So they were forced at last to let the poor professor ease his mind
by writing a great book, exactly contrary to all his old opinions;
in which he proved that the moon was made of green cheese, and that
all the mites in it (which you may see sometimes quite plain
through a telescope, if you will only keep the lens dirty enough,
as Mr. Weekes kept his voltaic battery) are nothing in the world
but little babies, who are hatching and swarming up there in
millions, ready to come down into this world whenever children want
a new little brother or sister.

Which must be a mistake, for this one reason: that, there being no
atmosphere round the moon (though some one or other says there is,
at least on the other side, and that he has been round at the back
of it to see, and found that the moon was just the shape of a Bath
bun, and so wet that the man in the moon went about on Midsummer-
day in Macintoshes and Cording's boots, spearing eels and
sneezing); that, therefore, I say, there being no atmosphere, there
can be no evaporation; and therefore the dew-point can never fall
below 71.5 degrees below zero of Fahrenheit: and, therefore, it
cannot be cold enough there about four o'clock in the morning to
condense the babies' mesenteric apophthegms into their left
ventricles; and, therefore, they can never catch the hooping-cough;
and if they do not have hooping-cough, they cannot be babies at
all; and, therefore, there are no babies in the moon.--Q.E.D.

Which may seem a roundabout reason; and so, perhaps, it is: but
you will have heard worse ones in your time, and from better men
than you are.

But one thing is certain; that, when the good old doctor got his