Poe’s cryptography challenges — Alexander’s Weekly Messenger, 1839–1840

Poe’s cryptography challenges — Alexander’s Weekly Messenger, 1839–1840 Fifteen dated installments of the newspaper’s puzzles and cryptography series, from December 18, 1839 through May 6, 1840. The unsigned columns are attributed to Poe; some also contain readers’ submissions. Historical text is preserved from repository transcriptions, including the original opening article’s footnote. This is not a newspaper-page facsimile. Cipher tables use tab-separated cells. The February 26 cipher illustration is preserved as a separate local image, with a marker in the reading text. The source GIF has been converted to PNG without changing its pixels. No speculative transcription of its symbols is supplied. Typography is simplified and the transcription has not been independently proofread word by word. Edgar Allan Poe (?), “Enigmatical and Conundrum-ical,” Alexander's Weekly Messenger , vol. 3, no. 50, December 18, 1839, p. 4, cols 1-2 ENIGMATICAL AND CONUNDRUM-ICAL. A correspondent writes to us as follows from Halifax county, Va. Editors of Alexander's Messenger: Gentlemen — Examining a parcel of your old papers (which were on file at my father's) some short time since, I found in one an enigma, which runs thus: I’m a noise never heard, yet I’m nothing but sound; I move not, yet travel the world all round; I cannot be seen, yet no mortal can say Without seeing me he can go through the day; I cannot be touched, yet no lady fair Can close her sweet hand without finding me there: I’m enormously large, though as small as a digit; And I often at cards put old frumps in a fidget; I’m rough, smooth, soft, hard; I’m both oval and square, Yet nothing but angels which make tories swear; I’m the prop of the throne, and abhor revolution, And yet for my treason deserve execution: I’m blacker than jet, than a lily more white; I never am seen, yet am never out of sight; I’m colder than ice, yet hotter than fire; I die every minute, yet never expire. Come guess me at once; make no fuss about me, For ladies never sit down to piquet without me. From the many contradictions and novelty of the piece, my curiosity is raised to such a degree, that I must request you to send me the answer. I have read it over carefully a great many times, and can form no idea what it can be. Respectfully, your friend, &c. We sympathise with our correspondent's perplexity, and hasten to remove it — especially as we have a penchant for riddles ourselves. In spite of the anathemas of the over-wise, we regard a good enigma as a good thing. Their solution affords one of the best possible exercises of the analytical faculties, besides calling into play many other powers. We know of no truer test of general capacity than is to be found in the guessing of such puzzles. In explanation of this idea a most capital Magazine article might be written. It would be by no means a labor lost to show how great a degree of rigid method enters into enigma-guessing. So much is this the case, that a set of rules might absolutely be given by which almost any (good) enigma in the world could be solved instantaneously This may sound oddly; but is not more strange than the well known fact that rules really exist, by means of which it is easy to decipher any species of hieroglyphical writing — that is to say writing where, in place of alphabetical letters, any kind of marks are made use of at random.* The method of which we speak enables us to say at once, in regard to our correspondent's enigma, that he has puzzled himself, and would have puzzled himself to all eternity, in vain. It has no answer. That is, it has no word of solution which will reply to all the categories. The enigma is imperfect, and no doubt, composed by some ignorant person; one who, at all events, knew nothing of the laws of such compositions; for, like everything else, they have their laws. The style would indicate this ignorance sufficiently, without looking farther; but a little scrutiny fully expos