A phonetic mnemonic for the first 32 U.S. presidents, by Edwin C. Silvey:
I don’t know where this first appeared, but every source I can find faithfully credits the composer.
“Prepopr Splelnig”
In 1999, a letter in New Scientist noted that randomizing letters in the middle of words has little or no effect on readers’ ability to understand text. Noam D. Plum responded with a poem:
The suggetsoin taht chrilden slhuod laern how to sepll
Is a tmie-watse we ohgut to rjeect.
Sicne a jlumbe of leertts raeds pertlecfy wlel
If the frist and the lsat are crrocet.
Wehn an edtoir grembuls, “Yuor seplinlg is ntus!”
Wtih cntoempt he can braley cocneal,
Trehe is no cuase to flcnih; mkae no ifs adns or btus;
Say, “I’ts radnom, sir. Wa’hts the big dael?”
In tihs fsat-minvog wrold, waht we raed dseon’t sictk.
Olny vrey few deliats get strsseed.
If i’ts frsit or it’s lsat we may glncae at it qucik.
Woh’s got tmie to be raenidg the rset?
(Noam D. Plum, “Prepopr Splelnig,” Verbatim 32:1 [Spring 2008], 15. See Half Measures.)
Pigs Penned
In 1899 the Strand invited 13 British celebrities to draw a pig with their eyes closed.
Field Marshal Frederick Sleigh Roberts:
Judge Sir Francis Jeune:
Mary Jeune, Baroness St Helier:
Hugh Jermyn, Bishop of Brechin:
Astronomer Sir Robert Ball:
Chemist William Ramsay:
Stage actor Henry Irving:
Illustrator Sir John Tenniel:
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle:
Novelist Walter Besant:
Organist Sir Frederick Bridge:
Inventor Hiram Maxim:
Magician Nevil Maskelyne:
(Illustrator Harry Furniss says the trick is to use your free hand as a guide.)
Oh
A puzzle by Lewis Carroll:
Dreaming of apples on a wall,
And dreaming often, dear,
I dreamed that, if I counted all,
How many would appear?
Self-Destruction
This chess problem, from Wolfgang Pauly’s 1912 Theory of Pawn Promotion, is a selfmate in two: How can White force Black to deliver checkmate within two moves, despite Black’s best effort to avoid doing so? White moves first.
Chronicle
I take delight in history, even its most prosaic details, because they become poetical as they recede into the past. The poetry of history lies in the quasi-miraculous fact that once, on this earth, once, on this familiar spot of ground, walked other men and women, as actual as we are to-day, thinking their own thoughts, swayed by their own passions, but now all gone, one generation vanishing after another, gone as utterly as we ourselves shall shortly be gone like a ghost at cock-crow. This is the most familiar and certain fact about life, but it is also the most poetical, and the knowledge of it has never ceased to entrance me, and to throw a halo of poetry round the dustiest record that Dryasdust can bring to light.
— G.M. Trevelyan, Autobiography and Other Essays, 1949
In a Word
insessor
n. one who sits in or on
Chesterton’s Fence
In the matter of reforming things, as distinct from deforming them, there is one plain and simple principle; a principle which will probably be called a paradox. There exists in such a case a certain institution or law; let us say, for the sake of simplicity, a fence or gate erected across a road. The more modern type of reformer goes gaily up to it and says, ‘I don’t see the use of this; let us clear it away.’ To which the more intelligent type of reformer will do well to answer: ‘If you don’t see the use of it, I certainly won’t let you clear it away. Go away and think. Then, when you can come back and tell me that you do see the use of it, I may allow you to destroy it.’
— G.K. Chesterton, The Thing: Why I Am a Catholic, 1929
Field Notes
Two perceptive entries from the journals of English naturalist Gilbert White:
“December 4, 1770 – Most owls seem to hoot exactly in B flat according to several pitch-pipes used in tuning of harpsichords, & sold as strictly at concert pitch.”
“February 8, 1782 – Venus shadows very strongly, showing the bars of the windows on the floors & walls.”
Between these he makes what may be the earliest written use of the word golly, in 1775.
Artificial Night
It is true we do not often see the stars in broad daylight, but they are there nevertheless. The blaze of sunlight makes them invisible. A good telescope will always show the stars, and even without a telescope they can sometimes be seen in daylight in rather an odd way. If you can obtain a glimpse of the blue sky on a fine day from the bottom of a coal pit, stars are often visible. The top of the shaft is, however, generally obstructed by the machinery for hoisting up the coal, but the stars may be seen occasionally through the tall chimney attached to a chimney manufactory when an opportune disuse of the chimney permits of the observation being made. The fact is that the long tube has the effect of completely screening from the eye the direct light of the sun. The eye thus becomes more sensitive, and the feeble light from the stars can make their impression and produce vision.
— Robert Stawell Ball, Star-Land, 1890
01/17/2025 UPDATE: This is false. Reader Catalin Voinescu writes, “The stars aren’t obscured by the glare of the sun in the vicinity of the observer. That is easy to shield from. Starlight is overwhelmed by sunlight scattered by the bulk of the atmosphere — by the sky, in other words. While shorter wavelengths scatter more (which is why the sky appears blue), filtering out the blue is still not enough to make the stars visible during the day: red still scatters plenty. Only in wavelengths much longer than visible light is the scattering low enough to observe the stars: radio astronomers can make observations during the day, as long as they don’t point their dishes too close to the sun.” (Thanks, Catalin.)