I.6§2 (FW 150.15 - 152.03)
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Professor Levis-Brueller (though, as I shall promptly prove, his whole account of the Sennacherib as distinct from the Shalmaneser sanitational reforms and of the Mr Shekels and Dr Hydes problem in the same connection differs toto coelo from the fruit of my own investigations — though the reason I went to Jericho must remain for certain reasons a political secret especially as I shall shortly be wanted in Cavantry, I congratulate myself, for the same and other reasons — as being again hopelessly vitiated by what I have now resolved to call the dime and cash diamond fallacy) in his talked off confession which recently met with such a leonine uproar on its escape after its confinement, Why am I not born like a Gentileman and why I am now so speakable about my own eatables (Feigenbaumblatt and Father, Judapest, 5688, A.M.), wholeheartedly takes off his gabbercoat and wig, honest draughty fellow, in his public interest, to make us see how, though, as he says, “by Allswill”, the inception and the descent and the endswell of Man is temporarily wrapped in obscenity. Looking through at these accidents with the faroscope of television (this nightlife instrument needs still some subtractional betterment in the readjustment of the more refrangible angles to the squeals of his hypothesis on the outer tin sides) I can easily believe heartily in my own most spacious immensity
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as my ownhouse and microbemost cosm when I am reassured by ratio that the cube of my volumes is to the surfaces of their subjects as the sphericity of these globes (I am very pressing for a parliamentary motion ^|4|xthis ^|v+time term^v+|x|4| which, under my guidance, would establish the deleteriousness of decorousness in the morbidisation of the modern mandaboutwoman type) is to the feracity of Fairynelly's vacuum. I need not anthropologise for any obintentional (I must here correct all that school of neoitalian or paleoparisien schola of tinkers and spanglers who say I'm wrong parceqeue I want to be) downtrodding on my foes, Professor Levis-Brueller F.D. finds, because the number of squeer faiths in weakly circulation will not be appreciably augmended by the netherslogging of my cupolar clods. What the romantic in rags pines after and what he importunes our Mitleid for is the poorest waste of time. His everpresent toes are always out through his overpast boots. Hear him squeak! When Mullocky won the couple of colds, when we were stripping in number three, I would like the neat drop that would malt in my mouth but I
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fail to see when. (I am purposely refraining from expounding the obvious fallacy as to the specific gravitates of the two liquids implied though students of mixed hydrostatics and pneumodipsics will after some difficulties grapple away with my meinungs.) But, on Professor Levis-Brueller F.D. Ph.Dr's showings, the plea, if he pleads, is all posh and rabbage on a melodeontic scale since his man's when is no otherman's quandom (mine, dank you!) while (for aught I care for the contrary?) the all is where in love as war and
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the plane where me arts soar you'd aisy rouse a thunder from and where I cling true 'tis there I climb tree and where Innocent looks best (pick!) there's holly in his ives.