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diff --git a/77627-0.txt b/77627-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..94c335c --- /dev/null +++ b/77627-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3667 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77627 *** + + + + + FURTHER NONSENSE + VERSE AND PROSE + + [Illustration] + + + + + FURTHER NONSENSE + VERSE AND PROSE + + _BY_ + + LEWIS CARROLL + + (_EDITED BY_ LANGFORD REED) + + _ILLUSTRATED BY_ + H. M. BATEMAN + + + [Illustration] + + D. APPLETON AND COMPANY + NEW YORK * * * MCMXXVI + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1926, BY + D. APPLETON AND COMPANY + + [Illustration] + + PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + + [Illustration] + + + + + CONTENTS + + + PAGE + + FOREWORD 1 + + THE LADY OF THE LADLE 21 + + CORONACH 24 + + LAYS OF SORROW 26 + + MY FANCY 29 + + A SEA DIRGE 31 + + LIMERICK 34 + + A BACCHANALIAN ODE 35 + + A LESSON IN LATIN 36 + + THE TWO BROTHERS 38 + + POETRY FOR THE MILLION 44 + + THE DEAR GAZELLE 45 + + THE MOUSE’S TAIL 46 + + RHYMED CORRESPONDENCE 47 + + ACROSTICS 49 + + MAGGIE’S VISIT TO OXFORD 51 + + WILHELM VON SCHMITZ 57 + + THE THREE CATS 71 + + THE LEGEND OF SCOTLAND 74 + + PHOTOGRAPHY EXTRAORDINARY 81 + + HINTS FOR ETIQUETTE; OR, DINING OUT MADE EASY 86 + + A HEMISPHERICAL PROBLEM 89 + + THE TWO CLOCKS 91 + + THE IDEAL MATHEMATICAL SCHOOL 93 + + LOVE AND LOCI 95 + + MORNING DRESS AND EVENING DRESS 97 + + KISSING BY POST 98 + + A BIRTHDAY WISH 101 + + A FEW OF THE THINGS I LIKE 102 + + MYSELF AND ME 103 + + MY STYLE OF DANCING 105 + + GLOVES FOR KITTENS 106 + + ART IN POTSDAM 109 + + ON WAITERS 110 + + LEWIS CARROLL AS A RACONTEUR 113 + + A LEWIS CARROLL PROVERB 119 + + + + + _FOREWORD_ + + +This present collection of writings by Lewis Carroll--the King of +“Nonsense Literature”--is particularly opportune. Most, if not all, the +matter in it will be new to the present generation; some of it, indeed, +has never appeared in print before. + +Apart from other material, more than one hundred and fifty letters +have been examined. Lewis Carroll was a prolific correspondent, and +his letters, especially to his child friends, reflected his joyous +personality and characteristic humour in no uncommon degree. In +this connection, and for some of the biographical details in his +introduction, the editor wishes to acknowledge his indebtedness to Mr. +Stuart Dodgson Collingwood’s “Life and Letters of Lewis Carroll” (a +fascinating book long out of print), and to Miss Vera Beringer, Mrs. +Barclay, Mrs. Spens, and Mrs. Morton (formerly the three little Miss +Bowmans), four ladies who, when children, were among the most intimate +of Lewis Carroll’s juvenile comrades. The courtesy of the proprietors +of “The Whitby Gazette” in giving permission for the inclusion of “The +Lady of the Ladle” and “Wilhelm von Schmitz” must be acknowledged. + + + THE REAL LEWIS CARROLL + +Lewis Carroll’s real name, as most of his adult admirers are aware, was +Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, and he was born on January 27, 1832, in the +Cheshire village of Daresbury, where his father was the local parson. + +In this secluded hamlet young Dodgson spent the first eleven years of +his life, and in his quaint diversions and hobbies gave promise of the +whimsical and bizarre genius which was destined to make him famous. + +His biographer has left it on record that he made pets of snails and +other queer creatures, and endeavoured to encourage organised warfare +among insects by supplying them with pieces of stick with which they +might fight, if so disposed. + +He also showed early signs of mathematical and scientific talent +which, if not rare enough to make the name of Charles Lutwidge Dodgson +as imperishably and as internationally illustrious as that of Lewis +Carroll, rendered it well known in his own generation among his own +countrymen, and proved that he was one of those singular geniuses +whom, in his own quaint phraseology, he would have described as +a “portmanteau” man--that is to say, one man packed with several +individualities! + +Of the delightful surroundings of his birthplace he has left the +following impression in his serious poem, “The Three Sunsets” (first +published in “All the Year Round” in 1860): + + I watch the drowsy night expire, + And Fancy paints at my desire + Her magic pictures in the fire. + An island farm, ’midst seas of corn + Swayed by the wandering breath of morn, + The happy spot where I was born. + +In 1843 the Rev. Mr. Dodgson became rector of Croft, a Durham village +near Darlington, with a quaint old church which contains a Norman +porch and an elaborate covered-in pew resembling a four-post bedstead. +Soon after the transference he was appointed examining chaplain to the +Bishop of Ripon, and later became Archdeacon of Richmond (Yorkshire), +and one of the Canons of Ripon Cathedral. + +“Young Dodgson at this time,” says the authority already quoted, “was +very fond of inventing games for the amusement of his brothers and +sisters; he constructed a home-made train out of a wheelbarrow, a +barrel, and a small truck, which used to convey passengers from one +‘station’ in the rectory gardens to another. At each of these stations +there was a refreshment room, and the passengers had to purchase +tickets from him before they could enjoy the ride. The boy was also +a clever conjuror, and arrayed in a brown wig and a long white robe, +used to cause no little wonder to his audience by his sleight of hand +tricks. With the assistance of various members of the family and the +village carpenter he made a troupe of marionettes and a small theatre +for them to act in. He wrote all the plays himself and he was very +clever at manipulating the innumerable strings by which the movements +of his puppets were regulated.” + + + A PROPHECY THAT CAME TRUE + +It was in 1844, at the mature age of twelve, when he was a pupil at +Richmond School, that he wrote his first story. It was called “The +Unknown One,” and appeared in the school magazine. + +That the headmaster anticipated that his young pupil might one day +astonish the world may be gathered by the following extract from his +first report upon him: + +“I do not hesitate to express my opinion that he possesses, along +with other and excellent natural endowments, a very uncommon share of +genius; he is capable of acquirements and knowledge far beyond his +years, while his reason is so clear and so zealous of error, that he +will not rest satisfied without a most exact solution of whatever +appears to him obscure. You may fairly anticipate for him a bright +career.” + +At the age of fourteen Charles was sent to Rugby School, becoming a +pupil a few years after the death of the great Dr. Arnold, immortalised +in “Tom Brown’s Schooldays.” The headmaster was Dr. A. C. Tait, who +afterwards became Archbishop of Canterbury. His opinion of his pupil’s +ability was thus expressed in a letter to Archdeacon Dodgson: + +“I must not allow your son to leave school without expressing to you +the very high opinion I entertain of him. His mathematical knowledge +is great for his age, and I doubt not he will do himself credit in +classics; his examination for the Divinity Prize was one of the most +creditable exhibitions I have ever seen.” + +Young Dodgson’s literary activities appear to have definitely commenced +about the year 1845, when the first of a series of amateur magazines, +which he edited during the holidays for the benefit of the inmates +of Croft Rectory made its appearance. The most ambitious of these +home-made journals was “The Rectory Umbrella,” for which, in addition +to editing, he wrote most of the matter and made all the illustrations. + +In the spring of 1850 he matriculated, and in January, 1851, following +in the footsteps of his father, he became a student at Christ Church +College, Oxford, and commenced a personal association with it which +lasted until the day of his death, forty-seven years later. Scholastic +honours and distinctions were his almost from the very first, for +he soon won a Boulter Scholarship and obtained First Class Honours +in Mathematics and Second in Classical Moderations. The degrees of +Bachelor of Arts and Master of Arts followed. + +In 1853, during a stay at Ripon, he met a singular person who +identified with remarkable accuracy the qualities and characteristics +which were to make him famous. This was a Miss Anderson, who professed +to have clairvoyant powers, and by merely holding a folded paper +containing writing by a person unknown to her to be able to describe +his or her character. This was her delineation of young Dodgson’s: + +“Very clever head, a great deal of imitation; he would make a good +actor; diffident; rather shy in general society; comes out in the home +circle; rather obstinate, very clever; a great deal of concentration; +very affectionate; a great deal of wit and humour; not much faculty for +remembering events; fond of deep reading; imaginative; fond of reading +poetry; may compose.” + +The following year he contributed the poem and short story to “The +Whitby Gazette” which are included in this present volume. + +His love of the theatre alluded to by the psychical lady was an early +one. In his diary for June 22, 1853, he thus refers to an evening spent +at the Princess’s Theatre, London: + +“Then came the great play ‘Henry VIII.,’ the greatest theatrical treat +I have ever had or expect to have. I had no idea that anything so +superb as the scenery and dresses was ever to be seen on the stage. +Kean was magnificent as Cardinal Wolsey, Mrs. Kean a worthy successor +to Mrs. Siddons as Queen Catherine, and all the accessories without +exception were good--but oh, that exquisite vision of Queen Catherine! +I almost held my breath to watch, the illusion is perfect, and I felt +as if in a dream the whole time it lasted. It was like a delicious +reverie or most beautiful poetry. This is the true end and object of +acting--to raise the mind above itself and out of its petty cares.” + +Another entry is full of the diffidence about himself and his work +which was characteristic of the man. It read as follows: + +“I am sitting alone in my bedroom this last night of the old year +(1857) waiting for midnight. It has been the most eventful year of my +life: I began it as a poor bachelor student, with no definite plans or +expectations; I end it as a master and tutor in Christ Church, with an +income of more than £300 a year, and the course of mathematical tuition +marked out by God’s providence for at least some years to come. Great +mercies, great failings, time lost, talent misapplied--such has been +the past year.” + +At Christmas he became the editor of a college publication called +“College Rhymes,” in which first appeared “A Sea Dirge” and “My +Fancy,” both of which are included in this present volume. About the +same period he contributed several poems to “The Comic Times,” and +later to “The Train.” Edmund Yates, the editor of both publications, +expressed the warmest appreciation of his work. + + + THE “BIRTH” OF “LEWIS CARROLL” + +It was during young Dodgson’s association with the latter journal +that the pseudonym, which is to-day world-famous, originated. It was +selected by Edmund Yates from the names Edgar Cuthwellis,[1] Edgar +W. C. Westhall, Louis Carroll, and Lewis Carroll. The first two were +formed from letters of his Christian names, Charles Lutwidge; the +others are merely variant forms of them. Thus Lewis is developed from +Ludovicus and Ludovicus from Luteridge, while Charles develops into +Carolus and thence to Carroll. + +The first effort from his pen to which the new pseudonym was appended +was “The Path of Roses,” a serious poem which appeared in “The Train” +in 1856. + +Mr. Dodgson was ordained a deacon of the Church of England in 1861, +but never undertook regular duties as a priest, although he preached +occasionally at the University Church and elsewhere. Despite the slight +stammer which marred his diction his sermons--models of earnestness, +lucidity, and reasoning--were always impressive, especially those on +the subject of Eternal Punishment, in which devilish and anti-Christian +doctrines he was, of course an emphatic disbeliever. + +His literary activities and personal charm gained him the friendship +of eminent writers in various fields of artistic and professional +endeavour, including Tennyson, Ruskin, Thackeray, the Rossetti Family, +Tom Taylor the dramatist (author of “Still Waters Run Deep,” etc.), +Frank Smedley (author of that admirable novel “Frank Fairleigh”), +Stuart Calverley, Coventry Patmore, Mrs. Charlotte the novelist, +Millais, Holman Hunt, Val Prinsep, Watts, the Terry family, Lord +Salisbury, the Bishop of Oxford, Canon King (afterwards Bishop of +Lincoln), Canon Liddon, Dr. Scott (Dean of Rochester), Dr. Liddell +(Dean of Christ Church), Professor Faraday, Mr. Justice Denman, Sir +George Baden-Powell, Mr. Frederick Harrison, etc. + +Most of these distinguished people were photographed by him, for +this man of many talents had a flair for artistic photography +which undoubtedly would have made him successful as a professional +photographer had he been compelled to depend upon it for a living. +Photographing from life, particularly photographing children, was, +indeed, his principal hobby, and in his rooms at Christ Church he kept +a large and varied assortment of fancy costumes in which to attire his +little friends for picturesque effect. + + + THE BEGINNING OF “ALICE” + +It was on July 4, 1862, that there occurred that epochal expedition up +the river to Godstow with the three small daughters of Dr. Liddell, +Dean of Christ Church, which was destined to have such important and +far-reaching results. The first inception of the resultant masterpiece +has been charmingly described in the beautiful verses which preface it: + + All in the golden afternoon + Full leisurely we glide, + For both our oars, with little skill, + By little arms are plied. + While little hands make vain pretence + Our wanderings to guide. + + Ah, cruel three! In such an hour + Beneath such dreamy weather + To beg a tale of breath too weak + To stir the tiniest feather! + Yet what can one poor voice avail + Against three tongues together? + + Imperious Prima flashes forth + Her edict “to begin it”-- + In gentler tone Secunda hopes + “There will be nonsense in it!”-- + While Tertia interrupts the tale + Not _more_ than once a minute. + + Anon, to sudden silence won, + In fancy they pursue + The dream-child moving through a land + Of wonders wild and new. + In friendly chat with bird or beast-- + And half believe it true. + + And even, as the story drained + The wells of fancy dry, + And faintly strove that weary one + To put the subject by, + “The rest next time”--“It _is_ next time!” + The happy voices cry. + + Thus grew the tale of Wonderland: + Thus slowly, one by one, + Its quaint events were hammered out-- + And now the tale is done, + And home we steer, a merry crew, + Beneath the setting sun. + + Alice! a childish story take, + And with a gentle hand + Lay it where childhood’s dreams are twined + In Memory’s mystic band, + Like pilgrim’s wither’d wreath of flowers + Pluck’d in a far-off land. + +If the final verse is not proof enough that sweet Alice Liddell was +Lewis Carroll’s favourite of the three, and that for _her_ he fashioned +his immortal fantasy, the opening verses from the exquisite poem which +precedes the sequel to the story, “Alice through the Looking Glass,” +will dispel all doubt: + + Child of the pure unclouded brow + And dreaming eyes of wonder! + Though time be fleet and I and thou + Are half a life asunder, + Thy loving smile will surely hail + The love gift of a fairy-tale. + + I have not seen thy sunny face, + Nor heard thy silver laughter; + No thought of me shall find a place + In thy young life’s hereafter-- + Enough that now thou wilt not fail + To listen to my fairy-tale. + + A tale begun in other days, + When summer suns were glowing-- + A simple chime that served to time + The rhythm of our rowing-- + Whose echoes live in memory yet, + Though envious years would say “forget.” + +It is pleasant to reflect that Lewis Carroll was wrong in his +assumption that his little comrade would forget him. She remained his +lifelong friend, and many years after the trip to Godstow, when she had +become Mrs. Reginald Hargreaves, she wrote the following account of the +scene: + +“I believe the beginning of ‘Alice’ was told me one summer afternoon +when the sun was so hot that we had landed in the meadows down the +river, deserting the boat to take refuge in the only bit of shade to be +found, which was under a new-made hay-rick. Here from all three came +the old petition of ‘Tell us a story,’ and so began the ever-delightful +tale. Sometimes to tease us--perhaps being really tired--Mr. Dodgson +would stop suddenly and say, ‘And that’s all till next time.’ ‘Ah, but +it is next time,’ would be the exclamation from all three; and after +some persuasion the story would start afresh. Another day, perhaps, +the story would begin in the boat, and Mr. Dodgson, in the middle of +telling a thrilling adventure, would pretend to go fast asleep, to our +great dismay....” + +The original title of the story, which its creator took the trouble to +write out in manuscript and have specially bound for the living Alice, +was “Alice’s Adventures Underground”; later it became “Alice’s Hour +in Elfland.” It was not until June 18, 1864, that its author finally +decided upon “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland,” and it was a year +later before it was published. He had no thought of publication at +first, and it was his friend Mr. George Macdonald who persuaded him to +submit the story to Messrs. Macmillan, who immediately appreciated its +value. + +Few books have met with such unequivocal praise from the critics +and such instantaneous favour from the public, and the writer of +these notes feels sure that in any public enquiry conducted into the +popularity of children’s books to-day, either in Great Britain or +America, “Alice in Wonderland” would come at easy first. His own little +daughter, Joan, ætat. nine, never tires of the wonderful adventures, +and thinks it “the very best story in the world,” and this opinion is +probably typical of nine children out of ten. + +The story has been translated into French, German, Italian, and +Dutch--tasks which the peculiarly Anglo-Saxon character of its appeal +must have rendered very difficult. + +Four years after the publication of his masterpiece there appeared its +author’s collection of poems grave and gay, known under the general +title of “Phantasmagoria,” followed two years later by “Alice through +the Looking Glass.” + +Soon after this he commenced to work out the story of “Sylvie and +Bruno,” and on the last night of 1872 related a great deal of it to +several children, including Princess Alice, who were members of a party +at Hatfield, where Mr. Dodgson was the guest of Lord Salisbury. + +In 1871 appeared his “Notes by an Oxford Chiel,” a collection of +whimsical papers dealing with Oxford controversies; and in March, 1879, +“The Hunting of the Snark” was published. According to its creator, +the first idea for the whole poem was suggested by its last line, +“For the Snark was a Boojum, you see,” which came into his mind, +apparently without reason, while he was enjoying a country walk. Many +of his admirers have contended that “The Hunting of the Snark” is an +allegory, but Lewis Carroll himself always declared it had no meaning +at all, which, however, is very different from saying it had no point, +for the meticulous skill with which each effect is achieved shows the +master-hand throughout. + +All this time Mr. Dodgson, in addition to his professional duties, was +writing mathematical and technical and other serious works, for which +he was responsible for more than a dozen books alone, including “Euclid +and his Modern Rivals” (1882), which ran into eight editions. + + + INVENTOR OF CROSS WORD PUZZLES + +In addition, he invented many ingenious table games and puzzles, and an +examination of some of these has suggested to the editor that in all +probability he was the real inventor of “Cross Word Puzzles.” + +As, however, this introduction is concerned principally with the +humorous literary achievements and characteristics of Lewis Carroll, +anything more than a passing reference to matters outside that scope +would be inappropriate, particularly since time has to a great extent +already endorsed the uncompromising prophecy which appeared at the end +of a wonderful laudation of Lewis Carroll in “The National Review” a +few days after his death, which stated: “Future generations will not +waste a single thought upon the Rev. C. L. Dodgson.” + +In 1855 appeared “A Tangled Tale,” in which Mr. Carroll successfully +combined mathematics and nonsense in a series of ingenious problems; +and at the end of 1889 “Sylvie and Bruno,” on which he had been +engaged for several years. “Sylvie and Bruno Concluded” followed in +1893. + +Neither of these stories achieved anything approaching the success of +the “Alice” books or “The Hunting of the Snark,” for in them he made +the mistake of endeavouring to combine a fairy-tale with a serious and +controversial novel full of religious and political arguments; and +commendable though this may have been from the Christian and ethical +standpoint, it made neither for unity nor clarity. Mingled with this +extraneous matter, however, is some delightful nonsense, equal to +anything in the “Alice” books, particularly in respect of the Mad +Gardener and his weird optic delusions; while his heroine, Sylvie, is +an idealistic and entrancing creature who appeals to the very best that +is in humanity, which brings me to the question: “What is it precisely +which delights and amuses us in Lewis Carroll’s fantasies?” + +It is a difficult question to answer, for his humour is of that +rare quality that is intangible and, so to speak, incomplete. It +approximates to that of Shakespeare in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” +and Barrie in “Peter Pan.” I can think of no others. His quaint +conversations and fantastic scenes abound in ideas that seem to vanish +before we can quite grasp them--like the Cheshire Cat, leaving only +the smile behind, or like our conception of his immortal Snark, that +was not strictly a Snark because it was a Boojum! He never makes the +mistake of less responsible and less “designing” writers of satiating +us with good things; on completing a story by him we are always left +with the impression that, had he felt so disposed, he could have +added another chapter or two as alluring as the previous matter. And, +more than any other writer, he has fathomed the mysterious depths of +childhood that lie within us--even within the hearts of those of us who +are but children of a longer growth. It is these various propensities, +together with his command of language and “technique”--noticeable +even when his imagination and fancy run at their most preposterous +riot--which surely provide the answer to the question as to what are +the constituent factors responsible for Lewis Carroll’s popularity; and +I disagree emphatically with the opinion in a recent anthology compiled +by a distinguished and charming foreign writer who considers that “the +poetry of nonsense as Carroll understood it is entirely irresponsible, +and the main point about it is that there is no point.” + +This gentleman has, I venture to think, made the mistake of attempting +to regard Lewis Carroll from a literal point of view (which, of course, +cannot be done) instead of from a literary one, for such a description, +if true, would reduce his work to the level of the “eenar deenar dinar +doe” gibberish of the nursery, or to the unconscious nonsense babblings +of idiocy. To carry the argument a step further, any combination of +words picked haphazard from the dictionary might be called a nonsense +story! + +The present writer agrees that legitimate Nonsense Verse and Prose +appears to be entirely irresponsible, but surely that is one of the +phrases of paradox which make the fantasies of Carroll and Barrie so +elusive and so charming to every individual between seven and seventy +who retains anything of the divine spark of childhood within his heart, +whether he realises the reason for his enchantment or not. + + + LEWIS CARROLL’S TECHNIQUE + +Actually the Nonsense writings of Lewis Carroll are a highly technical +form of conscious and responsible humour, which, when analysed, are +found to contain plot (or “idea”), achievements, climax, and, in the +case of his poems, rhyme and rhythm. “Jabberwocky” offers excellent +proof of this. Rhyme and rhythm, indeed, are absolutely essential to +good Nonsense Verse, which the further removed it is from rules of +sense must conform the more closely to rules of sound. It is these +factors and the others mentioned in conjunction with them which render +Nonsense Poetry so superior to the nonsense rhymes of the nursery +and the folk song, including the sea chanty. One type is Nonsense, +the other D---- Nonsense. Then, of course, there is sheer Nonsense; +but as this is principally confined to the speeches and writings of +politicians, we need not enlarge on that aspect of the question here. + +So responsible and conscious a literary jester was Lewis Carroll that +it is doubtful if there has ever been a more meticulous precisian in +the use and intentional misuse of words, including those coined by +himself. Every word, every comma, had to be printed exactly as he had +planned in his development of the spontaneous idea upon which the +particular story or poem was based, and no author took more trouble to +ensure that the illustrations to his books exactly corresponded to his +conception of the subject. He would send back drawings again and again, +no matter how distinguished the artist might be, until some little +defect in suggestion, as he saw it, was remedied, and was equally +fastidious with regard to the style in which his books were produced. +Thus, “Sylvie and Bruno Concluded” appears on announcement which states: + +“For over twenty-five years I have made it my chief object, with regard +to my books, that they should be of the best workmanship obtainable +at the price. And I am deeply annoyed to find that the last issue of +‘Through the Looking Glass,’ consisting of the Sixtieth Thousand, has +been put on sale without its being noticed that most of the pictures +have failed so much in the printing as to make the book not worth +buying. I request all holders of copies to send them to Messrs. ---- +with their names and addresses, and copies of the new issue shall be +sent them in exchange.” + +Undoubtedly he has his limitations, particularly in his best and +most characteristic work. This may appear paradoxical, but the +writer of these notes is strongly of the opinion that one of the +most fascinating qualities about Lewis Carroll’s work is that its +popularity is never likely to be universal. His humour is essentially +“Anglo-Saxon,” and its “psychology” also, which explains why Carroll’s +“immortality” as a genius is founded on British and American +appreciation, and why the various foreign translations of his works +were comparative failures. A remarkable endorsement of the American +popularity of his works appeared on July 14th, this year, in the London +papers. The account in “The Daily News” read as follows: + +“In the handbook of the American students who will be touring England +this summer, issued by the National Union of Students, a number of +books are recommended as calculated to give young Americans ‘some +comprehension of English life and thought.’ + +“Among them I observe: ‘Alice in Wonderland,’ ‘Pride and Prejudice,’ +Chesterton’s ‘The Flying Inn,’ ‘The Forsyte Saga,’ ‘Tess of the +d’Urbervilles,’ ‘A Shropshire Lad,’ ‘Major Barbara,’ and ‘Man and +Superman.’” + + + THE GOLDEN AGE OF LITERATURE + +It may be contended of Lewis Carroll (as of all the Victorian +writers), that he lived in the “golden age” in respect of opportunity +for literary achievement. In his day, life flowed on smoothly and +uneventfully for the great majority of people. Our fathers laboured and +loved, or did the reverse, with a freedom from worry and responsibility +that may not have been very stimulating, but must have been decidedly +comfortable. Those were the days when “gaunt tragedy,” transpontine +melodrama, and “crescendos” of horror and gloom were more popular than +humour; indeed, thoughtful people turned towards them as a relief and +“inspiration” when compared with the uneventful and prosaic tenor of +life. It says much, therefore, for Lewis Carroll’s unique genius that +he was able to achieve immediate fame in an altogether different medium. + +It must be admitted that the argument that his love for children was +partial, inasmuch as boys were excluded from it, rests upon a great +deal of truth. Though essentially a manly man himself, who did not +fear to use his fists at school against attempted aggression by other +boys, or in defence of the weak, he has left it on record that he did +not understand boys, and felt shy in their presence, while the only +literary tribute he paid to boy-nature was in his creation of “Bruno.” +Nor has the compiler of this volume been able to discover any record of +friendship between him and a small member of his own sex. + +The fact that he had eight sisters and only two brothers may have +contributed something to this partiality, which, however, is a very +natural one. Nearly all normal men prefer little girls to little +boys, just as most women would prefer to make a pet of one of the +latter, rather than of a miniature specimen of their own adorable sex. +Is it not proverbial that the small daughter is “daddy’s darling,” +and the small son mother’s? And if Lewis Carroll has typified this +characteristic in his idealistic “Alice,” has not a famous woman writer +on the other side of the Atlantic made equivalent representation in her +“Little Lord Fauntleroy”? + +In his natural preference for the feminine side of humanity it is +remarkable that Lewis Carroll apparently never had a love affair. He +does not seem to have had any flirtations even, although he must have +known many charming young ladies whose friendship he had first gained +as children. How emphatic was his resolve to maintain his bachelor +freedom may be gathered from the following extract from a letter, +written when he was fifty-two years old, to an old college friend: “So +you have been for twelve years a married man, while I am still a lonely +old bachelor! And mean to keep so for the matter of that. College life +is by no means an unmixed misery, though married life has no doubt +many charms to which I am a stranger.” + +Mr. Dodgson died at Guildford on January 14, 1898, following a few +days’ illness from influenza, which had attacked him at his sister’s +house, “The Chestnuts,” where, in accordance with his usual custom, he +had gone to spend Christmas. He was hard at work at the time upon the +second volume of his “Symbolic Logic.” + +He was buried in the old portion of Guildford Cemetery, and on June +14th of the present year the writer of these notes and his wife visited +the spot. A plain white cross and a triple pediment, “erected in loving +memory by his brothers and sisters,” record that-- + + CHARLES LUTWIDGE DODGSON + (LEWIS CARROLL) + Fell asleep, January 14, 1898, + Age 65 years, + +together with the following inscriptions, singularly appropriate to one +whose whole life was one of service: + + “Where I am, there shall also My servant be.” + + “His servants shall serve Him.” + + “Father, in Thy gracious keeping + Leave we now Thy servant sleeping.” + +A grave as modest and unpretentious as the man himself, surmounted by +no “immortelles,” or other examples of the undertaker’s art, as was the +case, at the time of our visit, with adjacent graves. Nature, however, +has paid a more graceful tribute than any which could be made by the +hand of man. A drooping and beautiful yew tree stands sentinel at the +head of the tomb, its foliage sheltering it lovingly from storms and +heat, and its trunk entwined with little heart-shaped ivy leaves, just +as the genius sleeping there attracted the hearts of little children a +generation ago and his works will continue to do for all time. + +On the other side the white blossoms of a verdant syringa were +scattering themselves across the foot of the grave as if in votive +offering to the white spirit which once tenanted the mortal reliquiæ +within it. + +The cemetery is beautifully situated on the slopes of that famous and +picturesque Surrey hill known as “The Hog’s Back,” and though the +steep and toilsome ascent must be very trying to mourners who make it +on foot, of such travail is your true pilgrimage made. Few if any of +the people of Guildford make it for the purpose of visiting the last +resting-place of Lewis Carroll, however. Indeed, it seems extremely +improbable that more than a tiny minority of them are aware that he is +buried there. + +Three local ladies of whom we made enquiries in the cemetery +were astonished when we informed them that it contained the last +resting-place of the author of “Alice in Wonderland,” and listened with +the greatest interest to a discursive and aged sexton whom we contrived +to “unearth,” who had not only buried him, but had been acquainted with +him in life. He told us that not many people visited the grave, but +those that did were nearly all Americans! How surprised some of these +Transatlantic enthusiasts must be when they find that “The Chestnuts,” +where Lewis Carroll died and spent so much of his time during the +last twenty years or so of his life, is without the usual plaque to +distinguish it as a habitation of the Great! + +They do these things better in Copenhagen, where, it seems, a Hans +Christian Andersen Memorial Park has been planned, which is to contain +statues of the Danish author’s most charming characters, set among +leafy bowers and flower gardens, the latter to be tended by teams of +children from the various Council Schools. + +Besides, such a memorial plaque on “The Chestnuts” would be a very +small tribute materially, and yet as a mark of spiritual recognition it +would be sufficient. Assuredly Lewis Carroll would not wish for more, +for the fact that his works will never be forgotten he would consider +remembrance enough. + +All the same, there is something fine and exultant in the feeling +which inspires people to pay reverence to one who by achieving honour +and fame himself has brought honour and fame to his country, whether +the “departed” be symbolical of “collective achievement,” as in the +case of the “unknown soldier,” or whether he be a great poet, writer, +inventor, scientist, general, king or president, or even a politician +or commercial magnate. + + LANGFORD REED. + + HAMPSTEAD, + LONDON. + + +[1] Actually used by Mr. Dodgson in his story, “The Legend of +Scotland,” included in this volume. + + + + + FURTHER NONSENSE + VERSE AND PROSE + + [Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE LADY OF THE LADLE[2] + +(From “The Whitby Gazette” of August 31, 1854) + + + The Youth at Eve had drunk his fill, + Where stands the “Royal” on the Hill, + And long his mid-day stroll had made, + On the so called “Marine Parade”-- + (Meant, I presume, for Seamen brave, + Whose “march is on the Mountain wave”; + ’Twere just the bathing-place for him + Who stays on land till he can swim--) + And he had strayed into the Town, + And paced each alley up and down, + Where still so narrow grew the way, + The very houses seemed to say, + Nodding to friends across the Street, + “One struggle more and we shall meet.” + And he had scaled that wondrous stair + That soars from earth to upper air + Where rich and poor alike must climb, + And walk the treadmill for a time. + That morning he had dressed with care, + And put Pomatum in his hair; + He was, the loungers all agreed, + A very heavy swell indeed: + Men thought him, as he swaggered by, + Some scion of nobility, + And never dreamed, so cold his look, + That he had loved--and loved a Cook. + Upon the beach he stood and sighed, + Unheedful of the treacherous tide; + Thus sang he to the listening main, + And soothed his sorrow with the strain! + +[2] It has given the editor much pleasure to “discover” this poem and +the story “Wilhelm von Schmitz” on p. 57, for since their original +appearance in print seventy-two years ago neither has been published, +or even quoted, and it is extremely doubtful whether more than two +or three people know of their existence. So that if not “new and +unpublished matter by Lewis Carroll” in fact, they are certainly so +in effect--so far as every one younger than eighty is concerned! Mr. +Dodgson composed them during the Oxford Long Vacation of 1854, which he +spent at Whitby reading for Mathematics. He stayed at 5, East Terrace, +from July 20th to September 21st. He was twenty-two at the time, and +this early work from his pen, although somewhat periphrastic, gives +promise, in its appreciation of the preposterous and the calculated +precision of its phraseology, of the genius which was destined to make +the name of Lewis Carroll immortal. The “Hilda” and the “Goliath” were +local pleasure craft of the period, and the “wondrous stair” refers +presumably to that steep and picturesque ascent known as “Jacob’s +Ladder,” which is still a Whitby wonder. + + + + + CORONACH + + + “She is gone by the Hilda, + She is lost unto Whitby, + And her name is Matilda, + Which my heart it was smit by; + Tho’ I take the Goliah, + I learn to my sorrow + That ‘it won’t,’ says the crier, + ‘Be off till to-morrow.’ + + “She called me her ‘Neddy,’ + (Tho’ there mayn’t be much in it,) + And I should have been ready, + If she’d waited a minute; + I was following behind her, + When, if you recollect, I + Merely ran back to find a + Gold pin for my neck-tie. + + “Rich dresser of suit! + Prime hand at a sausage! + I have lost thee, I rue it, + And my fare for the passage! + Perhaps _she_ thinks it funny, + Aboard of the Hilda, + But I’ve lost purse and money, + And thee, oh, my ’Tilda!” + + His pin of gold the youth undid + And in his waistcoat-pocket hid, + Then gently folded hand in hand, + And dropped asleep upon the sand. + B. B.[3] + +[3] What these initials stand for the editor has not the vaguest +notion. It was not until nearly two years after the publication of the +above verses that Mr. Dodgson used the pseudonym of “Lewis Carroll,” +which he appended to his poem, “The Path of Roses,” published in “The +Train” in May, 1856. + + + + + LAYS OF SORROW + +(From “The Rectory Umbrella,”[4] 1849-50 with footnotes by the author) + + + The day was wet, the rain fell souse + Like jars of strawberry jam,[5] a + Sound was heard in the old hen house, + A beating of a hammer. + Of stalwart form, and visage warm, + Two youths were seen within it, + Splitting up an old tree into perches for their poultry + At a hundred strokes a minute.[6] + + The work is done, the hen has taken + Possession of her nest and eggs, + Without a thought of eggs and bacon,[7] + (Or I am very much mistaken) + She turns over each shell, + To be sure that all’s well, + Looks into the straw + To see there’s no flaw, + Goes once round the house,[8] + Half afraid of a mouse, + Then sinks calmly to rest + On the top of her nest, + First doubling up each of her legs. + + Time rolled away, and so did every shell, + “Small by degrees and beautifully less,” + As the sage mother with a powerful spell[9] + Forced each in turn its contents to “express,”[10] + But ah! “imperfect is expression,” + Some poet said, I don’t care who, + If you want to know you must go elsewhere, + One fact I can tell, if you’re willing to hear, + He never attended a Parliament Session, + For I’m sure that if he had ever been there, + Full quickly would he have changed his ideas, + With the hissings, the hootings, the groans and the cheers + And as to his name it is pretty clear + That is wasn’t me and it wasn’t you! + + And so it fell upon a day, + (That is, it never rose again,) + A chick was found upon the hay, + Its little life had ebbed away, + No longer frolicsome and gay, + No longer could it run and play. + “And must we, chicken, must we part?” + Its master[11] cried with bursting heart, + And voice of agony and pain. + + So one whose ticket’s marked “Return,”[12] + When to the lonely roadside station + He flies in fear and perturbation, + Thinks of his home--the hissing urn-- + Then runs with flying hat and hair, + And, entering, finds to his despair + He’s missed the very latest train.[13] + + Too long it were to tell of each conjecture, + Of chicken suicide and poultry victim, + The deadly frown, the stern and dreary lecture, + The timid guess, “perhaps some needle’s pricked him,” + The din of voice, the words both loud and many, + The sob, the tear, the sigh that none could smother, + Till all agreed, “a shilling to a penny + It killed itself, and we acquit the mother!” + Scarce was the verdict spoken, + When that still calm was broken, + A childish form hath burst into the throng, + With tears and looks of sadness, + That bring no news of gladness; + But tell too surely something hath gone wrong! + “The sight that I have come upon + The stoutest heart[14] would sicken, + That nasty hen has been and gone + And killed another chicken!” + +[4] This was one of the best of the many “family” magazines with +the editing of which young Dodgson used to amuse himself during his +holidays. The whole of the matter was written in manuscript, in the +neat and formal handwriting characteristic of him. He was about +seventeen years old at the time he composed this poem, in which the +talent for nonsense rhyming of the future creator of the inimitable +“Jabberwocky” is already suggested. + +[5] _I.e._, the jam without the jars; observe the beauty of this rhyme. + +[6] At the rate of a stroke and two-thirds in a second. + +[7] Unless the hen was a poacher, which is unlikely. + +[8] The hen’s house. + +[9] Beak and claw. + +[10] Press out. + +[11] Probably one of the two stalwart youths. + +[12] The system of return tickets is an excellent one. People are +conveyed on particular days there and back for one fare. + +[13] An additional vexation would be that his “Return” ticket would be +no use the next day. + +[14] Perhaps even the bursting heart of its master. + + + + + MY FANCY + + (From “College Rhymes”[15]) + + + I painted her a gushing thing, + With years perhaps a score; + I little thought to find they were + At least a dozen more; + My fancy gave her eyes of blue, + A curly auburn head: + I came to find the blue a green, + The auburn turned to red. + + [Illustration] + + She boxed my ears this morning, + They tingled very much; + I own that I could wish her + A somewhat lighter touch; + And if you ask me how + Her charms might be improved, + I would not have them _added to_, + But just a few _removed_! + + She has the bear’s ethereal grace, + The bland hyena’s laugh, + The footstep of the elephant, + The neck of the giraffe; + I love her still, believe me, + Though my heart its passion hides; + “She’s all my fancy painted her,” + But oh! _how much besides!_ + +[15] This was a Christ Church journal edited by Lewis Carroll during +his Varsity days. “A Sea Dirge” (see next poem) first appeared in it. + + + + + A SEA DIRGE[16] + + + There are certain things--as a spider, a ghost, + The income-tax, gout, an umbrella for three-- + That I hate, but the thing that I hate the most + Is a thing they call the Sea. + + Pour some salt water over the floor-- + Ugly I’m sure you’ll allow it to be: + Suppose it extended a mile or more, + _That’s_ very like the Sea. + + Beat a dog till it howls outright-- + Cruel, but all very well for a spree: + Suppose that he did so day and night, + _That_ would be like the Sea. + + I had a vision of nursery-maids; + Tens of thousands passed by me-- + All leading children with wooden spades, + And this was by the Sea. + + Who invented those spades of wood? + Who was it cut them out of the tree? + None, I think, but an idiot could-- + Or one that loved the Sea. + + It is pleasant and dreamy, no doubt, to float + With “thoughts as boundless, and souls as free”; + But suppose you are very unwell in the boat,[17] + How do you like the Sea? + + There is an insect that people avoid + (Whence is derived the verb “to flee”), + Where have you been by it most annoyed? + In lodgings by the Sea. + + If you like coffee with sand for dregs, + A decided hint of salt in your tea, + And a fishy taste in the very eggs-- + By all means choose the Sea. + + And if, with these dainties to drink and eat, + You prefer not a vestige of grass or tree, + And a chronic state of wet in your feet, + Then--I recommend the Sea. + + For _I_ have friends who dwell by the coast-- + Pleasant friends they are to me! + It is when I am with them I wonder most + That any one likes the Sea. + + They take me a walk: though tired and stiff, + To climb the heights I madly agree: + And, after a tumble or so from the cliff, + They kindly suggest the Sea. + + I try the rocks, and I think it cool + That they laugh with such an excess of glee, + As I heavily slip into every pool + That skirts the cold, cold Sea. + +[Illustration] + +[16] One is impelled to suspect that the satire in these verses is +intended wholly for effect, and was not at all representative of the +author’s feelings. Most of his summer holidays were spent by the sea, +and his letters contain complimentary references to Whitby, Sandown, +Margate, Eastbourne, and other seaside resorts. His particular +favourite was Eastbourne, where he seems to have spent most of his +summer vacations during the last thirty years of his life. + +[17] Mr. Dodgson himself was an exceptionally good sailor. In his diary +for July 13, 1867, describing a Channel crossing, he says: “The pen +refuses to describe the sufferings of some of the passengers ... my own +sensations were those of extreme surprise, and a little indignation, at +there being no other sensations; it was not for _that_ I paid my money.” + + + + + LIMERICK[18] + + + There was a young lady of station, + “I love man” was her sole exclamation; + But when men cried, “You flatter,” + She replied, “Oh! no matter, + Isle of Man is the true explanation.” + +[Illustration] + +[18] The editor has received this Limerick from Miss Vera Beringer; it +is probably the only one Lewis Carroll ever perpetrated. In common with +the rest of the English theatre-going public, he was charmed with Miss +Beringer’s acting as “Little Lord Fauntleroy” in the original London +presentation of that play in 1890, and the little girl, as she then +was, became one of his many child friends. He sent her the Limerick +when she was spending a holiday in Manxland. + + + + + A BACCHANALIAN ODE[19] + + + Here’s to the Freshman of bashful eighteen! + Here’s to the Senior of twenty! + Here’s to the youth whose moustache can’t be seen! + And here’s to the man who has plenty! + Let the men Pass! + Out of the mass + I’ll warrant we’ll find you some fit for a Class! + + Here’s to the Censors, who symbolise Sense, + Just as Mitres incorporate Might, Sir! + To the Bursar, who never expands the expense, + And the Readers who always do right, Sir. + Tutor and Don, + Let them jog on! + I warrant they’ll rival the centuries gone! + +[19] From “The Vision of the Three T’s” (Oxford, 1873). + + + + + A LESSON IN LATIN + + (From “The Jabberwock,”[20] June, 1888) + + + Our Latin books, in motley row, + Invite us to the task-- + Gay Horace, stately Cicero; + Yet there’s one verb, when once we know, + No higher skill we ask: + This ranks all other lore above-- + We’ve learned “amare” means “to love”! + + So hour by hour, from flower to flower, + We sip the sweets of life: + Till ah! too soon the clouds arise, + And knitted brows and angry eyes + Proclaim the dawn of strife. + With half a smile and half a sigh, + “Amare! Bitter One!” we cry. + + Last night we owned, with looks forlorn, + “Too well the scholar knows + There is no rose without a thorn”-- + But peace is made! we sing this morn, + “No thorn without a rose!” + Our Latin lesson is complete: + We’ve learned that Love is “Bitter-sweet”! + +[20] The magazine of the Girls’ Latin School, Boston, Mass. When +asked for permission to use this title, the creator of the Jabberwock +characteristically replied: + +“Mr. Lewis Carroll has much pleasure in giving to the editors of the +proposed magazine permission to use the title they wish for. He finds +that the Anglo-Saxon word ‘wocer’ or ‘wocor’ signifies ‘offspring’ or +‘fruit.’ Taking ‘jabber’ in its ordinary acceptation of ‘excited and +voluble discussion,’ this would give the meaning of ‘the result of much +excited discussion.’ Whether this phrase will have any application +to the projected periodical, it will be for the future historian of +American literature to determine. Mr. Carroll wishes all success to the +forthcoming magazine.” + + + + + THE TWO BROTHERS + + (From “The Rectory Umbrella,” 1853) + +[Illustration] + + + There were two brothers at Twyford school, + And when they had left the place, + It was, “Will ye learn Greek and Latin? + Or will ye run me a race? + Or will ye go up to yonder bridge, + And there we will angle for dace?” + + “I’m too stupid for Greek and for Latin, + I’m too lazy by half for a race, + So I’ll go up to yonder bridge, + And there we will angle for dace.” + + He has fitted together two joints of his rod, + And to them he has added another, + And then a great hook he took from his book, + And ran it right into his brother. + + Oh much is the noise that is made among boys + When playfully pelting a pig, + But a far greater pother was made by his brother + When flung from the top of the brigg. + + The fish hurried up by the dozens, + All ready and eager to bite, + For the lad that he flung was so tender and young, + It quite gave them an appetite. + + Said, “Thus shall he wallop about + And the fish take him quite at their ease, + For me to annoy it was ever his joy, + Now I’ll teach him the meaning of ‘Tees’!” + + The wind to his ear brought a voice, + “My brother, you didn’t had ought ter! + And what have I done that you think it such fun + To indulge in the pleasure of slaughter? + + “A good nibble or bite is my chiefest delight, + When I’m merely expected to _see_, + But a bite from a fish is not quite what I wish, + When I get it performed upon _me_; + And just now here’s a swarm of dace at my arm, + And a perch has got hold of my knee. + + “For water my thirst was not great at the first, + And of fish I have quite sufficien----” + “Oh fear not!” he cried, “for whatever betide, + We are both in the selfsame condition! + + “I’m sure that our state’s very nearly alike + (Not considering the question of slaughter), + For I have my perch on the top of the bridge, + And you have your perch in the water. + + “I stick to my perch and your perch sticks to you, + We are really extremely alike! + I’ve a turn-pike up here, and I very much fear + You may soon have a turn with a pike.” + + “Oh grant but one wish! If I’m took by a fish + (For your bait is your brother, good man!), + Pull him up if you like, but I hope you will strike + As gently as ever you can.” + + “If the fish be a trout, I’m afraid there’s no doubt + I must strike him like lightning that’s greased; + If the fish be a pike, I’ll engage not to strike, + Till I’ve waited ten minutes at least.” + + “But in those ten minutes to desolate Fate + Your brother a victim may fall!” + “I’ll reduce it to five, so _perhaps_ you’ll survive, + But the chance is exceedingly small.” + + “Oh hard is your heart for to act such a part; + Is it iron, or granite, or steel?” + “Why, I really can’t say--it is many a day + Since my heart was accustomed to feel. + + “’Twas my heart-cherished wish for to slay many fish, + Each day did my malice grow worse, + For my heart didn’t soften with doing it so often, + But rather, I should say, the reverse.” + + “Oh would I were back at Twyford school, + Learning lessons in fear of the birch!” + “Nay, brother!” he cried, “for whatever betide, + You are better off here with your perch! + + “I’m sure you’ll allow you are happier now, + With nothing to do but to play; + And this single line here, it is perfectly clear, + Is much better than thirty a day! + + “And as to the rod hanging over your head, + And apparently ready to fall, + That, you know, was the case when you lived in that place, + So it need not be reckoned at all. + + “Do you see that old trout with a turn-up nose snout? + (Just to speak on a pleasanter theme.) + Observe, my dear brother, our love for each other-- + He’s the one I like best in the stream. + + “To-morrow I mean to invite him to dine + (We shall all of us think it a treat), + If the day should be fine, I’ll just _drop him a line_, + And we’ll settle what time we’re to meet. + + “He hasn’t been into society yet, + And his manners are not of the best, + So I think it quite fair that it should be _my care_, + To see that he’s properly dressed. + + “I know there are people who prate by the hour + Of the beauty of earth, sky, and ocean; + Of the birds as they fly, of the fish darting by, + Rejoicing in Life and in Motion. + + “As to any delight to be got from the sight, + It is all very well for a flat, + But _I_ think it gammon, for hooking a salmon + Is better than twenty of that! + + “They say that a man of right-thinking mind + Will _love_ the dumb creatures he sees-- + What’s the use of his mind, if he’s never inclined + To pull a fish out of the Tees? + + “Take my friends and my home--as an outcast I’ll roam: + Take the money I have in the Bank: + It is just what I wish, but deprive me of _fish_, + And my life would indeed be a blank!” + + * * * * * + + Forth from the house his sister came, + Her brothers for to see, + But when she saw the sight of awe, + The tear stood in her e’e. + + “Oh what’s that bait upon your hook, + My brother, tell to me?” + “It is but the fan-tailed pigeon, + He would not sing for me.” + + “Whoe’er would expect a pigeon to sing, + A simpleton he must be! + But a pigeon-cote is a different thing + To the coat that there I see! + + “Oh what’s that bait upon your hook, + Dear brother, tell to me?” + “It is my younger brother,” he cried, + Oh woe and dole is me! + + “I’s mighty wicked, that I is! + Oh how could such things be? + Farewell, farewell, sweet sister, + I’m going o’er the sea.” + + “And when will you come back again, + My brother, tell to me?” + “When chub is good for human food, + And that will never be!” + + She turned herself right round about, + And her heart brake into three, + Said, “One of the two will be wet through and through, + And t’other’ll be late for his tea!” + + + + + POETRY FOR THE MILLION + + (From “The Rectory Umbrella”) + + +The nineteenth century has produced a new school of music, bearing +about the same relation to the genuine article which the hash or stew +of Monday does to the joint of Sunday.[21] + +We allude, of course, to the prevalent practice of diluting the works +of earlier composers with washy modern variations, so as to suit the +weakened and depraved taste of this generation; this invention is +termed “setting” by some, who, scorning the handsome offer of Alexander +Smith to “set this age to music,” have determined to set music to this +age. + +Sadly we admit the stern necessity that exists for such a change; with +stern prophetic eye we see looming in the shadowy Future the downfall +of the sister Fine Arts. The National Gallery have already subjected +some of their finest pictures to this painful operation. Poetry must +follow. + +That we may not be behind others in forwarding the progress of +Civilisation, we boldly discard all personal and private feelings, +and with quivering pen and tear-dimmed eye we dedicate the following +composition to the Spirit of the Age, and to that noble band of gallant +adventurers who aspire to lead the van in the great march of reform. + +[21] What _would_ Mr. Carroll have said with regard to the epileptic +style in musical composition which is in vogue in this present year of +grace? Possibly he would have been “inspired” to write a companion poem +to “Jabberwocky,” with the Demon of Jazz as its “manxome foe.” + + + + +THE DEAR GAZELLE + +Arranged with Variations + + +[Illustration] + + _expressive_ + “I never loved a dear gazelle,” + Nor aught beside that cost me much: + High prices profit those that sell, + But why should _I_ be fond of such? + + + _pp._ _cresc._ + “To glad me with his soft black eyes,” + My infant son, from Tooting School, + Thrashed by his bigger playmate, flies; + And serve him right, the little fool! + _con spirito_ + + _a tempo_ + “But when he came to know me well,” + He kicked me out, her testy sire; + And when I stained my hair, that Bell + Might note the change, and that admire. + _dim._ D.C. + + + _cadenza_ + “And love me, it was sure to die.” + A muddy green, or staring blue, + While one might trace, with half an eye, + The still triumphant carrot through. + _con dolore_ + + + + + THE MOUSE’S TAIL + + (From “Alice’s Adventures Underground”[22]) + + + We lived beneath the mat + Warm and snug and fat + But one woe, and that + was the cat! + To our joys + a clog. In + our eyes a + fog, On our + hearts a log + Was the dog! + When the + cat’s away, + Then + the mice + will + play, + But, alas! + one day; (So they say) + Came the dog and + cat, Hunting + for a + rat, + Crushed + the mice + all flat, + Each one, + as he sat, + Under- + neath + the mat, + Warm & + snug + & fat. + Think + of + that! + +[22] This was the story told on July 4, 1862, to the three Miss +Liddells, which was afterwards developed into “Alice in Wonderland.” +A facsimile of the story, as written in manuscript for Alice Liddell, +was published in 1886. The above poem does not appear in “Alice in +Wonderland,” its place being taken by an entirely different “Mouse +Tail.” + + + + + RHYMED CORRESPONDENCE[23] + + +DEAR MAGGIE.