to Olney, there has
lived no man who would dare attempt this task. Admiration for Bacon the
dramatist, is swallowed up in reverence for Bacon the mathematician,
whose equal the world has never seen.
It was necessary, for the benefit of those untaught in the Eleusinian
mysteries wherein Mr. Donnelly revels, to make this exemplary statement
of his method. Now for the crucial test that shall establish its
genuineness. The author begs permission to announce that he has done
some cipher work on his own account, following closely Mr. Donnelly’s
instructions; and that he has made a discovery scarcely less interesting
to a generation of scoffers than that of his illustrious teacher. Nay,
nothing but modesty forbids him to claim first prize; for this
application of the identical cipher is absolutely confirmatory of its
worth, and sheds new lustre on the names of both Donnelly and Bacon. In
studying the cryptogram, with the help of Mr. Donnelly’s directions, the
thought suggested itself with overwhelming force, must there not be some
reference in the plays to the cipher mystery, and some prophecy of the
day when this riddle should be read? Fortunately, it happens that this
inquiry need not go unanswered. Not everyone has access to the great
Shakespeare folio, so called, in the library of Columbia College. But
Messrs. Funk & Wagnalls, New York, published last year a reduced
fac-simile of the famous first folio edition of 1623. In his
introduction to this volume, Mr. J. O. Halliwell-Phillips, the eminent
Shakespearian scholar and critic, says: “For all usual practical objects
of study, this cheap reproduction will place its owner on a level with
the envied possessors of the far-famed original.” This fac-simile of the
1623 folio, to which alone the cipher applies, has been used in all the
researches stimulated by the great cipher discovery. Here was the key
and here the treasure house. Not with any desire to rob Mr. Donnelly of
future fame, but animated solely by the hope that his work could be
proved accurate to the doubter, did the present writer attempt the task
of unlocking the secret chamber of genius. It is with more than ordinary
pride that he announces a splendid and complete success, which silences
forever all cavil as to the cipher.
It was clear that Bacon, with his unparalleled keenness of intellect,
must foresee that Hamlet would be pronounced his greatest work. That
play would be most minutely scanned and critically studied. It was to
Hamlet, therefore, that the trembling neophyte turned as a promising
field for exploration. Now, following everywhere the Donnellian method,
at what part of Hamlet should a beginning be made? Clearly, one must
look for something disconnected from and out of harmony with the rest of
that magnificent drama; something obviously dragged in by the breeches
for a purpose. Glancing over this old folio, the first obvious
interpolation appeared to be the mad songs of Ophelia. Here is matter
senseless by itself. To introduce it, the writer was compelled to have
Ophelia go mad and talk nonsense. And those stanzas beginning, “Then up
he rose and donned his clothes,” are not only foolish but indelicate.
Here was a suggestion. It warranted an experiment. It will be remembered
that one of Mr. Donnelly’s root numbers is 523. This mad song occurs on
page 273 of the folio. Subtracting 273 from 523, we get 250. Count from
the top of the column on that page in which the song is found, and the
250th word is “donned,” printed thus, “don’d.” In enumerating, it is to
be observed that “its selfe” and “to morrow” make, properly speaking,
but one word each, and must be counted so. To point the student at once
to the key word, italicized and bracketed words are here included in the
count. Now the word “don,” occurring in “Titus Andronicus,” is printed
“d’on,” to indicate its formation. Here the apostrophe is omitted, as if
to call attention to the combination of letters, “don.” This is at least
suspicious.
Acting upon this clue, search is made for the next interpolation. It is
found but three pages further on, in the absurd grave-diggers’ scene.
This is preceded by the direction, “Enter two clowns.” Now clowns do not
dig graves, and grave-diggers are not generally clowns. It was clearly
the intention of the writer to call special attention to the following
lines. And the passage itself contains matter which is more ridiculous
than anything in Ophelia’s crazy words: “If the man go to the water and
drown himself, it is will he nill he, he goes; mark you that; but if the
water come to him and drown him, he drowns not himself.” What rot is
this which the great Bacon utters? There is a rat behind this arras. But
how to get at him! We turn for help to the cryptogram. We find, on page
555 of that volume, the account of Mr. Donnelly’s first discovery. He
noted the word “Bacon,” on page 53 of I “Henry IV.” He counted the
number of italicized words in the first column of that page and found it
to be 7; multiplied that number by the page number, and found the
product 371; and, lo! the 371st word was “Bacon.” We go back to the
grave-diggers. On the page where they are voicing idiocy, there are six
italicized words in the first column. The number of the page is 276.
Divide 276 by 6, and the quotient is 46. Count upward from the bottom of
the second column, and the 46th word is “nill he,” so printed for
concealment. This phrase, “will he nill he,” occurs nowhere else in the
plays. It is here for a purpose. The mad song gave “Don.” The graveyard
scene gives, by Mr. Donnelly’s process, closely followed, “nill he.”
“Don nill he;” “Donnelly.” Eureka! we are on the trail of the mystery,
and the cipher has been at work here. There must be more behind.
