Chapter VI: (1883-1887)

"The Profits of Authorship"--"Rhyme? and Reason?"--The
Common Room Cat--Visit to Jersey--Purity of
elections--Parliamentary Representation--Various literary
projects--Letters to Miss E. Rix--Being happy--"A Tangled
Tale"--Religious arguments--The "Alice" Operetta--"Alice's
Adventures Underground"--"The Game of Logic"--Mr. Harry
Furniss.

In 1883 Lewis Carroll was advised to make a stand against the heavy discount allowed by publishers to booksellers, and by booksellers to the public. Accordingly the following notice began to appear in all his books: "In selling Mr. Lewis Carroll's books to the Trade, Messrs. Macmillan and Co. will abate 2d. in the shilling (no odd copies), and allow 5 per cent, discount within six months, and 10 per cent, for cash. In selling them to the Public (for cash only) they will allow 10 per cent, discount."

It was a bold step to take, and elicited some loud expressions of disapproval. "Rather than buy on the terms Mr. Lewis Carroll offers," "A Firm of London Booksellers" wrote in _The Bookseller_ of August 4th, "the trade will do well to refuse to take copies of his books, new or old, so long as he adheres to the terms he has just announced to the trade for their delectation and delight." On the other hand, an editorial, which appeared in the same number of _The Bookseller,_ expressed warm approval of the innovation.

To avoid all possible misconceptions, the author fully explained his views in a little pamphlet on "The Profits of Authorship." He showed that the bookseller makes as much profit out of every volume he sells (assuming the buyer to pay the full published price, which he did in those days more readily than he does to-day) as author and publisher together, whereas his share in the work is very small. He does not say much about the author's part in the work--that it is a very heavy one goes without saying--but in considering the publisher's share he says:--

The publisher contributes about as much as the bookseller in
time and bodily labour, but in mental toil and trouble a
great deal more. I speak with some personal knowledge of the
matter, having myself, for some twenty years, inflicted on
that most patient and painstaking firm, Messrs. Macmillan
and Co., about as much wear and worry as ever publishers
have lived through. The day when they undertake a book for
me is a _dies nefastus_ for them. From that day till
the book is out--an interval of some two or three years on
an average--there is no pause in "the pelting of the
pitiless storm" of directions and questions on every
conceivable detail. To say that every question gets a
courteous and thoughtful reply--that they are still outside
a lunatic asylum--and that they still regard me with some
degree of charity--is to speak volumes in praise of their
good temper and of their health, bodily and mental. I think
the publisher's claim on the profits is on the whole
stronger than the booksellers.

"Rhyme? and Reason?" appeared at Christmas; the dedicatory verses, inscribed "To a dear child: in memory of golden summer hours and whispers of a summer sea," were addressed to a little friend of the author's, Miss Gertrude Chataway. One of the most popular poems in the book is "Hiawatha's Photographing," a delicious parody of Longfellow's "Hiawatha." "In an age of imitation," says Lewis Carroll, in a note at the head, "I can claim no special merit for this slight attempt at doing what is known to be so easy." It is not every one who has read this note who has observed that it is really in the same metre as the poem below it.

Another excellent parody, "Atalanta in Camden-Town," exactly hit off the style of that poet who stands alone and unapproached among the poets of the day, and whom Mr. Dodgson used to call "the greatest living master of language."

"Fame's Penny Trumpet," affectionately dedicated to all "original researchers" who pant for "endowment," was an attack upon the Vivisectionists,

Who preach of Justice--plead with tears
That Love and Mercy should abound--
While marking with complacent ears
The moaning of some tortured hound.

Lewis Carroll thus addresses them:--

Fill all the air with hungry wails--
"Reward us, ere we think or write!
Without your gold mere knowledge fails
To sate the swinish appetite!"

And, where great Plato paced serene,
Or Newton paused with wistful eye,
Rush to the chase with hoofs unclean
And Babel-clamour of the stye!

Be yours the pay: be theirs the praise:
We will not rob them of their due,
Nor vex the ghosts of other days
By naming them along with you.

They sought and found undying fame:
They toiled not for reward nor thanks:
Their cheeks are hot with honest shame
For you, the modern mountebanks!

"For auld lang syne" the author sent a copy of his book to Mrs. Hargreaves (Miss Alice Liddell), accompanied by a short note.

Christ Church, _December_ 21, 1883.

Dear Mrs. Hargreaves,--Perhaps the shortest day in the year
is not _quite_ the most appropriate time for recalling the
long dreamy summer afternoons of ancient times; but anyhow
if this book gives you half as much pleasure to receive as
it does me to send, it will be a success indeed.

