But the second and the third sketches betrayed the terrible hand.

The distant view of the city of Wilsonople was fair with glittering domes, which, in the succeeding near view, proved to have been soap-bubbles, for a place of extreme flatness, begirt with crazy old-fashioned fortifications, was shown; and in the third view, representing the interior, stood for sole place of habitation, a sentry-box.
Most minutely drawn, and, alas! with fearful accuracy, a military gentleman in undress occupied the box.

Not a doubt could exist as to the person it was meant to be.
The General tried hard to remain incredulous.

He remembered too well who had called him Wilsonople.
But here was the extraordinary thing that sent him over the neighbourhood canvassing for exclamations: on the fourth page was the outline of a lovely feminine hand, holding a pen, as in the act of shading, and under it these words: 'What I say is, I say I think it exceedingly unladylike.' Now consider the General's feelings when, turning to this fourth page, having these very words in his mouth, as the accurate expression of his thoughts, he discovered them written! An enemy who anticipates the actions of our mind, has a quality of the malignant divine that may well inspire terror.

The senses of General Ople were struck by the aspect of a lurid Goddess, who penetrated him, read him through, and had both power and will to expose and make him ridiculous for ever.
The loveliness of the hand, too, in a perplexing manner contested his denunciation of her conduct.