--I found that the _friend_, that the little girl asked +me to write to, lived at Ripon, and not at Land’s End--a nice sort of +place to invite to! It looked rather suspicious to me--and soon after, +by dint of incessant inquiries, I found out that _she_ was called +Maggie, and lived in a Crescent! Of course I declared, “After that” +(the language I used doesn’t matter), “I will _not_ address her, that’s +flat! So do not expect me to flatter.” + +[Illustration] + +No _carte_ has yet been done of me, that does real justice to my +_smile_; and so I hardly like, you see, to send you one. However, I’ll +consider if I will or not--meanwhile, I send a little thing to give you +an idea of what I look like when I’m lecturing. The merest sketch, you +will allow--yet still I think there’s something grand in the expression +of the brow and in the action of the hand. + +[Illustration] + +Have you read my fairy-tale in “Aunt Judy’s Magazine”? If you have you +will not fail to discover what I mean when I say, “Bruno yesterday came +to remind me that _he_ was my godson!”--on the ground that I “gave him +a name”! + +[23] From a letter written to Miss Maggie Cunningham in 1868. The +fairy-tale referred to was “Bruno’s Revenge,” which, more than twenty +years later, Lewis Carroll developed into “Sylvie and Bruno.” + + + + + ACROSTICS + + +Second only to Lewis Carroll’s stories in the delight they afforded his +young friends were his acrostics, in the composition of which he showed +a remarkable talent. There were few of his child favourites whose names +he did not embody in verses of this kind; some, as in the case of Isa +Bowman in “Sylvie and Bruno,” and Gertrude Chataway in “The Hunting of +the Snark,” he recorded for posterity in acrostical dedications in his +books, but most of these rhymes were composed merely for the amusement +of the children concerned, with no thought of publication. + +One of the best he wrote across the fly-leaf of a copy of “The Hunting +of the Snark,” which he sent to Miss Adelaide Paine in 1876. It runs +thus: + + “A re you deaf, Father William?” the young man said. + “D id you hear what I told you just now? + “E xcuse me for shouting! Don’t waggle your head + “L ike a blundering, sleepy old cow! + “A little maid dwelling in Wallington Town, + “I s my friend, so I beg to remark: + “D o you think she’d be pleased if a book were sent down + “E ntitled ‘The Hunt of the Snark’?” + + “P ack it up in brown paper!” the old man cried, + “A nd seal it with olive-and-dove. + “I command you to do it!” he added with pride, + “N or forget, my good fellow, to send her beside + “E aster Greetings, and give her my love.” + +Very few of Mr. Carroll’s acrostics were in this nonsensical +strain, however, the vast majority being either serious or quaintly +complimentary, as in this example on the name of Miss Sarah Sinclair +(1878): + + LOVE AMONG THE ROSES + + S eek ye Love, ye fairy-sprites? + A nd where reddest roses grow, + R osy fancies he invites, + A nd in roses he delights, + H ave ye found him? “No!” + + S eek again, and find the boy + I n Childhood’s heart, so pure and clear. + N ow the fairies leap for joy, + C rying, “Love is here!” + L ove has found his proper nest; + A nd we guard him while he dozes + I n a dream of peace and rest + R osier than roses. + + + + + MAGGIE’S VISIT TO OXFORD[24] + + (June 9th to 13th) + + + When Maggie once to Oxford came, + On tour as “Bootles’ Baby,” + She said, “I’ll see this place of fame, + However dull the day be.” + + So with her friend she visited + The sights that it was rich in: + And first of all she popped her head + Inside the Christ Church kitchen. + + The Cooks around that little child + Stood waiting in a ring: + And every time that Maggie smiled + Those Cooks began to sing-- + Shouting the Battle-cry of Freedom![25] + + “Roast, boil and bake, + For Maggie’s sake: + Bring cutlets fine + For _her_ to dine, + Meringues so sweet + For her to eat-- + For Maggie may be + Bootles’ Baby!” + + Then hand in hand in pleasant talk + They wandered and admired + The Hall, Cathedral and Broad Walk, + Till Maggie’s feet were tired: + + To Worcester Garden next they strolled, + Admired its quiet lake: + Then to St. John, a college old, + Their devious way they take. + + In idle mood they sauntered round + Its lawn so green and flat, + And in that garden Maggie found + A lovely Pussy-Cat! + + A quarter of an hour they spent + In wandering to and fro: + And everywhere that Maggie went, + The Cat was sure to go-- + Shouting the Battle-cry of Freedom! + + “Maiow! Maiow! + Come, make your bow, + Take off your hats, + Ye Pussy-Cats! + And purr and purr, + To welcome _her_, + For Maggie may be + Bootles’ Baby!” + + So back to Christ Church, not too late + For them to go and see + A Christ Church undergraduate,[26] + Who gave them cake and tea. + + Next day she entered with her guide + The garden called “Botanic,” + And there a fierce Wild Boar she spied, + Enough to cause a panic: + + But Maggie didn’t mind, not she, + She would have faced, alone, + That fierce wild boar, because, you see, + The thing was made of stone. + + On Magdalen walls they saw a face + That filled her with delight, + A giant face, that made grimace + And grinned with all its might. + + A little friend, industrious, + Pulled upwards all the while + The corner of its mouth, and thus + He helped that face to smile! + + “How nice,” thought Maggie, “it would be + If _I_ could have a friend + To do that very thing for _me_ + And make my mouth turn up with glee, + By pulling at one end.” + + In Magdalen Park the deer are wild + With joy, that Maggie brings + Some bread a friend had given the child, + To feed the pretty things. + + They flock round Maggie without fear: + They breakfast and they lunch, + They dine, they sup, those happy deer-- + Still, as they munch and munch + Shouting the Battle-cry of Freedom! + + “Yes, Deer are we, + And dear is she! + We love this child + So sweet and mild: + We all rejoice + At Maggie’s voice: + We all are fed + With Maggie’s bread ... + For Maggie may be + Bootles’ Baby!” + + They met a Bishop[27] on their way ... + A Bishop large as life, + With loving smile that seemed to say + “Will Maggie be my wife?” + + Maggie thought _not_, because, you see, + She was so _very_ young, + And he was old as old could be ... + So Maggie held her tongue. + + “My Lord, she’s Bootles’ Baby, we + Are going up and down,” + Her friend explained, “that she may see + The sights of Oxford Town.” + + “Now say what kind of place it is,” + The Bishop gaily cried. + “The best place in the Provinces!” + That little maid replied. + + Away, next morning, Maggie went + From Oxford town: but yet + The happy hours she had there spent + She could not soon forget. + + The train is gone, it rumbles on: + The engine-whistle screams; + But Maggie deep in rosy sleep ... + And softly in her dreams, + Whispers the Battle-cry of Freedom. + + “Oxford, good-bye!” + She seems to sigh. + “You dear old City, + With gardens pretty, + And lanes and flowers, + And college-towers, + And Tom’s great Bell ... + Farewell--farewell: + For Maggie may be + Bootles’ Baby!” + +[24] These verses, never intended for publication, were written to +amuse the child actress, little Maggie Bowman, when she visited Oxford +to play the title-rôle in the stage version of John Strange Winter’s +popular novel, “Bootles’ Baby.” + +[25] In a letter to the editor, the charming lady to whom these +pleasing verses were sent says: “This line is introduced because he +told me a story of some soldiers who could never remember the words of +their marching song, except for the last line, so they used to sing the +words of ‘Mary had a little lamb,’ finishing with ‘The lamb was sure to +go--Shouting the Battle-cry of Freedom’!” + +[26] A nephew of Lewis Carroll. + +[27] The then Bishop of Oxford. + + + + + WILHELM VON SCHMITZ[28] + + (From “The Whitby Gazette,” September 7, 1854) + + + + + CHAPTER ONE + + “’Twas ever thus.” + + (_Old Play._) + + +The sultry glare of noon was already giving place to the cool of a +cloudless evening, and the lulled ocean was washing against the Pier +with a low murmur, suggestive to poetical minds of the kindred ideas of +motion and lotion, when two travellers might have been seen, by such +as chose to look that way, approaching the secluded town of Whitby by +one of those headlong paths, dignified by the name of road, which serve +as entrances into the place, and which were originally constructed, +it is supposed, on the somewhat fantastic model of pipes running into +a water-butt. The elder of the two was a sallow and careworn man; his +features were adorned with what had been often at a distance mistaken +for a moustache, and were shaded by a beaver hat, of doubtful age, and +of appearance which, if not respectable, was at least venerable. The +younger, in whom the sagacious reader already recognises the hero of my +tale, possessed a form which, once seen, could scarcely be forgotten: +a slight tendency to obesity proved but a trifling drawback to the +manly grace of its contour, and though the strict laws of beauty +might perhaps have required a somewhat longer pair of legs to make up +the proportion of his figure, and that his eyes should match rather +more exactly than they chanced to do, yet to those critics who are +untrammelled with any laws of taste, and there are many such, to those +who could close their eyes to the faults in his shape, and single out +its beauties, though few were ever found capable of the task, to those +above all who knew and esteemed his personal character, and believed +that the powers of his mind transcended those of the age he lived in, +though alas! none such has as yet turned up--to those he was a very +Apollo. + +What though it had not been wholly false to assert that too much grease +had been applied to his hair, and too little soap to his hands? that +his nose turned too much up, and his shirt collars too much down? that +his whiskers had borrowed all the colour from his cheeks, excepting a +little that had run down into his waistcoat? Such trivial criticisms +were unworthy the notice of any who laid claim to the envied title of +the connoisseur. + +He had been christened William, and his father’s name was Smith, but +though he had introduced himself to many of the higher circles in +London under the imposing name of “Mr. Smith, of Yorkshire,” he had +unfortunately not attracted so large a share of public notice as he +was confident he merited: some had asked him how far back he traced +his ancestry; others had been mean enough to hint that his position +in society was not entirely unique; while the sarcastic enquiries of +others touching the dormant peerage in his family, to which, it was +suggested, he was about to lay claim, had awakened in the breast of +the noble-spirited youth an ardent longing for that high birth and +connection which an adverse Fortune had denied him. + +Hence he had conceived the notion of that fiction, which perhaps in +his case must be considered merely as a poetical licence, whereby he +passed himself off upon the world under the sounding appellation which +heads this tale. This step had already occasioned a large increase in +his popularity, a circumstance which his friends spoke of under the +unpoetical simile of a bad sovereign fresh gilt, but which he himself +more pleasantly described as, “... a violet pale, At length discovered +in its mossy dale, And borne to sit with kings”: a destiny for which, +as it is generally believed, violets are not naturally fitted. + +The travellers, each buried in his own thoughts, paced in silence down +the steep, save when an unusually sharp stone, or an unexpected dip in +the road, produced one of those involuntary exclamations of pain, which +so triumphantly demonstrate the connection between Mind and Matter. At +length the young traveller, rousing himself with an effort from his +painful reverie, broke upon the meditations of his companion with the +unexpected question, “Think you she will be much altered in feature? I +trust me not.” “Think who?” testily rejoined the other: then hastily +correcting himself, with an exquisite sense of grammar, he substituted +the expressive phrase, “Who’s the she you’re after?” “Forget you then,” +asked the young man, who was so intensely poetical in soul that he +never spoke in ordinary prose, “forget you the subject we conversed +on but now? Trust me, she hath dwelt in my thoughts ever since.” “But +now!” his friend repeated, in sarcastic tone, “it is an hour good since +you spoke last.” The young man nodded assent; “An hour? true, true. +We were passing Lyth, as I bethink me, and lowly in thine ear was I +murmuring that touching sonnet to the sea I writ of late, beginning, +‘Thou roaring, snoring, heaving, grieving main which----’” “For pity’s +sake!” interrupted the other, and there was real earnestness in that +pleading tone, “don’t let us have it all again! I have heard it with +patience once already.” + +“Thou hast, thou hast,” the baffled poet replied: “well then, she +shall again be the topic of my thoughts,” and he frowned and bit his +lip, muttering to himself such words as cooky, hooky, and crooky, as +if he were trying to find a rhyme to something. And now the pair were +passing near a bridge, and shops were on their left and water on their +right; and from beneath uprose a confused hubbub of sailors’ voices, +and, wafted on the landward breeze, came an aroma, dimly suggestive of +salt herring, and all things from the heaving waters in the harbour to +the light smoke that floated gracefully above the housetops, suggested +nought but poetry to the mind of the gifted youth. + +[28] See footnote to “The Lady of the Ladle.” + + + + + CHAPTER TWO + + “And I, for one.” + + (_Old Play._) + + +“But about she,” resumed the man of prose, “what’s her name? You never +told me that yet.” A faint flush crossed the interesting features +of the youth; could it be that her name was unpoetical, and did not +consort with his ideas of the harmony of nature? He spoke reluctantly +and indistinctly; “Her name,” he faintly gasped, “is Sukie.” + +A long, low whistle was the only reply; thrusting his hands deep in +his pockets, the elder speaker turned away, while the unhappy youth, +whose delicate nerves were cruelly shaken by his friend’s ridicule, +grasped the railing near to him to steady his tottering feet. Distant +sounds of melody from the Cliff at this moment reached their ears, and +while his unfeeling comrade wandered in the direction of the Music, the +distressed poet hastily sought the Bridge, to give his pent-up feelings +vent, unnoticed by the passers-by. + +The Sun was setting as he reached the spot, and the still surface of +the waters below, as he crossed on to the Bridge, calmed his perturbed +spirit, and sadly leaning his elbows on the rail, he pondered. What +visions filled that noble soul, as, with features that would have +beamed with intelligence, had they only possessed an expression at all, +and a frown that only needed dignity to be appalling, he fixed upon +the sluggish tide those fine though bloodshot eyes? + +Visions of his early days; scenes from the happy time of pinafores, +treacle, and innocence; through the long vista of the past came +floating spectres of long-forgotten spelling-books, slates scrawled +thick with dreary sums, that seldom came out at all, and never came +out right; tingling and somewhat painful sensations returned to his +knuckles and the roots of his hair; he was a boy once more. + +“Now, young man there!” so broke a voice upon the air, “tak whether o’ +the two roads thou likes, but thou can’t stop in’t middle!” The words +fell idly on his ears, or served but to suggest new trains of reverie; +“Roads, aye, roads,” he whispered low, and then louder, as the glorious +idea burst upon him, “Aye, and am I not the Colossus of Rhodes?” he +raised his manly form erect at the thought, and planted his feet with a +firmer stride. + +... Was it but a delusion of his heated brain? or stern reality? +slowly, slowly yawned the bridge beneath him, and now his footing is +already grown unsteady, and now the dignity of his attitude is gone: he +recks not, come what may; is he not a Colossus? + +... The stride of a Colossus is possibly equal to any emergency; the +elasticity of fustian is limited: it was at this critical juncture that +“the force of nature could no further go,” and therefore deserted him, +while the force of gravity began to operate in its stead. + +In other words, he fell. + +And the “Hilda” went slowly on its way, and knew not that it passed a +poet under the Bridge, and guessed not whose were those two feet, that +disappeared through the eddying waters, kicking with spasmodic energy; +and men pulled into a boat a dripping, panting form, that resembled a +drowned rat rather than a Poet; and spoke to it without awe, and even +said, “young feller,” and something about “greenhorn,” and laughed; +what knew they of Poetry? + +Turn we to other scenes: a long, low room, with high-backed settees, +and a sanded floor: a knot of men drinking and gossiping: a general +prevalence of tobacco; a powerful conviction that spirits existed +somewhere: and she, the fair Sukie herself, gliding airily through the +scene, and bearing in those lily hands--what? Some garland doubtless, +wreathed of the most fragrant flowers that grow? Some cherished volume, +morocco-bound and golden-clasped, the works immortal of the bard of +eld, whereon she loveth oft to ponder? Possibly, “The Poems of William +Smith,” that idol of her affections, in two volumes quarto, published +some years agone, whereof one copy only has as yet been