Wishing you all happiness at this happy season, I am,

Sincerely yours,

C. L. Dodgson.

The beginning of 1884 was chiefly occupied in Common Room business. The Curatorship seems to have been anything but a sinecure. Besides weightier responsibilities, it involved the care of the Common Room Cat! In this case the "care" ultimately killed the cat--but not until it had passed the span of life usually allotted to those animals, and beyond which their further existence is equally a nuisance to themselves and to every one else. As to the best way of "terminating its sublunary existence," Mr. Dodgson consulted two surgeons, one of whom was Sir James Paget. I do not know what method was finally adopted, but I am sure it was one that gave no pain to pussy's nerves, and as little as possible to her feelings.

On March 11th there was a debate in Congregation on the proposed admission of women to some of the Honour Schools at Oxford. This was one of the many subjects on which Mr. Dodgson wrote a pamphlet. During the debate he made one of his few speeches, and argued strongly against the proposal, on the score of the injury to health which it would inflict upon the girl-undergraduates.

Later in the month he and the Rev. E.F. Sampson, Tutor of Christ Church, paid a visit to Jersey, seeing various friends, notably the Rev. F.H. Atkinson, an old College friend of Mr. Dodgson's, who had helped him when he was editor of _College Rhymes_. I quote a few lines from a letter of his to Mr. Atkinson, as showing his views on matrimony:--

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 unmixed misery,
though married life has no doubt many charms to which I am a
stranger.

A note in his Diary on May 5th shows one of the changes in his way of life which advancing years forced him to make:--

Wrote to -- (who had invited me to dine) to beg off, on the
ground that, in my old age, I find dinner parties more and
more fatiguing. This is quite a new departure. I much grudge
giving an evening (even if it were not tiring) to bandying
small-talk with dull people.

The next extract I give does not look much like old age!

I called on Mrs. M--. She was out; and only one maid in,
who, having come to the gate to answer the bell, found the
door blown shut on her return. The poor thing seemed really
alarmed and distressed. However, I got a man to come from a
neighbouring yard with a ladder, and got in at the
drawing-room window--a novel way of entering a friend's
house!

Oddly enough, almost exactly the same thing happened to him in 1888: "The door blew shut, with the maid outside, and no one in the house. I got the cook of the next house to let me go through their premises, and with the help of a pair of steps got over the wall between the two back-yards."

In July there appeared an article in the _St. James's Gazette_ on the subject of "Parliamentary Elections," written by Mr. Dodgson. It was a subject in which he was much interested, and a few years before he had contributed a long letter on the "Purity of Elections" to the same newspaper. I wish I had space to give both in full; as things are, a summary and a few extracts are all I dare attempt. The writer held that there are a great number of voters, and _pari passu_ a great number of constituencies, that like to be on the winning side, and whose votes are chiefly influenced by that consideration. The ballot-box has made it practically impossible for the individual voter to know which is going to be the winning side, but after the first few days of a general election, one side or the other has generally got a more or less decided advantage, and a weak-kneed constituency is sorely tempted to swell the tide of victory.

But this is not all. The evil extends further than to the
single constituency; nay, it extends further than to a
single general election; it constitutes a feature in our
national history; it is darkly ominous for the future of
England. So long as general elections are conducted as at
present we shall be liable to oscillations of political
power, like those of 1874 and 1880, but of ever-increasing
violence--one Parliament wholly at the mercy of one
political party, the next wholly at the mercy of the
other--while the Government of the hour, joyfully hastening
to undo all that its predecessors have done, will wield a
majority so immense that the fate of every question will be
foredoomed, and debate will be a farce; in one word, we
shall be a nation living from hand to mouth, and with no
settled principle--an army, whose only marching orders will
be "Right about face!"

His remedy was that the result of each single election should be kept secret till the general election is over:--

It surely would involve no practical difficulty to provide
that the boxes of voting papers should be sealed up by a
Government official and placed in such custody as would make
it impossible to tamper with them; and that when the last
election had been held they should be opened, the votes
counted, and the results announced.

The article on "Parliamentary Elections" proposed much more sweeping alterations. The opening paragraph will show its general purport:--

The question, how to arrange our constituencies and conduct
our Parliamentary elections so as to make the House of
Commons, as far as possible, a true index of the state of
opinion in the nation it professes to represent, is surely
equal in importance to any that the present generation has
had to settle. And the leap in the dark, which we seem about
to take in a sudden and vast extension of the franchise,
would be robbed of half its terrors could we feel assured
that each political party will be duly represented in the
next Parliament, so that every side of a question will get a
fair hearing.

The axioms on which his scheme was based were as follows:--

(1) That each Member of Parliament should represent
approximately the same number of electors.