Now, lest anyone should entertain the injurious and erroneous suspicion
that this is mere burlesque let it be stated here that what has
preceded, and what follows is the result, in every instance, of accurate
mathematical work. A few of the Donnelly numbers, and the numbers of
pages and of words on a page were used, and no others. The cipher
employed is the Donnelly cipher. The words on every page, the italicized
words, the bracketed words and the hyphenated words were counted
separately and numbered. The edition used is the fac-simile reproduction
of the 1623 folio. Every computation has been carefully made. And if any
reader doubts, he is requested to procure a copy of the reprint, make
the count and verify the figures for himself, and prove to himself that
the cipher discovery which follows is as literally worked out, as
credible, as truly the work of Lord Bacon as anything to be found from
cover to cover of “The Great Cryptogram.”
Turning again to Hamlet, there is circumstantial evidence sufficient to
show that the remarkable pointing to the word “Donnelly” could not be a
mere coincidence. For example, in the same column with “don,” and but a
few lines further on, occurs the expression “most violent author.” Is
this an accident? Again, the word “politician,” according to the
lexicons, occurs not over half a dozen times in all the plays. It is
found twice in these six pages, in intimate connection with the word
“Donnelly;” once in the far-fetched expression “life-rendering
politician,” which means nothing. Still again, popular nomenclature has
designated Mr. Donnelly as “The Sage of Nininger.” By that title he is,
perhaps, better known throughout the Northwest than by his legal name.
Now the word “sage” is another used less than half a dozen times in all
the plays. It is found here; and found in the expression, “sage
requiem,” which has so puzzled the commentators that “sage” is omitted
in many of the common editions. To put it here, where the cipher
required it, the writer of this play was compelled to make his
expression meaningless. It is simply impossible that this combination of
unusual words, “Donnelly,” “politician,” “author,” “sage,” all jostling
each other in passages introduced without relevance to the play, should
be an accident. It is deep design. Bacon, looking forward with more than
mortal prescience, saw the day when his deliverer would come. And in
anticipation of this event, he put into his greatest play, by means of
the cipher, the prophecy that is now fulfilled. By one act of
transcendent genius, he made it impossible for anyone to reject the
revelation which his interpreter should make in the fulness of time.
The cipher key furnished by Mr. Donnelly may now be applied to the last
pages of Act IV, and the first of Act V, Hamlet. No attempt will be made
to work out the whole story. That gladsome task belongs to Mr. Donnelly
himself. But enough may be read to show the wondrous ingenuity of Lord
Bacon, and to confirm in him the gift of prophecy. “The Great
Cryptogram” furnishes, as before stated, five root numbers; the Hamlet
cipher uses but two of these, 516 and 523. Pages 73 and 74 of King Henry
IV supplied thirty-four “modifiers;” the Hamlet cipher requires but
nine, all told. Three of these, 30, 50 and 198 (the last mentioned being
reserved for cases where the cipher-hunter falls into a hole and can not
get out without its help) are on Mr. Donnelly’s list. Three more, 273,
274 and 276, are the numbers of the pages of Hamlet to which the cipher
is applied most liberally. The remaining three, 306, 397 and 423, are
the number of words on these three pages respectively; only those
printed in Roman characters and not included within brackets being
counted. In general, the system of counting adopted by Mr. Donnelly is
followed. But the Hamlet cipher usually regards such forms as “’twere”
and “there’s” as two distinct words; while “her selfe” and “to morrow,”
as noted above, though printed without the hyphen, constitute but one
word each. Bracketed and italicized words are always to be omitted, in
the enumeration, except in case of the important initial word “Don,” and
the word “out;” and inasmuch as these themselves are found in italics,
both bracketed and italicized words are included in computing their
numbers on the page.
These instructions as to the method of enumeration being premised,
particular attention is called to the extreme simplicity of the Hamlet
cipher as compared with the key to Henry IV; which is as profusely
numbered as the hairs of the righteous. This table shows at a glance, as
will be seen by comparison with the following cipher narrative, all the
numbers used in combination to produce the secret story which the author
has discovered.
Of Donnelly’s root numbers 516, 523
Of Donnelly’s modifiers 30, 50, 198
Page numbers from Hamlet 273, 274, 276
Roman words, p. 273, col. 2 306
″ ″ ″ 274, ″ 1 397
″ ″ ″ 276, ″ 1 423
By combining these in different ways, adding or subtracting at pleasure
as Mr. Donnelly does, the number of italicized, bracketed and hyphenated
words separately, and reserving the right which he claims liberally to
increase or decrease the result by 1 arbitrarily, there is obtained in
every case the number indicating the given word on each page, reading
from top or bottom as the case may be, in its appropriate column. If
there is anything wrong with the result, the fault must lie with Lord
Bacon and the Great Cryptogram. Here is what the cipher, so amazingly
simple in its convolutions, cries out across the centuries since Bacon
died to the unbeliever of to-day:
WORD Page
and
Col.