sold, and that +he bought himself--to give to Sukie. Which of these is it that the +beauteous maiden carries with such tender care? Alas none: it is but +those two “goes of arf-and-arf, warm without,” which have just been +ordered by the guests in the tap-room. + +In a small parlour hard by, unknown, untended, though his Sukie was so +near, wet, moody, and dishevelled, sat the youth: the fire had been +kindled at his desire, and before it he was now drying himself, but as +“the cheery blaze, Blithe harbinger of wintry days,” to use his own +powerful description, consisted at present of a feeble, spluttering +faggot, whose only effect was to half-choke him with its smoke, he may +be pardoned for not feeling, more keenly than he does, that “... fire +of Soul, When gazing on the kindling coal, A Britain feels that, spite +of fone, He wots his native hearth his own!” we again employ his own +thrilling words on the subject. + +The waiter, unconscious that a Poet sat before him, was talking +confidingly; he dwelt on various themes, and still the youth sat +heedless, but when at last he spoke of Sukie, those dull eyes flashed +with fire, and cast upon the speaker a wild glance of scornful +defiance, that was unfortunately wasted, as its object was stirring +the fire at the moment and failed to notice it. “Say, oh say those +words again!” he gasped. “I surely heard thee not aright!” The waiter +looked astonished, but obligingly repeated his remark, “I were merely +a saying, sir, that she’s an uncommon clever girl, and as how I were +’oping some day to hacquire her Hart, if so be that----” He said no +more, for the Poet, with a groan of anguish, had rushed distractedly +from the room. + + + + + CHAPTER THREE + + “Nay, ’tis too much!” + + (_Old Play._) + + +Night, solemn night. + +On the present occasion the solemnity of night’s approach was rendered +far more striking than it is to dwellers in ordinary towns, by that +time-honoured custom observed by the people of Whitby, of leaving +their streets wholly unlighted: in thus making a stand against the +deplorably swift advance of the tide of progress and civilisation, they +displayed no small share of moral courage and independent judgement. +Was it for a people of sense to adopt every new-fangled invention of +the age, merely because their neighbours did? It might have been urged, +in disparagement of their conduct, that they only injured themselves +by it, and the remark would have been undeniably true; but it would +only have served to exalt, in the eyes of an admiring nation, their +well-earned character of heroic self-denial and uncompromising fixity +of purpose. + +Headlong and desperate, the lovelorn Poet plunged through the night; +now tumbling up against a doorstep, and now half down in a gutter, but +ever onward, onward, reckless where he went. + +In the darkest spot of one of those dark streets (the nearest lighted +shop window being about fifty yards off), chance threw into his way the +very man he fled from, the man whom he hated as a successful rival, +and who had driven him to this pitch of frenzy. The waiter, not knowing +what was the matter, had followed him to see that he came to no harm, +and to bring him back, little dreaming of the shock that awaited him. + +The instant the Poet perceived who it was, all his pent-up fury broke +forth: to rush upon him, to grasp him by the throat with both hands, to +dash him to the ground, and there to reduce him to the extreme verge of +suffocation--all this was the work of a moment. + +“Traitor! villain! malcontent! regicide!” he hissed through his closed +teeth, taking any abusive epithet that came into his head, without +stopping to consider its suitability. “Is it thou? Now shalt thou +feel my wrath!” And doubtless the waiter did experience that singular +sensation, whatever it may have been, for he struggled violently with +his assailant, and bellowed “murder” the instant he recovered his +breath. + +“Say not so,” the Poet sternly answered, as he released him; “it is +thou that murderest me.” The waiter gathered himself up, and began in +great surprise, “Why, I never----” “’Tis a lie!” the Poet screamed; +“she loves thee not! Me, me alone.” “Who ever said she did?” the other +asked, beginning to perceive how matters stood. “Thou! thou saidst +it,” was the wild reply, “what, villain? acquire her heart? thou never +shalt.” + +The waiter calmly explained himself: “My ’ope were, Sir, to hacquire +her Hart of waiting at table, which she do perdigious well, sure-ly: +seeing that I were thinking of happlying for to be ’ead-waiter at the +’otel.” The Poet’s wrath instantly abated, indeed, he looked rather +crestfallen than otherwise; “Excuse my violence,” he gently said, “and +let us take a friendly glass together.” “I agree,” was the waiter’s +generous answer, “but man halive, you’ve ruinated my coat!” + +“Courage,” cried our hero gaily, “thou shalt have a new one anon: +aye, and of the best cashmere.” “H’m,” said the other, hesitatingly, +“wouldn’t hany other stuff----” “I will not buy thee one of any other +stuff,” returned the Poet, gently but decidedly, and the waiter gave up +the point. + +Arrived once more at the friendly tavern, the Poet briskly ordered a +jorum of Punch, and, on its being furnished, called on his friend for a +toast. “I’ll give you,” said the waiter, who was of a sentimental turn, +however little he looked like it, “I’ll give you--Woman! She doubles +our sorrows and ’alves our joy.” The Poet drained his glass, not caring +to correct his companion’s mistake, and at intervals during the evening +the same inspiring sentiment was repeated. And so the night wore away, +and another jorum of Punch was ordered, and another. + + * * * * * + +“And now hallow me,” said the waiter, attempting for about the +tenth time to rise on his feet and make a speech, and failing even +more signally than he had yet done, “to give a toast for this ’appy +hoccasion. Woman! she doubles----” but at this moment, probably in +illustration of his favourite theory, he “doubled” himself up, and so +effectually, that he instantly vanished under the table. + +Occupying that limited sphere of observation, it is conjectured that +he fell to moralising on human ills in general, and their remedies, +for a solemn voice was presently heard to issue from his retreat, +proclaiming feelingly though rather indistinctly, that “when the ’art +of man is hopressed with care----,” here came a pause, as if he wished +to leave the question open to discussion, but as no one present seemed +competent to suggest the proper course to be taken in that melancholy +contingency, he attempted to supply the deficiency himself with the +remarkable statement “she’s hall my fancy painted ’er.” + +Meanwhile the Poet was sitting, smiling quietly to himself, as he +sipped his punch: the only notice he took of his companion’s abrupt +disappearance was to help himself to a fresh glass, and say, “your +health!” in a cordial tone, nodding to where the waiter ought to have +been. He then cried, “hear, hear!” encouragingly, and made an attempt +to thump the table with his fist, but missed it. He seemed interested +in the question regarding the heart oppressed with care, and winked +sagaciously with one eye two or three times, as if there were a +good deal he could say on that subject, if he chose; but the second +quotation roused him to speech, and he at once broke into the waiter’s +subterranean soliloquy with an ecstatic fragment from the poem he had +been just composing: + + “What though the world be cross and crooky? + Of Life’s fair flowers the fairest bouquet + I plucked, when I chose _thee_, my Sukie! + + “Say, could’st thou grasp at nothing greater + Than to be wedded to a waiter? + And did’st thou deem thy Schmitz a traitor? + + “Nay! the fond waiter was rejected, + And thou, alone, with flower-bedecked head, + Sitting, did’st sing of one expected. + + “And while the waiter, crazed and silly, + Dreamed he had won that precious lily, + At length he came, thy wished-for Willie. + + “And then thy music took a new key, + For whether Schmitz be boor or duke, he + Is all in all to faithful Sukie!” + +He paused for a reply, but a heavy snoring from beneath the table was +the only one he got. + + + + + CHAPTER FOUR + + “Is this the hend?” + + (“_Nicholas Nickleby._”) + + +Bathed in the radiance of the newly-risen Sun, the billows are surging +and bristling below the Cliff, along which the Poet is thoughtfully +wending his way. It may possibly surprise the reader that he should +not ere this have obtained an interview with his beloved Sukie: he may +ask the reason: he will ask in vain: to record with rigid accuracy the +progress of events is the sole duty of the historian: were he to go +beyond that, and attempt to dive into the hidden causes of things, the +why and the wherefore, he would be trespassing on the province of the +metaphysician. + +Presently the Poet reached a small rising ground at the end of the +gravel walk, where he found a seat commanding a view of the sea, and +here he sunk down wearily. + +For a while he gazed dreamily upon the expanse of ocean, then, struck +by a sudden thought, he opened a small pocket book, and proceeded to +correct and complete his last poem. Slowly to himself he muttered the +words “death--saith--breath,” impatiently tapping the ground with +his foot. “Ah, that’ll do,” he said at last, with an air of relief, +“breath”: + + “His barque had perished in the storm, + Whirled by its fiery breath + On sunken rocks, his stalwart form + Was doomed to watery death.” + +“That last line’s good,” he continued exaltingly, “and on Coleridge’s +principle of alliteration, too--W. D., W. D.--was doomed to watery +death.” + +“Take care,” growled a deep voice in his ear, “what you say will be +used in evidence against you--now it’s no use trying that, we’ve got +you tight,” this last remark being caused by the struggles of the Poet, +naturally indignant at being unexpectedly collared by two men from +behind. + +“He’s confessed to it, constable? you heard him?” said the first +speaker (who rejoiced in the euphonious title of Muggle, and whom it is +almost superfluous to introduce to the reader as the elder traveller of +Chapter One)! “it’s as much as his life is worth.” + +“I say, stow that----” warmly responded the other; “seems to me the +gen’leman was a spouting potry.” + +“What--what’s the matter?” here gasped our unfortunate hero, who had +recovered his breath; “you--Muggle--what do you mean by it?” + +“Mean by it!” blustered his quondam friend, “what do _you_ mean by it, +if you comes to that? You’re an assassin, that’s what you are! Where’s +the waiter you had with you last night? answer me that!” + +“The--the waiter?” slowly repeated the Poet, still stunned by the +suddenness of his capture, “why, he’s dr----” + +“I knew it!” cried his friend, who was at him in a moment, and choked +up the unfinished word in his throat, “drowned, Constable! I told you +so--and who did it?” he continued, loosing his grip a moment to obtain +an answer. + +The Poet’s answer, so far as it could be gathered, (for it came out in +a very fragmentary state, and as it were by crumbs, in intervals of +choking) was the following: “It was my--my--you’ll kill me--fault--I +say, fault--I--I--gave him--you--you’re suffoca--I say--I gave him----” +“a push I suppose,” concluded the other, who here “shut off” the +slender supply of breath he had hitherto allowed his victim “and he +fell in: no doubt. I heard some one had fallen off the Bridge last +night,” turning to the Constable; “no doubt this unfortunate waiter. +Now mark my words! from this moment I renounce this man as my friend: +don’t pity him, constable! don’t think of letting him go to spare _my_ +feelings!” + +Some convulsive sounds were heard at this moment from the Poet, which, +on attentive consideration, were found to be “the punch--was--was +too much--for him--quite--it--quite----” “Miserable man!” sternly +interposed Muggle; “can you jest about it? You gave him a punch, did +you? and what then?” + +“It quite--quite--upset him,” continued the unhappy Schmitz, in a sort +of rambling soliloquy, which was here cut short by the impatience of +the Constable, and the party set forth on their return to the town. + +But an unexpected character burst upon the scene and broke into +a speech far more remarkable for energetic delivery than for +grammatical accuracy: “I’ve only just ’erd of it--I were hasleep under +table--’avin’ taken more punch than I could stand--he’s as hinnocent as +I am--dead indeed! I’m more alive than you, a precious sight!” + +This speech produced various effects on its hearers: the Constable +calmly released his man, the bewildered Muggle muttered “Impossible! +conspiracy--perjury--have it tried at assizes”: while the happy Poet +rushed into the arms of his deliverer crying in a broken voice: “No, +never from this hour to part. We’ll live and love so true!” a sentiment +which the waiter did not echo with the cordiality that might have been +expected. + +Later in the day, Wilhelm and Sukie were sitting conversing with the +waiter and a few friends, when the penitent Muggle suddenly entered the +room, placed a folded paper on the knees of Schmitz, pronounced in a +hollow tone the affecting words “be happy!” vanished, and was seen no +more. + +After perusing the paper, Wilhelm rose to his feet; in the excitement +of the moment he was roused into unconscious and extempore verse: + + “My Sukie! He hath bought, yea, Muggle’s self, + Convinced at last of deeds unjust and foul, + The licence of a vacant public-house. + We are licensed here to sell to all, + Spirits, porter, snuff, and ale!” + +So we leave him: his after happiness who dare to doubt? has he not +Sukie? and having her, he is content. + + B. B. + + + + + THE THREE CATS[29] + + +A very curious thing happened to me at half-past four, yesterday. Three +visitors came knocking at my door, begging me to let them in. And when +I opened the door, who do you think they were? + +You’ll never guess. + +Why, they were three cats! Wasn’t it curious? However, they all looked +so cross and disagreeable that I took up the first thing I could lay +my hand on (which happened to be the rolling pin) and knocked them all +down as flat as pancakes! + +“If _you_ come knocking at my door,” I said, “I shall come knocking at +your heads.” + +That was fair, wasn’t it? + +Of course I didn’t leave them lying flat on the ground, like dried +flowers: no, I picked them up, and I was as kind as I could be to +them. I lent them the portfolio for a bed--they wouldn’t have been +comfortable in a real bed, you know: they were too thin--but they were +_quite_ happy between the sheets of blotting paper--and each of them +had a pen-wiper for a pillow. Well, then I went to bed: but first I +lent them the three dinner-bells to ring if they wanted anything in the +night. + +You know I have _three_ dinner-bells--the first (which is the largest) +is rung when dinner is _nearly_ ready; the second (which is rather +larger) is rung when it is quite ready; and the third (which is as +large as the other two put together) is rung all the time I am at +dinner. And I told them they must ring if they happened to want +anything. And, as they rung _all_ the bells _all_ night, I suppose they +did want something or other, only I was too sleepy to attend to them. + +[Illustration] + +In the morning I gave them some rat-tail jelly and buttered mice for +breakfast and they were as discontented as they could be. And, do you +know, when I had gone out for a walk, they got _all_ my books out of +the bookcase, and opened them on the floor to be ready for me to +read. They opened them at page 50, because they thought that would be +a nice useful page to begin at. It was rather unfortunate, though: +because they took my bottle of gum and tried to gum pictures upon the +ceiling (which they thought would please me). They accidentally spilt +a quantity of it all over the books. So when they were shut up and put +by, the leaves all stuck together, and I can never read page 50 again +in any of them! + +However, they meant it very kindly, so I wasn’t angry. I gave them each +a spoonful of ink as a treat; but they were ungrateful for that and +made the most dreadful faces. But, of course, as it was given them for +a treat, they had to drink it. One of them has turned black since: it +was a white cat to begin with. + +They wanted some boiled pelican, but, of course, I knew it wouldn’t +be good for them. So all I said was “Go to Agnes Hughes, and if it’s +_really_ good for you she’ll give you some.” + +Then I shook hands with them all, and wished them good-bye, and drove +them up the chimney. They seemed very sorry to go. + +[29] This fascinating little fantasy ran through a series of letters +which Lewis Carroll wrote to two little friends of his named Agnes +and Amy Hughes. Without altering a word of the original and merely +by extracting the extraneous matter, the editor has been able to +reproduce the complete story, and to present what is, in effect, a new +“wonder-tale” in miniature by the author of “Alice in Wonderland,” +which, in his opinion, is in his best and most characteristic vein. + + + + + THE LEGEND OF SCOTLAND[30] + + + Being a true and terrible report touching the rooms of Auckland + Castell, called Scotland, and of the things there endured by Matthew + Dixon, Chaffer, and of a certain Ladye, called Gaunless of some, + there apparent, and how that none durst in these days sleep therein + (belike through fear,) all which things fell out in ye days of Bishop + Bec, of chearfull memorie, and were writ down by mee in the Yeere One + Thousand Three Hundred and Twenty Five, in the Month February, on a + certayn Tuesday and other days. + + EDGAR CUTHWELLIS. + + +Now the said Matthew Dixon, having fetched wares unto that place, my +Loords commended the same, and bade that hee should be entertained +for that night, (which in sooth hee was, supping with a grete +Appetite,) and sleep in a certayn roome of that apartment now called +Scotland--From whence at Midnight hee rushed forth with so grete a +Screem, as awaked all men, and hastily running into those Passages, and +meeting him so screeming, hee presentlie faynted away. + +Whereon they hadde hym into my Loorde’s parlour, and with much ado set +hym on a Chaire, wherefrom hee three several times split even to the +grounde, to the grete admiration of all men. + +But being stayed with divers Strong Liquors, (and, chifest, wyth Gin,) +he after a whyle gave foorth in a lamentable tone these following +particulars, all which were presentlie sworn to by nine painful and +stout farmers, who lived hard by, which witness I will heare orderlie +set downe. + +Witness of Matthew Dixon, Chaffer, being in my right minde, and more +than Fortie Yeeres of Age, though sore affrighted by reason of Sightes +and Sounds in This Castell endured by mee, as touching the Vision of +Scotland, and the Ghosts, all two of them, therein contayned, and of A +certayn straunge Ladye, and of the lamentable thyngs by her uttered, +with other sad tunes and songs, by her and by other Ghosts devised, and +of the coldness and shakyng of my Bones (through sore grete feer,) and +of other things very pleasant to knowe, cheefly of a Picture hereafter +suddenlie to bee taken, and of what shall befall thereon, (as trulie +foreshowne by Ghosts,) and of Darkness, with other things more terrible +than Woordes, and of that which Men call Chimera. + +Matthew Dixon, Chaffer, deposeth: “that hee, having supped well over +Night on a Green Goose, a Pasty, and other Condiments of the Bishop’s +grete bountie provided, (looking, as he spake, at my Loorde, and +essaying toe pull offe hys hatte untoe hym, but missed soe doing, for +that hee hadde yt not on hys hedde,) soe went untoe hys bedde, where of +a long tyme hee was exercysed with sharp and horrible Dreems. That hee +saw yn hys Dreem a young Ladye, habited, (not as yt seemed) yn a Gaun, +but yn a certayn sorte of Wrapper, perchance a Wrap-Rascal.” (Hereon a +Mayde of the House affirmed that noe Ladye woold weare such a thing, +and hee answered, “I stand corrected,” and indeed rose from hys chaire, +yet fayled to stand.) + +Witness continued: “that ye sayde Ladye waved toe and froe a Grete +Torche, whereat a thin Voyce shreeked ‘Gaunless! Gaunless!’ and Shee +standyng yn the midst of the floor, a grete Chaunge befell her, her +Countenance waxing ever more and more Aged, and her Hayr grayer, shee +all that tyme saying yn a most sad Voyce, ‘Gaunless, now, as Ladyes +bee: yet yn yeeres toe come they shall not lacke for Gauns.’ At whych +her Wrapper seemed slowlie toe melte, chaunging into a gaun of sylk, +which puckered up and down, yea, and flounced itself out not a lyttle”: +(at thys mye Loorde, waxing impatient, smote hym roundlie onne the +hedde, bydding hym finish hys tale anon.) + +Witness continued: “that the sayd Gaun thenne chaunged ytself into +divers fashyons whych shall hereafter bee, loopyng ytself uppe yn thys +place and yn that, soe gyving toe View are pettycote of a most fiery +hue, even Crimson toe looke upon, at whych dismal and blode-thirstie +sight he both groned and wepte. That at the laste the skyrt swelled +unto a Vastness beyond Man’s power toe tell ayded, (as hee judged,) bye +Hoops, Cartwheels, Balloons, and the lyke, bearing yt uppe within. That +yt fylled alle that Chamber, crushing hym flat untoe hys bedde, tylle +such as she appeared toe depart, fryzzling hys Hayre with her Torche as +she went. + +“That hee, awakyng from such Dreems, herd thereon a Rush, and saw a +Light.” (Hereon a Mayde interrupted hym, crying out that there was +yndeed a Rush-Light burning yn that same room, and woulde have sayde +more, but that my Loorde checkt her, and sharplie bade her stow that, +meening thereby, that she shoulde holde her peece.) + +Witness continued: “that being muche affrited thereat, whereby hys +Bones were, (as hee sayde,) all of a dramble, hee essayed to leep from +hys bedde, and soe quit. Yet tarried hee some whyle, not, as might bee +thought from being stout of Harte, but rather of Bodye; whych tyme she +caunted snatches of old lays, as Maister Wil Shakespeare hath yt.” + +Hereon my Loorde questioned what lays, bydding hym syng the same, and +saying hee knew but of two lays: “’Twas yn Trafalgar’s bay wee saw +the Frenchmen lay,” and “There wee lay all that day yn the Bay of +Biscay-O,” whych hee forthwyth hummed aloud, yet out of tune, at whych +somme smyled. + +Witness continued: “that hee perchaunce coulde chaunt the sayde lays +wyth Music, but unaccompanied hee durst not.” On thys they hadde hym to +the Schoolroom, where was a Musical Instrument, called a Paean-o-Forty, +(meaning that yt hadde forty Notes, and was a Paean or Triumph or +Art,) whereon two young ladyes, Nieces of my Loorde, that abode there, +(lerning, as they deemed, Lessons; but, I wot, idlynge not a lyttle,) +did wyth much thumpyng playe certyn Music wyth hys synging, as best +they mighte, seeing that the Tunes were such as noe Man had herde +before. + + Lorenzo dwelt at Heighington, + (Hys cote was made of Dimity,) + Least-ways yf not exactly there, + Yet yn yts close proximity. + Hee called on mee--hee stayed to tee-- + Yet not a word hee ut-tered, + Untyl I sayd, “D’ye lyke your bread + Dry?” and hee answered “But-tered.” + + (Chorus whereyn all present joyned with fervour.) + + Noodle dumb + Has a noodle-head, + I hate such noodles, I do. + +Witness continued: “that shee then appeared unto hym habited yn the +same loose Wrapper, whereyn hee first saw her yn hys Dreem, and yn a +stayd and piercing tone gave forth her History as followeth.” + + + THE LADYE’S HISTORY + +“On a dewie autumn evening, mighte have been seen, pacing yn the +grounds harde by Aucklande Castell, a yong Ladye of a stiff and perky +manner, yet not ill to look on, nay, one mighte saye, faire to a +degree, save that haply that hadde been untrue. + +“That yong Ladye, O miserable Man, was I” (whereon I demanded on what +score shee held mee miserable, and shee replied, yt mattered not.) “I +plumed myself yn those tymes on my exceeding not soe much beauty as +loftiness of Figure, and gretely desired that some Painter might paint +my picture; but they ever were too high, not yn skyll I trow, but yn +charges.” (At thys I most humbly enquired at what charge the then +Painters wrought, but shee loftily affirmed that money-matters were +vulgar and that she knew not, no, nor cared.) + +“Now yt chaunced that a certyn Artist, hight Lorenzo, came toe that +Quarter, having wyth hym a merveillous machine called by men a Chimera +(that ys, a fabulous and wholy incredible thing;) where wyth hee took +manie pictures, each yn a single stroke of Tyme, whiles that a Man +might name ‘John, the son of Robin’ (I asked her, what might a stroke +of Tyme bee, but shee, frowning, answered not). + +“He yt was that undertook my Picture: yn which I mainly required one +thyng, that yt shoulde bee at full-length, for yn none other way mighte +my Loftiness bee trulie set forth. Nevertheless, though hee took manie +Pictures, yet all fayled yn thys: for some, beginning at the Hedde +reeched not toe the Feet; others, takyng yn the Feet, yet left out the +Hedde; whereof the former were a grief unto myself, and the latter a +Laughing-Stocke unto others. + +“At these thyngs I justly fumed, having at the first been frendly unto +hym (though yn sooth hee was dull), and oft smote hym gretely on the +Eares, rending from hys Hedde certyn Locks, whereat crying out hee was +wont toe saye that I made hys lyfe a burden untoe hym, whych thyng I +not so much doubted as highlie rejoyced yn. + +“At the last hee counselled thys, that a Picture shoulde bee made, +showing so much skyrt as mighte reasonably bee gotte yn, and a Notice +set below toe thys effect: ‘Item, two yards and a Half Ditto, and then +the Feet.’ Byt thys no Whit contented mee, and thereon I shut hym ynto +the Cellar, where hee remaned three Weeks, growing dayly thinner and +thinner, till at the last hee floted up and downe like a Feather. + +“Now yt fell at thys tyme, as I questioned hym on a certyn Day, yf +hee woulde nowe take mee at full-length, and hee replying untoe mee, +yn a little moning Voyce, lyke a Gnat, one chaunced to open the Door: +whereat the Draft bore hym uppe ynto a Cracke of the Cieling, and I +remaned awaytyng hym, holding uppe my Torche, until such time as I also +faded ynto a Ghost, yet stickyng untoe the Wall.” + +Then did my Loorde and the Companie haste down ynto the Cellar, for +to see thys straunge sight, to whych place when they came, my Loorde +bravely drew hys sword, loudly crying “Death!” (though to whom or what +he explained not); then some went yn, but the more part hung back, +urging on those yn front, not soe largely bye example, as Words of +cheer; yet at last all entered, my Loorde last. + +Then they removed from the wall the Casks and other stuff, and founde +the sayd Ghost, dredful toe relate, yet extant on the Wall, at which +horrid sight such screems were raysed as yn these days are seldom +or never herde; some faynted, others bye large drafts of Beer saved +themselves from that Extremity, yet were they scarcely alive for Feer. + +Then dyd the Layde speak unto them yn suchwise: + + “Here I bee, and here I byde, + Till such tyme as yt betyde + That a Ladye of thys place, + Lyke to mee yn name and face, + (Though my name bee never known, + My initials shall bee shown,) + Shall be fotograffed aright-- + Hedde and Feet bee both yn sight-- + Then my face shall disappear, + Nor agayn affrite you heer.” + +Then sayd Matthew Dixon unto her, “Wherefore holdest thou uppe that +Torche?” to whych shee answered, “Candles Gyve Light”: but none +understood her. + +After thys a thyn Voyce sayd from overhedde: + + “Yn the Auckland Castell cellar, + Long, long ago, + I was shut--a brisk young feller-- + Woe, woe, ah woe! + To take her at full-lengthe + I never hadde the strengthe + Tempore (and soe I tell her) + Practerito!” + +(Yn thys Chorus they durst none joyn, seeing that Latyn was untoe them +a Tongue unknown.) + + “She was hard--oh, she was cruel-- + Long, long ago, + Starved mee here--not even gruel-- + No, believe mee, no!-- + Frae Scotland could I flee, + I’d gie my last bawbee,-- + Arrah, bhoys, fair play’s a jhewel, + Lave me, darlints, goe!” + +Then my Loorde, putting bye hys Sworde, (whych was layd up thereafter, +yn memory of soe grete Bravery,) bade hys Butler fetch hym presentlie +a Vessel of Beer, whych when yt was brought at hys nod, (nor, as hee +merrily sayd, hys “nod, and Bec, and wreathed smyle,”) hee drank +hugelie thereof: “for why?” quoth hee, “surely a Bec ys no longer a +Bec, when yt ys Dry.” + +[30] “The Legend of Scotland” was written by Lewis Carroll for the +daughters of Archbishop Longley, while the latter, as Bishop of Durham, +was living at Auckland Castle, and between the years 1856-1860. The +legend was suggested by some markings upon the walls of a cellar in a +part of the Castle which, from its remoteness and chilliness, was, and +perhaps still is, called “Scotland.” + + + + + PHOTOGRAPHY EXTRAORDINARY + + (From “The Rectory Umbrella”) + + +The recent extraordinary discovery in Photography, as applied to the +operations of the mind, has reduced the art of novel-writing to the +merest mechanical labour. We have been kindly permitted by the artist +to be present during one of his experiments; but as the invention has +not yet been given to the world, we are only at liberty to relate the +results, suppressing all details of chemicals and manipulation. + +The operator began by stating that the ideas of the feeblest intellect, +when once received on properly prepared paper, could be “developed” +up to any required degree of intensity. On hearing our wish that he +would begin with an extreme case, he obligingly summoned a young man +from an adjoining room, who appeared to be of the very weakest possible +physical and mental powers. On being asked what we thought of him we +candidly confessed that he seemed incapable of anything but sleep; our +friend cordially assented to this opinion. + +The machine being in position, and a mesmeric rapport established +between the mind of the patient and the object glass, the young man was +asked whether he wished to say anything; he feebly replied “Nothing.” +He was then asked what he was thinking of, and the answer, as before, +was “Nothing.” The artist on this pronounced him to be in a most +satisfactory state, and at once commenced the operation. + +After the paper had been exposed for the requisite time, it was removed +and submitted to our inspection; we found it to be covered with +faint and almost illegible characters. A closer scrutiny revealed the +following: + +[Illustration] + +“The eve was soft and dewy mild; a zephyr whispered in the lofty +glade, and a few light drops of rain cooled the thirsty soil. At a +slow amble, along the primrose-bordered path rode a gentle-looking and +amiable youth, holding a light cane in his delicate hand; the pony +moved gracefully beneath him, inhaling as it went the fragrance of +the roadside flowers; the calm smile, and languid eyes, so admirably +harmonising with the fair features of the rider, showed the even tenor +of his thoughts. With a sweet though feeble voice, he plaintively +murmured out the gentle regrets that clouded his breast: + + ‘Alas! she would not hear my prayer! + Yet it were rash to tear my hair; + Disfigured, I should be less fair. + + ‘She was unwise, I may say blind; + Once she was lovingly inclined; + Some circumstance has changed her mind.’ + +There was a moment’s silence; the pony stumbled over a stone in the +path, and unseated his rider. A crash was heard among the dried +leaves; the youth arose; a slight bruise on his left shoulder, and a +disarrangement of his cravat, were the only traces that remained of +this trifling accident.” + +“This,” we remarked, as we returned the paper, “belongs apparently to +the milk-and-water School of Novels.” + +“You are quite right,” our friend replied, “and, in its present state, +it is, of course, utterly unsaleable in the present day: we shall find, +however, that the next stage of development will remove it into the +strong-minded or Matter-of-Fact School.” After dipping it into various +acids, he again submitted it to us: it had now become the following: + +“The evening was of the ordinary character, barometer at ‘change’; a +wind was getting up in the wood, and some rain was beginning to fall; +a bad look-out for the farmers. A gentleman approached along the +bridle-road, carrying a stout knobbed stick in his hand, and mounted on +a serviceable nag, possibly worth some £40 or so; there was a settled +business-like expression on the rider’s face, and he whistled as he +rode; he seemed to be hunting for rhymes in his head, and at length +repeated, in a satisfied tone, the following composition: + + ‘Well! so my offer was no go! + She might do worse, I told her so; + She was a fool to answer “No.” + + ‘However, things are as they stood; + Nor would I have her if I could, + For there are plenty more as good.’ + +At this moment the horse set his foot in a hole, and rolled over; his +rider rose with difficulty; he had sustained several severe bruises and +fractured two ribs; it was some time before he forgot that unlucky day.” + +We returned this with the strongest expression of admiration, and +requested that it might now be developed to the highest possible +degree. Our friend readily consented, and shortly presented us with +the result, which he informed us belonged to the Spasmodic or German +School. We perused it with indescribable sensations of surprise and +delight: + +“The night was wildly tempestuous--a hurricane raved through the murky +forest--furious torrents of rain lashed the groaning earth. With a +headling rush--down a precipitous mountain gorge--dashed a mounted +horseman armed to the teeth--his horse bounded beneath him at a mad +gallop, snorting fire from its distended nostrils as it flew. The +rider’s knotted brows--rolling eyeballs--and clenched teeth--expressed +the intense agony of his mind--weird visions loomed upon his burning +brain--while with a mad yell he poured forth the torrent of his boiling +passion: + + ‘Firebrands and daggers! hope hath fled! + To atoms dash the doubly dead! + My brain is fire--my heart is lead! + + ‘Her soul is flint, and what am I? + Scorch’d by her fierce, relentless eye, + Nothingness is my destiny!’ + +There was a moment’s pause. Horror! his path ended in a fathomless +abyss.... A rush--a flash--a crash--all was over. Three drops of blood, +two teeth, and a stirrup were all that remained to tell where the wild +horseman met his doom.” + +The young man was now recalled to consciousness, and shown the result +of the workings of his mind; he instantly fainted away. + +In the present infancy of the art we forbear from further comment on +this wonderful discovery; but the mind reels as it contemplates the +stupendous addition thus made to the powers of science. + +Our friend concluded with various minor experiments, such as working +up a passage of Wordsworth into strong, sterling poetry: the same +experiment was tried on a passage of Byron, at our request, but the +paper came out scorched and blistered all over by the fiery epithets +thus produced. + +As a concluding remark: _could_ this art be applied (we put the +question in the strictest confidence)--_could_ it, we ask, be applied +to the speeches in Parliament? It may be but a delusion of our heated +imagination, but we will still cling fondly to the idea, and hope +against hope. + + + + + HINTS FOR ETIQUETTE; OR, DINING OUT + MADE EASY + + (From “The Rectory Umbrella”) + + +As caterers for the public taste, we can conscientiously recommend this +book to all diners-out who are perfectly unacquainted with the usages +of society. However we may regret that our author has confined himself +to warning rather than advice, we are bound in justice to say that +nothing here stated will be found to contradict the habits of the best +circles. The following examples exhibit a depth of penetration and a +fullness of experience rarely met with: + +[Illustration] + + + I + +In proceeding to the dining-room, the gentleman gives one arm to the +lady he escorts--it is unusual to offer both. + + + II + +The practice of taking soup with the next gentleman but one is now +wisely discontinued; but the custom of asking your host his opinion +of the weather immediately on the removal of the first course still +prevails. + + + III + +To use a fork with your soup, intimating at the same time to your +hostess that you are reserving the spoon for the beefsteaks, is a +practice wholly exploded. + +[Illustration] + + + IV + +On meat being placed before you, there is no possible objection to your +eating it, if so disposed; still, in all such delicate cases, be guided +entirely by the conduct of those around you. + + + V + +It is always allowable to ask for artichoke jelly with your boiled +venison; however, there are houses where this is not supplied. + + + VI + +The method of helping roast turkey with two carving-forks is +practicable, but deficient in grace. + + + VII + +We do not recommend the practice of eating cheese with a knife and fork +in one hand, and a spoon and wine-glass in the other; there is a kind +of awkwardness in the action which no amount of practice can entirely +dispel. + + + VIII + +As a general rule, do not kick the shins of the opposite gentleman +under the table, if personally unacquainted with him; your pleasantry +is liable to be misunderstood--a circumstance at all times unpleasant. + + + IX + +Proposing the health of the boy in buttons immediately on the removal +of the cloth is a custom springing from regard to his tender years, +rather than from a strict adherence to the rules of etiquette. + + + + + A HEMISPHERICAL PROBLEM + + (From “The Rectory Umbrella”) + + +Half of the world, or nearly so, is always in the light of the sun: as +the world turns round, this hemisphere of light shifts round too, and +passes over each part of it in succession. + +Supposing on Tuesday, it is morning at London; in another hour it would +be Tuesday morning at the west of England; if the whole world were land +we might go on tracing[31] Tuesday morning, Tuesday morning all the way +round, till in twenty-four hours we get to London again. But we _know_ +that at London twenty-four hours after Tuesday morning it is Wednesday +morning. Where, then, in its passage round the earth, does the day +change its name? Where does it lose its identity? + +Practically there is no difficulty in it, because a great part of the +journey is over water, and what it does out at sea no one can tell: and +besides there are so many different languages that it would be hopeless +to attempt to trace the name of any one day all the year round. But is +the case inconceivable that the same land and the same language should +continue all round the world? I cannot see that it is: in that case +either[32] there would be no distinction at all between each successive +day, and so week, month, etc., so that we should have to say, “The +Battle of Waterloo happened to-day, about two million hours ago,” or +some line would have to be fixed where the change should take place, so +that the inhabitants of one house would wake and say, “Heigh-ho,[33] +Tuesday morning!” and the inhabitants of the next (over the line), a +few miles to the west would wake a few minutes afterwards and say, +“Heigh-ho! Wednesday morning!” What hopeless confusion the people who +happened to live _on_ the line would be in, is not for me to say. There +would be a quarrel every morning as to what the name of the day should +be. I can imagine no third case, unless everybody was allowed to choose +for themselves, which state of things would be rather worse than either +of the other two. + +I am aware that this idea has been stated before--namely, by the +unknown author of that beautiful poem beginning, “If all the world were +apple pie,” etc.