Sua

mod |o|fo|r|titeri nre

Abcdefghijk 1mnopqrstuvwxyz

In this manner n stands for two letters, and e, o, and t for three each, while i and r represent each as many as four. Thirteen characters are made to perform the operations of the whole alphabet. The result of such a key-phrase upon the cipher is to give it the appearance of a mere medley of the letters e, o, t, r, and i, the latter character greatly predominating through the accident of being employed for letters, which, themselves, are inordinately prevalent in most languages—we mean e and i.

A letter thus written being intercepted, and the keyphrase unknown, the individual who should attempt to decipher it may be imagined guessing, or otherwise attempting to convince himself, that a certain character (i, for example), represented the letter e. Looking throughout the cryptograph for confirmation of this idea he would meet with nothing but a negation of it. He would see the character in situations where it could not possibly represent e. He might, for instance, be puzzled by four i's forming of themselves a single word, without the intervention of any other character, in which case, of course, they could not be all e's. It will be seen that the word wise might be thus constructed. We say this may be seen now, by us, in possession of the key-phrase, but the question will no doubt

occur, how, without the key-phrase, and without cognisance of any single letter in the cipher, it would be possible for the interceptor of such a cryptograph to make anything of such a word as iiii?

But again. A key-phrase might easily be constructed in which one character would represent seven, eight, or ten letters. Let us then imagine the word iiiiiiiiii presenting itself in a cryptograph to an individual without the proper key-phrase, or, if this be a supposition somewhat too perplexing, let us suppose it occurring to the person for whom the cipher is designed, and who has the key-phrase. What is he to do with such a word as iiiiiiiiii? In any of the ordinary books upon Algebra will be found a very concise formula (we have not the necessary type for its insertion here) for ascertaining the number of arrangements in which m letters may be placed, taken n at a time. But no doubt there are none of our readers ignorant of the innumerable combinations which may be made from these ten i's. Yet, unless it occur otherwise by accident, the correspondent receiving the cipher would have to write down all these combinations before attaining the word intended, and even when he had written them he would be inexpressibly perplexed in selecting the word designed from the vast number of other words arising in the course of the permutation.

To obviate, therefore, the exceeding difficulty of deciphering this species of cryptograph, on the part of the possessors of the key-phrase, and to confine the deep intricacy of the puzzle to those for whom the cipher was not designed, it becomes necessary that some order should be agreed upon by the parties corresponding-some order in reference to which those characters are to be read which represent more than one letter-and this order must be held in view by the writer of the cryptograph. It may be agreed, for example, that the first time an i occurs in the cipher it is to be understood as representing that character which stands against the first i in the key-phrase, that the second time ani occurs it must be supposed to represent that letter which stands opposed to the second i in the key

phrase, etc. etc. Thus the location of each cipherical letter must be considered in connection with the character itself in order to determine its exact signification.

We say that some preconcerted order of this kind is necessary lest the cipher prove too intricate a lock to yield even to its true key. But it will be evident, upon inspection, that our correspondent at Stonington has inflicted upon us a cryptograph in which no order has been preserved, in which many characters respectively stand, at absolute random, for many others. If, therefore, in regard to the gauntlet we threw down in April, he should be half-inclined to accuse us of braggadocio, he will yet admit that we have more than acted up to our boast. If what we then said was not said suaviter in modo, what we now do is at least done fortiter in re.

In these cursory observations we have by no means attempted to exhaust the subject of Cryptography. With such object in view a folio might be required. We have indeed mentioned only a few of the ordinary modes of cipher. Even two thousand years ago Eneas Tacticus detailed twenty distinct methods, and modern ingenuity has added much to the science. Our design has been chiefly suggestive, and perhaps we have already bored the readers of the Magazine. To those who desire further information upon this topic we may say that there are extant treatises by Trithemius, Cap. Porta, Vignere, and P. Niceron. The works of the two latter may be found, we believe, in the library of the Harvard University. If, however, there should be sought in these disquisitions, or in any, rules for the solution of cipher, the seeker will be disappointed. Beyond some hints in regard to the general structure of language, and some minute exercises in their practical application, he will find nothing upon record which he does not in his own intellect possess.

MARGINALIA.

IN getting my books I have been always solicitous of an ample margin; this not so much through any love of the thing in itself, however agreeable, as for the facility it affords me of pencilling suggested thoughts, agreements, and differences of opinion, or brief critical comments in general. Where what I have to note is too much to be included within the narrow limits of a margin, I commit it to a slip of paper, and deposit it between the leaves; taking care to secure it by an imperceptible portion of gum tragacanth paste.

All this may be whim; it may be not only a very hackneyed, but a very idle practice, yet I persist in it still; and it affords me pleasure-which is profit, in despite of Mr. Bentham with Mr. Mill on his back.

This making of notes, however, is by no means the making of mere memoranda-a custom which has its disadvantages, beyond doubt. "Ce que je mets sur papier," says Bernardin de St. Pierre, "je remets de ma mémoire, et par consequence je l'oublie ;"-and, in fact, if you wish to forget anything on the spot, make a note that this thing is to be remembered.

But the purely marginal jottings, done with no eye to the Memorandum Book, have a distinct complexion, and not only a distinct purpose, but none at all; this it is which imparts to them a value. They have a rank somewhat above the chance and desultory comments of literary chitchat for these latter are not unfrequently "talk for talk's sake," hurried out of the mouth; while the marginalia are deliberately pencilled, because the mind of the reader wishes.

to unburthen itself of a thought—however flippant-however silly - however trivial—still a thought indeed, not merely a thing that might have been a thought in time, and under more favourable circumstances. In the marginalia, too, we talk only to ourselves; we therefore talk freshly-boldly-originally-with abandonnement— without conceit-much after the fashion of Jeremy Taylor, and Sir Thomas Browne, and Sir William Temple, and the anatomical Burton, and that most logical analogist Butler, and some other people of the old day, who were too full of their matter to have any room for their manner, which being thus left out of question was a capital manner indeed -a model of manners, with a richly marginallic air.

The circumscription of space, too, in these pencillings, has in it something more of advantage than inconvenience. It compels us (whatever diffuseness of idea we may clandestinely entertain) into Montesquieu-ism, into Tacitus-ism (here I leave out of view the concluding portion of the "Annals") -or even into Carlyle-ism-a thing which, I have been told, is not to be confounded with your ordinary affectation and bad grammar. I say "bad grammar" through sheer obstinacy, because the grammarians (who should know better) insist upon it that I should not. But then grammar is not what these grammarians will have it; and, being merely the analysis of language, with the result of this analysis, must be good or bad just as the analyst is sage or silly-just as he is a Horne Tooke or a Cobbett.

But to our sheep. During a rainy afternoon, not long ago, being in a mood too listless for continuous study, I sought relief from ennui in dipping here and there at random among the volumes of my library-no very large one certainly, but sufficiently miscellaneous, and, I flatter myself, not a little recherché.

Perhaps it was what the Germans call the "brainscattering" humour of the moment; but, while the picturesqueness of the numerous pencil-scratches arrested my attention, their helter-skelteriness of commentary amused me. I found myself at length forming a wish that it had been some other hand than my own which had so bedevilled