523-273= 250 273:2 Don}
276÷6= 46 276:2 nill he,}
Donnelly
523-306=217 273-217=56+30=86-50=36-2_i_= 34 273:2 the
523-273=250 516-250=266+2_i_= 268 273:2 author,
523-306=217 274-217=57-2_h_= 55 274:2 politician
523-50=473-273= 200 273:2 and
523-397=126+276=402-50= 352 276:1 mountebanke,
523-274=249+50=299-4_b_=295-2_b_= 293 274:1 will
No. words _p._ 274, col. 1= 395 275:2 worke
516+50=566-273=293-30= 263 273:2 out
523+50=573-397=176-30=146-5_h_= 141 274:2 the
516-306=210-198=12+10_i_= 22 274:1 secret
523-397=126-1= 125 274:2 of
523-274=249 306-249=57+11_i_+1= 69 274:1 this
516-423=93+50=143-2_i_=141-1_h_=140-1= 139 276:1 play.
523-274=249-30=219-2_h_-1= 216 274:2 The
523+30=553-423= 130 278:2 Sage
523-397=126+30=156-2_h_= 154 274:2 is
523-274=249+5_h_=254-1= 253 274:2 a
516-274=242+50=292+5_h_+1= 298 274:2 daysie.
The nineteenth century world may well close its ears to tales of Cecil’s
envy and Shakespeare’s gout, and the wrath of the red-haired queen, to
listen to the voice of Bacon, saying “Donnelly, the author, politician
and mountebanke, will worke out the secret of this play. The Sage is a
daysie.”
Columns might be filled in an attempt to notice all the ingenuities of
this work. For instance, the bringing in of Ophelia with her flowers,
her “rosemary” and “rue,” and her “pansies for thoughts,” solely to
introduce the quaint word “daysie;” in order that Lord Bacon might tell
his opinion of his great discoverer and defender, in language that would
fit the ears of this modern and slangy age. Nor is it possible to do
more than barely mention that there can be no difficulty in finding the
whole life history of Mr. Donnelly in “Hamlet” and other plays. No doubt
the cipher, applied more fully to the pages already considered, would
recount his diversions in Minnesota politics. And he is mentioned
elsewhere. In “Titus Andronicus,” for example, we have “d’on,” and
repeatedly afterward, “kneel.” Still more marked is the reference in
Henry V. A French boy is lugged into that play for no purpose but to
jabber a language unfamiliar to and hated by an English audience of that
day. His “donne,” “donner,” “donnerai,” are repeated, parrot-like, to
weariness, obviously to fix attention on that prominent syllable, “don.”
And then, but a few pages away, we have, “He is married to Nell
Quickly;” “And shall my Nell keep lodgers?” This is no accident, for
accident is unknown to the so-called Shakespearian drama. “Don Nell,”
“Nell Quickly,” over and over again, are very mileposts leading to the
name of Donnelly, and to a cipher story that will reveal to the curious
the inwardness of his career. It is no trifle to work out the cipher. To
unearth a sentence, especially if you are at all particular as to what
that sentence should say, requires hours of the hardest labor. But labor
most arduous will not be in vain if applied to this significant and
inviting portion of Henry V, by those who bestow on Mr. Donnelly the
same reverential admiration that he cherishes for Lord Bacon.
There is, then, a cipher. And this is the recipe. So extraordinary was
the command of language on the part of the writer of these plays, that a
few pages of any one of them, if separated into single words, will give
a vocabulary out of which any given story can be pieced. Pick out the
words you need to say what you desire. Count the number of each word
from the top or from the bottom of its column. Then, having five root
numbers, ten or a dozen modifiers, the number of the page and the number
of words on it, also the number of words in italics or connected by
hyphens, you have studied addition and subtraction to little purpose if
you can not so combine these various numbers that they shall furnish
you, at last, with the number that you need to identify the particular
word you have chosen. It is hard work. No wonder Mr. Donnelly covered,
with figuring, a bundle of paper that a man can scarcely lift. The
present writer consumed quires in a simple application of the cipher key
to Hamlet. But it pays; whether you want to make money out of a gullible
public, or to expose an ambitious fraud. Mr. Donnelly will gather a
fortune from his audacious and singularly successful advertisement; and
neither friend nor generous enemy will grudge him that. But, out of his
profits, he should erect upon the banks of the Mississippi, near his
Nininger home, a statue of himself; a noble statue, with the other
features in scholarly repose, while the mouth stretches into a capacious
grin, and the eyes are fixed upon a volume in the right hand; not a copy
of the “Great Cryptogram,” but an edition of the “Shakespeare” plays,
opened at that famous passage in the “Midsummer Night’s Dream,” which
has been to him a steadfast rule in all his dealings with the world:
“What fools these mortals be.”
Transcriber’s Notes
--Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public
domain in the country of publication.
--Silently corrected obvious errors; non-standard spelling and
dialect was left unchanged.
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Little Cryptogram - A Literal Application to the Play of Hamlet of the Cipher - Syatem of Mr. Ignatius Donnelly." ***
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