[34] The particular result here discussed, however, +does not appear to have occurred to him, as he confines himself to the +difficulties in obtaining drink which would certainly ensue. + +[31] The best way is to imagine yourself walking round with the sun +and asking the inhabitants as you go, “What morning is this?” If you +suppose them living all the way around, and all speaking one language, +the difficulty is obvious. + +[32] This is clearly an impossible case, and is only put as an +hypothesis. + +[33] The usual exclamation at waking, generally said with a yawn. + +[34] + + “If all the world were apple pie, + And all the sea were ink, + And all the trees were bread and cheese, + What _should_ we have to drink?” + + + + + THE TWO CLOCKS + + +Which is better, a clock that is right only once a year, or a +clock that is right twice every day? “The latter,” you reply, +“unquestionably.” Very good, now attend. + +[Illustration] + +I have two clocks: one doesn’t go _at all_, and the other loses a +minute a day: which would you prefer? “The losing one,” you answer, +“without a doubt.” Now observe: the one which loses a minute a day has +to lose twelve hours, or seven hundred and twenty minutes before it is +right again, consequently it is only right once in two years, whereas +the other is evidently right as often as the time it points to comes +round, which happens twice a day. + +So you’ve contradicted yourself _once_. + +“Ah, but,” you say, “what’s the use of its being right twice a day, if +I can’t tell when the time comes?” + +Why, suppose the clock points to eight o’clock, don’t you see that the +clock is right _at_ eight o’clock? Consequently, when eight o’clock +comes round your clock is right. + +“Yes, I see _that_,” you reply. + +Very good, then you’ve contradicted yourself _twice_: now get out of +the difficulty as best you can, and don’t contradict yourself again if +you can help it. + +You _might_ go on to ask, “How am I to know when eight o’clock _does_ +come? My clock will not tell me.” Be patient: you know that when eight +o’clock comes your clock is right very good; then your rule is this: +keep your eye fixed on your clock, and _the very moment it is right_ it +will be eight o’clock. “But----,” you say. There, that’ll do; the more +you argue the farther you get from the point, so it will be as well to +stop. + + + + + THE IDEAL MATHEMATICAL SCHOOL[35] + + (From “Notes by an Oxford Chiel,” 1871) + + +It has occurred to me to suggest for consideration how desirable +roofed buildings are for carrying on mathematical calculations: in +fact, the variable character of the weather in Oxford renders it +highly inexpedient to attempt much occupation, of a sedentary nature, +in the open air. Again, it is often impossible to carry on accurate +mathematical calculations in close contiguity to one another, owing +to their mutual conversation; consequently, these processes require +different rooms in which irrepressible conversationalists, who are +found to occur in every branch of Society, might be carefully and +permanently fixed. + +It may be sufficient for the present to enumerate the following +requisites--others might be added as funds permit: + +A. A very large room for calculating Greatest Common Measure. To this +a small one might be added for Least Common Multiple: this, however, +might be dispensed with. + +B. A piece of open ground for keeping Roots and practising their +extraction: it would be advisable to keep Square Roots by themselves, +as their corners are apt to damage others. + +C. A room for reducing Fractions to their Lowest Terms. This should be +provided with a cellar for keeping the Lowest Terms when found, which +might also be available to the general body of Undergraduates, for the +purpose of “keeping Terms.” + +D. A large room, which might be darkened, and fitted up with a magic +lantern, for the purpose of exhibiting circulating Decimals in the act +of circulation. This might also contain cupboards, fitted with glass +doors, for keeping the various Scales of Notation. + +E. A narrow strip of ground, railed off and carefully levelled, for +investigating the properties of Asymptotes, and testing practically +whether Parallel Lines meet or not: for this purpose it should reach, +to use the expressive language of Euclid, “ever so far.” + +This last process of “continually producing the lines” may require +centuries or more, but such a period, though long in the life of an +individual, is as nothing in the life of the University. + +As Photography is now very much employed in recording human +expressions, and might possibly be adapted to Algebraical Expressions, +a small photographic room would be desirable, both for general use +and for representing the various phenomena of Gravity, Disturbance of +Equilibrium, Resolution, etc., which affect the features during severe +mathematical operations. + +[35] This whimsical skit burlesques the contents of a letter in which +the Professor of Physics at Christ Church met an offer of the Clarendon +Trustees by a detailed enumeration of the requirements in his own +department of Natural Science. + + + + + LOVE AND LOCI[36] + + (A Mathematical Courtship) + + +It was a lovely Autumn evening, and the glorious effects of chromatic +aberration were beginning to show themselves in the atmosphere as +the earth revolved away from the great western luminary, when two +lines might have been observed wending their weary way across a plain +superficies. The elder of the two had, by long practice, acquired the +art, so painful to young and impulsive loci, of lying evenly between +her extreme points; but the younger, in her girlish impetuosity, was +ever longing to diverge and become an hyperbola or some such romantic +and boundless curve. + +“They had lived and loved: fate and the intervening superficies had +hitherto kept them asunder, but this was no longer to be: _a line had +intersected them, making the two interior angles together less than +two right angles_. It was a moment never to be forgotten and they +journeyed on, a whisper thrilled along the superficies in isochronous +waves of sound, ‘Yes! We shall at length meet, if continually +produced!’” (“Jacobi’s Course of Mathematics,” Chap. I.). We have +commenced with the above quotation as a striking illustration of the +advantage of introducing the human element into the hitherto barren +region of Mathematics. Who shall say what germs of romance, hitherto +not observed, may not underlie the subject? Who can tell whether the +parallelogram, which in our ignorance we have defined and drawn, and +the whole of whose properties we profess to know, may not be all the +while panting for exterior angles, sympathetic with the interior, or +sullenly repining at the fact that it cannot be inscribed in a circle? + +What mathematician has ever pondered over an hyperbola, mangling +the unfortunate curve with lines of intersection here and there, in +his efforts to prove some property that perhaps after all is a mere +calumny, who has not fancied at last that the ill-used locus was +spreading out its asymptotes as a silent rebuke, or winking one focus +at him in contemptuous pity? + +[36] From “The Dynamics of a Parti-cle” (1865). + + + + + MORNING DRESS AND EVENING DRESS[37] + + +Surely, if you go to morning parties in evening dress (which you _do_, +you know), why not to evening parties in morning dress? + +You will say, “What morning parties do I go to in evening dress?” + +I reply, “Balls--most balls go on in the morning.” + +Anyhow, I have been invited to three evening parties in London this +year, in each of which “Morning Dress” was specified. + +Again, doctors (not that I am a real one--only an amateur) must always +be in trim for an instant summons to a patient. And when you invite a +doctor to dinner (say), do you not always add “Morning Dress”? (I grant +you it is done by initials in _this_ case. And perhaps you will say you +don’t understand M.D. to stand for “Morning Dress”? Then take a few +lessons in elementary spelling.) Aye, and many and many a time have I +received invitations to evening parties wherein the actual colours of +the Morning Dress expected were stated! + +For instance, “Red Scarf: Vest, Pink.” That is a _very_ common form, +though it is usually (I grant you) expressed by initials. + +[37] From a letter to Miss Dora Abdy (1880). + + + + + KISSING BY POST[38] + + +This really will _not_ do, you know, sending one more kiss every time +by post: the parcel gets so heavy it is quite expensive. When the +postman brought in the last letter, he looked quite grave. “Two pounds +to pay, sir!” he said. “_Extra weight_, sir!” (I think he cheats a +little, by the way. He often makes me pay two _pounds_, when I think it +should be _pence_.) + +[Illustration] + +“Oh, if you please, Mr. Postman!” I said, going down gracefully on one +knee (I wish you could see me going down on one knee to a postman--it’s +a very pretty sight), “do excuse me just this once! It’s only from a +little girl!” + +“Only from a little girl!” he growled. “What are little girls made +of?” “Sugar and spice,” I began to say, “and all that’s ni----,” but +he interrupted me. “No! I don’t mean _that_. I mean, what’s the good +of little girls when they send such heavy letters?” “Well, they’re not +_much_ good, certainly,” I said, rather sadly. + +“Mind you don’t get any more such letters,” he said, “at least, not +from that particular little girl. _I know her well, and she’s a regular +bad one!_” + +That’s not true, is it? I don’t believe he ever saw you, and you’re not +a bad one, are you? However, I promised him we would send each other +_very_ few more letters. “Only two thousand four hundred and seventy, +or so,” I said. “Oh!” said he, “a little number like _that_ doesn’t +signify. What I meant is, you mustn’t send _many_.” + +So you see we must keep count now, and when we get to two thousand four +hundred and seventy, we mustn’t write any more, unless the postman +gives us leave. + +You will be sorry, and surprised, and puzzled, to hear what a queer +illness I have had ever since you went. I sent for the doctor, and +said, “Give me some medicine, for I’m tired.” He said, “Nonsense and +stuff! You don’t want medicine: go to bed!” I said, “No; it isn’t the +sort of tiredness that wants bed. I’m tired in the _face_.” He looked +a little grave, and said, “Oh, it’s your _nose_ that’s tired: a person +often talks too much when he thinks he nose a great deal.” I said, “No +it isn’t the nose. Perhaps it’s the _hair_.” Then he looked grave and +said, “_Now_ I understand: you’ve been playing too many hairs on the +piano-forte.” “No, indeed I haven’t!” I said, “and it isn’t exactly +the _hair_: it’s more about the nose and the chin.” Then he looked a +good deal graver, and said “Have you been walking much on your chin, +lately?” I said, “No.” “Well!” he said, “it puzzles me very much. Do +you think that it’s in the lips?” + +“Of course!” I said, “that’s exactly what it is!” Then he looked very +grave indeed, and said, “I think you must have been giving too many +kisses.” “Well,” I said, “I did give _one_ kiss to a baby child, a +little friend of mine.” “Think again,” he said, “are you sure it was +only _one_?” I thought again, and said, “Perhaps it was eleven times.” +Then the doctor said, “You must not give her _any_ more till your lips +are quite rested again.” “But what am I to do?” I said, “because, you +see, I owe her a hundred and eighty-two more.” Then he looked so grave +that the tears ran down his cheeks, and he said, “You may send them to +her in a box.” + +Then I remembered a little box that I once bought at Dover, and thought +I would some day give it to some little girl or other. So I have packed +them all in it very carefully. Tell me if they come safe or if any are +lost on the way. + +[38] From letters written in 1875 and 1876 to Gertrude Chataway, a +little child whom he met at Sandown, Isle of Wight, and to whom he +dedicated “The Hunting of the Snark.” + + + + + A BIRTHDAY WISH[39] + + +I am writing this to wish you many and many a happy return of your +birthday to-morrow. I will drink your health if only I can remember, +and if you don’t mind--but perhaps you object? + +You see, if I were to sit by you at breakfast, and to drink your tea, +you wouldn’t like _that_, would you? You would say, “Boo! hoo! Here’s +Mr. Dodgson’s drunk all my tea and I haven’t got any left!” So I am +very much afraid, next time Sybil looks for you, she’ll find you +sitting by the sad sea-wave, and crying, “Boo! hoo! Here’s Mr. Dodgson +has drunk my health, and I haven’t got any left!” + +And how it will puzzle Dr. Maund, when he is sent for to see you! “My +dear Madam, I’m very sorry to say your little girl has got _no health +at all_! I never saw such a thing in my life!” + +“Oh, I can easily explain it!” your mother will say. “You see, she +would go and make friends with a strange gentleman, and yesterday he +drank her health!” + +“Well, Mrs. Chataway,” he will say, “the only way to cure her is to +wait till his next birthday, and then for _her_ to drink _his_ health.” + +And then we shall have changed healths. I wonder how you’ll like mine! +Oh, Gertrude, I wish you wouldn’t talk such nonsense! + +[39] From another letter to little Gertrude Chataway (1875). + + + + + A FEW OF THE THINGS I LIKE[40] + + +I may as well just tell you a few of the things I like, and then +whenever you want to give me a birthday present (my birthday comes once +every seven years on the fifth Tuesday in April) you will know what to +give me. + +Well, I like _very_ much indeed, a little mustard with a bit of beef +spread thinly under it; and I like brown sugar--only it should have +some apple pudding mixed with it to keep it from being too sweet; but +perhaps what I like best of all is salt, with some soup poured over +it. The use of the soup is to hinder the salt from being too dry; and +it helps to melt it. Then there are three other things I like; for +instance, pins--only they should always have a cushion put round them +to keep them warm. And I like two or three handfuls of hair; only they +should always have a little girl’s head beneath them to grow on, or +else whenever you open the door they get blown all over the room and +then they get lost, you know. + +[40] From a letter to Miss Jessie Sinclair, 1878. + + + + + MYSELF AND ME[41] + + + MY DEAR MAGDALEN, + +I want to explain to you why I did not call yesterday. I was sorry to +miss you, but you see I had so many conversations on the way. I tried +to explain to the people in the street that I was going to see you, but +they wouldn’t listen; they said they were in a hurry, which was rude. + +[Illustration] + +At last I met a wheelbarrow that I thought would attend to me, but I +couldn’t make out what was in it. I saw some features at first, then +I looked through a telescope, and found it was a countenance; then I +looked through a telescope and it was a face! I thought it was rather +like me, so I fetched a large looking-glass to make sure, and then to +my great joy I found it was me. We shook hands, and were just beginning +to talk, when myself came up and joined us, and we had quite a pleasant +conversation. I said, “Do you remember when we all met at Sandown?” +and myself said, “It was very jolly there; there was a child called +Magdalen,” and me said, “I used to like her a little; not much, you +know--only a little.” + +Then it was time for us to go to the train, and who do you think came +to the station to see us off? You would never guess. They were two very +dear friends of mine, who happen to be here just now, and beg to be +allowed to sign this letter as your affectionate friends, + + LEWIS CARROLL and C. L. DODGSON. + +[41] A letter written to a little child friend in 1875. + + + + + MY STYLE OF DANCING[42] + + +As to dancing, I _never_ dance, unless I am allowed to do it _in my own +peculiar way_. There is no use trying to describe it: it has to be seen +to be believed. The last house I tried it in, the floor broke through. +But then it was a poor sort of floor--the beams were only six inches +thick, hardly worth calling beams at all: stone arches are much more +sensible, when any dancing, _of my peculiar kind_, is to be done. + +[Illustration] + +Did you ever see the Rhinoceros and the Hippopotamus, at the Zoological +Gardens, trying to dance a minuet together? It is a touching sight. + +[42] From a letter, written in 1873, to Gayner Simpson, a child friend +at Guildford. + + + + + GLOVES FOR KITTENS[43] + + +Oh, you naughty, naughty little culprit! + +If only I could fly to Fulham with a handy little stick (ten feet +long and four inches thick is my favourite size) how I would rap your +wicked little knuckles. However, there isn’t much harm done, so I will +sentence you to a very mild punishment--only one year’s imprisonment. +If you’ll just tell the Fulham policeman about it, he’ll manage all +the rest for you, and he’ll fit you with a nice comfortable pair of +handcuffs, and lock you up in a nice cosy dark cell, and feed you on +nice dry bread and delicious cold water. + +But how badly you _do_ spell your words! I _was_ so puzzled about the +“sack full of love and basket full of kisses!” But at last I made out +why, of course, you meant “a sack full of _gloves_, and a basket full +of _kittens_!” + +Then I understood what you were sending me. And just then Mrs. Dyer +came to tell me a large sack and a basket had come. There was such a +miawing in the house, as if all the cats in Eastbourne had come to see +me! + +“Oh, just open them please, Mrs. Dyer, and count the things in them.” + +So in a few minutes Mrs. Dyer came and said “500 pairs of gloves in the +sack and 250 kittens in the basket.” + +“Dear me! That makes 1,000 gloves! four times as many gloves as +kittens! It’s very kind of Maggie, but why did she send so many gloves? +for I haven’t got 1,000 _hands_, you know, Mrs. Dyer.” + +And Mrs. Dyer said, “No, indeed, you’re 998 hands short of that.” + +However, the next day I made out what to do, and I took the basket +with me and walked off to the parish school--the _girls’_ school, you +know--and I said to the mistress: + +“How many little girls are there at school to-day?” + +“Exactly 250, sir.” + +“And have they all been _very_ good, all day?” + +“As good as gold, sir.” + +I waited outside the door with my basket, and as each little girl +came out, I just popped a soft little kitten into her hands! Oh! what +joy there was! The little girls went all dancing home, nursing their +kittens, and the whole air was full of purring! Then, the next morning, +I went to the school, before it opened, to ask the little girls how +the kittens had behaved in the night. And they all arrived sobbing and +crying, and their faces and hands were all covered with scratches, +and they had the kittens wrapped up in their pinafores to keep them +from scratching any more. And they sobbed out, “The kittens have been +scratching us all night, all the night!” + +So then I said to myself, “What a nice little girl Maggie is. _Now_ I +see why she sent all those gloves, and why there are four times as many +gloves as kittens!” And I said to the little girls, “Never mind, my dear +children, do your lessons _very_ nicely, and don’t cry any more, and +when school is over, you’ll find me at the door, and you shall see what +you shall see!” + +So, in the evening, when the little girls came running out, with the +kittens still wrapped up in their pinafores, there was I, at the door, +with a big sack! And, as each little girl came out, I just popped +into her hand two pairs of gloves! And each little girl unrolled her +pinafore and took out an angry little kitten, spitting and snarling, +with its claws sticking out like a hedgehog. + +But it hadn’t time to scratch for, in one moment, it found all its +four claws popped into nice soft warm gloves! And then the kittens got +quite sweet-tempered and gentle, and began purring again. + +So the little girls went dancing home again, and the next morning they +came dancing back to school. The scratches were all healed, and they +told me “The kittens _have_ been good!” + +“And when any kitten wants to catch a mouse, it just takes off _one_ +of its gloves; and if it wants to catch two mice; it takes off _two_ +gloves; and if it wants to catch _three_ mice, it takes off _three_ +gloves; and if it wants to catch _four_ mice, it takes off all its +gloves. But the moment they’ve caught the mice, they pop their gloves +on again, because they know we can’t love them without their gloves. +For, you see, ‘gloves’ have got ‘love’ _inside_ them--there’s none +outside.” + +So all the little girls said, “Please thank Maggie, and we send her 250 +_loves_ and 1,000 kisses in return for her 250 kittens and her 1,000 +gloves!” + + Your loving old Uncle, + C. L. D. + + Love and kisses to Nellie and Emsie. + +[43] This whimsical and characteristic paper, which has never been +published before, is from a letter written by Lewis Carroll on +September 17, 1893, from 7, Lushington Road, Eastbourne, to Miss Maggie +Bowman. + + + + + ART IN POTSDAM[44] + + +The amount of art lavished on the whole region of Potsdam is +marvellous; some of the tops of the palaces were like forests of +statues, and they were all over the gardens, set on pedestals. In fact, +the two principles of Berlin architecture appear to me to be these. On +the house-tops, wherever there is a convenient place, put up the figure +of a man; he is best placed standing on one leg. Wherever there is +room on the ground, put either a circular group of busts on pedestals, +in consultation, all looking inwards--or else the colossal figure of +a man killing, about to kill, or having killed (the present tense is +preferred) a beast; the more pricks the beast has, the better--in fact, +a dragon is the correct thing, but if that is beyond the artist, he may +content himself with a lion or a pig. The beast-killing principle has +been carried out everywhere with a relentless monotony, which makes +some parts of Berlin look like a fossil slaughter-house. + +[44] This extract from Lewis Carroll’s diary, written during his +Continental tour with Dr. Liddon in 1867, although obviously not coming +within the category of “Nonsense,” is so sprightly and so whimsically +apposite that the editor has ventured to include it in this volume as +a characteristic fragment of Lewis Carroll’s humour that ought to be +preserved. + + + + + ON WAITERS + +(Extracts from Mr. Dodgson’s diary during his Continental tour with +Canon Liddon in the summer of 1867) + + +July 13th (Dover). We breakfasted, as agreed, at eight, or at least +we then sat down and nibbled bread and butter till such time as the +chops could be done, which great event took place at half-past. We +tried pathetic appeals to the wandering waiters, who told us, “They are +coming, sir,” in a soothing tone, and we tried stern remonstrance, and +they then said, “They are coming, sir,” in a more injured tone; and +after all such appeals they retired into their dens, and hid themselves +behind sideboards and dish-covers, and still the chops came not. We +agreed that of all virtues a waiter can display, that of a retiring +disposition is quite the least desirable. + + * * * * * + +August 6th (Nijni Novgorod). We went to the Smernovaya (or some such +name) Hotel, a truly villainous place, though no doubt the best in +the town. The feeding was very good and everything else very bad. It +was some consolation to find that as we sat at dinner we furnished a +subject of the liveliest interest to six or seven waiters, all dressed +in white tunics, belted at the waist, and white trousers, who ranged +themselves in a row and gazed in a quite absorbed way at the collection +of strange animals that were feeding before them. Now and then a +twinge of conscience would seize them that they were, after all, not +fulfilling the great object of life as waiters, and on these occasions +they would all hurry to the end of the room, and refer to a great +drawer which seemed to contain nothing but spoons and corks. When we +asked for anything, they first looked at each other in an alarmed way; +then, when they had ascertained which understood the order best, they +all followed his example, which always was to refer to the big drawer. + +[Illustration] + +September 4th (Giessen). We moved on to Giessen, and put up at the +“Rappe Hotel” for the night, and ordered an early breakfast of an +obliging waiter who talked English. “Coffee!” he exclaimed delightedly, +catching at the word as if it were a really original idea. “Ah, +coffee--very nice--and eggs? Ham with your eggs? Very nice----” “If we +can have it broiled,” I said. + +“Boiled?” the waiter repeated with an incredulous smile. + +“No, not _boiled_,” I explained--“_broiled_!” The waiter put aside this +distinction as trivial. “Yes, yes, ham,” he repeated, reverting to his +favourite idea. “Yes, ham,” I said, “but how cooked?” + +“Yes, yes, how cooked,” the waiter replied with the careless air of one +who assents to a proposition more from good nature than from a real +conviction of its truth. + + + + + LEWIS CARROLL AS A RACONTEUR[45] + + +An old lady I knew, once tried to check the military ardour of a little +boy by showing him the picture of a battlefield and describing some of +its horrors. But the only reply she got was, “I’ll be a soldier. Tell +it again!” + + * * * * * + +Another little boy, after having listened with great attention to the +story of Lot’s wife, asked innocently, “Where does the salt come from +that’s not made of ladies?” + + * * * * * + +Dr. Paget (Dean of Christ Church) was conducting a school examination, +and in the course of his questions he happened to ask a small boy the +meaning of “average.” He was utterly bewildered by the reply, “The +things that hens lay on,” until the youngster explained that he had +read in a book that hens lay _on an average_ so many eggs a year! + +Have you heard the story of the dog who was sent into the sea after +sticks? He brought them back properly for a time, and then returned +swimming in a curious manner, and apparently in difficulties. On closer +inspection it appeared that he had caught hold of his own tail in +mistake and was bringing it to land in triumph! + + * * * * * + +On one occasion I was walking in Oxford with Maggie Bowman,[46] then a +mere child, when we met the Bishop of Oxford, to whom I introduced my +little guest. His lordship asked her what she thought of Oxford, and +was much amused when the little actress replied, with true professional +aplomb, “I think it’s the best place in the provinces!” + + +THREE STORIES FROM MR. DODGSON’S DIARY + +July 23, 1867 (when on holiday in Dantzig). On our way to the station +we came across the grandest instance of the “Majesty of Justice” that I +have ever witnessed. A little boy was being taken to the magistrate, or +to prison (probably for picking a pocket). The achievement of this feat +had been entrusted to two soldiers in full uniform, who were solemnly +marching, one in front of the poor little urchin and one behind, with +bayonets fixed, of course, to be ready to charge in case he should +attempt to escape. + +August, 1867 (on a visit to Kronstadt with Canon Liddon, of Oxford). +Liddon had surrendered his overcoat early in the day, and we found it +must be recovered from the waiting-maid, who talked only Russian, and +as I had left the dictionary behind, and the little vocabulary did not +contain _coat_, we were in some difficulty. Liddon began by exhibiting +his coat, with much gesticulation, including the taking it half off. +To our delight, she appeared to understand at once, left the room, and +returned in a minute with--a large clothes brush. On this Liddon tried +a further and more energetic demonstration; he took off his coat and +laid it at her feet, pointed downwards (to intimate that in the lower +regions was the object of his desire), smiled with an expression of +the joy and gratitude with which he would receive it, and put the coat +on again. Once more a gleam of intelligence lighted up the plain but +expressive features of the young person; she was absent much longer +this time, and when she returned, she brought, to our dismay, a large +cushion and a pillow, and began to prepare the sofa for the nap that +she now saw clearly was the thing the dumb gentleman wanted. A happy +thought occurred to me, and I hastily drew a sketch representing +Liddon, with one coat on, receiving a second and larger one from the +hands of a benignant Russian peasant. The language of hieroglyphics +succeeded where all other means had failed, and we returned to St. +Petersburg with the humiliating knowledge that our standard of +civilisation was now reduced to the level of ancient Nineveh. + + * * * * * + +December 17, 1895. I have given books to Kate Tyndall and Sydney +Fairbrother, and have heard from them, and find I was entirely mistaken +in taking them for children. Both are married women![47] + + * * * * * + +Lewis Carroll had a nervous horror of infection that occasionally +resulted in a good deal of unconscious humour. During a brief holiday +which the two elder Miss Bowmans spent with him at Eastbourne, the +news came that their youngest sister had caught scarlet fever. After +this, the two children had to read every letter which came from their +mother as best they could from the other side of the room, while their +host held the epistle aloft, his head averted so that he should not see +what was not intended for his eyes. + + * * * * * + +On the occasion of another Eastbourne visit the same little girls were +taken by their friend for a steamer trip to Hastings. This was with the +idea of accustoming them to sea-travelling, in view of the forthcoming +professional visit of the little actresses to America. Their +“rehearsal” was certainly instructive, for the sea was much rougher +than at any time during their subsequent trip across the Atlantic, with +the result that they suffered considerably. “Uncle Dodgson,” as they +invariably called him, did his best to console them by continually +repeating, “Crossing the Atlantic will be much worse than this!” + + * * * * * + +He (Lewis Carroll) had a wonderfully good memory, except for faces and +dates. The former were always a stumbling block to him, and people +used to say (most unjustly) that he was intentionally short-sighted. +One night he went up to London to dine with a friend, whom he had +only recently met. The next morning a gentleman greeted him as he was +walking. + +“I beg your pardon,” said Mr. Dodgson, “but you have the advantage of +me. I have no remembrance of having ever seen you before this moment.” + +“That is very strange,” the other replied, “for I was your host last +night!” + + * * * * * + +Tight boots were a great aversion of his, especially for children. One +little girl who was staying with him at Eastbourne had occasion to buy +a new pair of boots. Lewis Carroll gave instructions to the bootmaker +as to how they were to be made, so as to be thoroughly comfortable, +with the result that when they came home they were more useful than +ornamental, being very nearly as broad as they were long! Which shows +that even hygienic principles may be pushed too far. + + * * * * * + +In Guildford there is (or was) an American confectioner’s, where the +cakes are cooked by a very quick process before the public and handed +to you smoking hot, direct from the cook. This preparation used to +be a source of considerable interest to the juvenile population, who +could watch the proceedings through the shop window. One afternoon, +when Lewis Carroll was purchasing cakes for some of his child chums, +seven small ragged youngsters formed an envious group outside. But they +soon became a participatory one, for, purchasing seven of the choicest +specimens of confectionery, the lover of children took them outside and +distributed them to the eager little ones. + + * * * * * + +“My first introduction”[48] (writes Sir George Baden-Powell) “to the +author of ‘Through the Looking Glass’ was about the year 1870 or +1871, and under appropriate conditions! I was then coaching at Oxford +with the well-known Rev. E. Hatch, and was on friendly terms with his +bright and pretty children. Entering his house one day, and facing the +dining-room, I heard mysterious noises under the table, and saw the +cloth move as if some one were hiding. Children’s legs revealed it +as no burglar, and there was nothing for it but to crawl upon them, +roaring as a lion. Bursting in upon them, in their stronghold under the +table, I was met by the staid but amused gaze of a reverend gentleman. +Frequently afterwards did I see and hear Lewis Carroll entertaining the +youngsters in his inimitable way.” + +Possibly the funniest story about Lewis Carroll is the rather +well-known one which relates how Queen Victoria, being charmed by +“Alice in Wonderland,” and hearing that the author was really the Rev. +C. L. Dodgson, ordered the rest of his works. Her surprise at receiving +a large parcel of mathematical and technical works may be imagined! + +[45] No book of this kind would be comprehensive without reference to +Lewis Carroll’s inimitable talent as a raconteur. Stored within his +mind were numberless entertaining anecdotes, some true, some invented +by himself, and some he had heard. As a matter of fact, he had heard +so many that he was a difficult man to tell a story to--it was sure +to be familiar to him. In selecting for reproduction some of the best +Lewis Carroll anecdotes--both _by_ him and _about_ him--the editor has +ventured to include several which do not come within the category of +“Nonsense,” but trusts that their interest will excuse this deviation +from the professed plan of this work. It is recorded that Mr. Carroll +(or Mr. Dodgson, to be strictly accurate when dealing with this +characteristic) was an excellent after-dinner speaker, and told stories +exceedingly well with an effective stutter reminiscent of Charles Lamb. + +[46] Sister of Isa who so charmingly played the heroine in the stage +version of “Alice,” after Miss Phœbe Carlo. The Bowman sisters were +among the most intimate of Lewis Carroll’s friends. + +[47] In an earlier entry in the diary Mr. Dodgson refers to the clever +acting of “Kate Tyndall and Sydney Fairbrother, whom I guess to be +about fifteen and twelve,” in the sensational melodrama “Two Little +Vagabonds” at the Princess’s Theatre. + +[48] This and the two succeeding anecdotes are from “The Life and +Letters of Lewis Carroll.” + + + + + A LEWIS CARROLL PROVERB[49] + + +Remember the old proverb, “Cross-writing makes cross-reading.” + +“The _old_ proverb?” you say enquiringly. “_How_ old?” Well, not so +_very_ ancient, I must confess. In fact, I invented it while writing +this paragraph. Still, you know, “old” is a _comparative_ term. I think +you would be _quite_ justified in addressing a chicken, just out of the +shell, as “old boy!” _when compared_ with another chicken that was only +half out! + +[49] From “Eight or Nine Wise Words on Letter-Writing” (1888). + + + + + TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: + + +Printing errors such as partially printed letters have been silently +fixed. + +The footnotes have been relocated to the end of each poem or text and +renumbered to better fit the ebook format. + +Some images have been moved slightly within their poem or text to +better fit the ebook format. + +Page 45: The visual poem The Dear Gazelle has been included as an image +in addition to the text to ensure the original look is preserved. + +The following alterations have been made: + + In _A Hemispherical Problem_: started _to_ stated + In _The Two Clocks_: come _to_ comes +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77627 *** |