(2) That the minority of the two parties into which, broadly
speaking, each district may be divided, should be adequately
represented.

(3) That the waste of votes, caused by accidentally giving
one candidate more than he needs and leaving another of the
same party with less than he needs, should be, if possible,
avoided.

(4) That the process of marking a ballot-paper should be
reduced to the utmost possible simplicity, to meet the case
of voters of the very narrowest mental calibre.

(5) That the process of counting votes should be as simple
as possible.

Then came a precise proposal. I do not pause to compare it in detail with the suggestions of Mr. Hare, Mr. Courtney, and others:--

I proceed to give a summary of rules for the method I
propose. Form districts which shall return three, four, or
more Members, in proportion to their size. Let each elector
vote for one candidate only. When the poll is closed, divide
the total number of votes by the number of Members to be
returned _plus_ one, and take the next greater integer as
"quota." Let the returning officer publish the list of
candidates, with the votes given for each, and declare as
"returned" each that has obtained the quota. If there are
still Members to return, let him name a time when all the
candidates shall appear before him; and each returned Member
may then formally assign his surplus votes to whomsoever of
the other candidates he will, while the other candidates may
in like manner assign their votes to one another.

This method would enable each of the two parties in a
district to return as many Members as it could muster
"quotas," no matter how the votes were distributed. If, for
example, 10,000 were the quota, and the "reds" mustered
30,000 votes, they could return three Members; for, suppose
they had four candidates, and that A had 22,000 votes, B
4,000, C 3,000, D 1,000, A would simply have to assign 6,000
votes to B and 6,000 to C; while D, being hopeless of
success, would naturally let C have his 1,000 also. There
would be no risk of a seat being left vacant through two
candidates of the same party sharing a quota between
them--an unwritten law would soon come to be
recognised--that the one with fewest votes should give place
to the other. And, with candidates of two opposite parties,
this difficulty could not arise at all; one or the other
could always be returned by the surplus votes of his party.

Some notes from the Diary for March, 1885, are worth reproducing here:--

_March_ 1_st_.--Sent off two letters of literary
importance, one to Mrs. Hargreaves, to ask her consent to my
publishing the original MS. of "Alice" in facsimile (the
idea occurred to me the other day); the other to Mr. H.
Furniss, a very clever illustrator in _Punch_, asking
if he is open to proposals to draw pictures for me.

The letter to Mrs. Hargreaves, which, it will be noticed, was earlier in date than the short note already quoted in this chapter, ran as follows:--

My Dear Mrs. Hargreaves,--I fancy this will come to you
almost like a voice from the dead, after so many years of
silence, and yet those years have made no difference that I
can perceive in _my_ clearness of memory of the days when we
_did_ correspond. I am getting to feel what an old man's
failing memory is as to recent events and new friends, (for
instance, I made friends, only a few weeks ago, with a very
nice little maid of about twelve, and had a walk with
her--and now I can't recall either of her names!), but my
mental picture is as vivid as ever of one who was, through
so many years, my ideal child-friend. I have had scores of
child-friends since your time, but they have been quite a
different thing.

However, I did not begin this letter to say all _that_. What
I want to ask is, Would you have any objection to the
original MS. book of "Alice's Adventures" (which I suppose
you still possess) being published in facsimile? The idea of
doing so occurred to me only the other day. If, on
consideration, you come to the conclusion that you would
rather _not_ have it done, there is an end of the matter.
If, however, you give a favourable reply, I would be much
obliged if you would lend it me (registered post, I should
think, would be safest) that I may consider the
possibilities. I have not seen it for about twenty years, so
am by no means sure that the illustrations may not prove to
be so awfully bad that to reproduce them would be absurd.

There can be no doubt that I should incur the charge of
gross egoism in publishing it. But I don't care for that in
the least, knowing that I have no such motive; only I think,
considering the extraordinary popularity the books have had
(we have sold more than 120,000 of the two), there must be
many who would like to see the original form.

Always your friend,

C.L. Dodgson.

The letter to Harry Furniss elicited a most satisfactory reply. Mr. Furniss said that he had long wished to illustrate one of Lewis Carroll's books, and that he was quite prepared to undertake the work ("Sylvie and Bruno").

Two more notes from the Diary, referring to the same month follow:--

_March 10th_.--A great Convocation assembled in the
theatre, about a proposed grant for Physiology, opposed by
many (I was one) who wish restrictions to be enacted as to
the practice of vivisection for research. Liddon made an
excellent speech against the grant, but it was carried by
412 to 244.

_March 29th_.--Never before have I had so many literary
projects on hand at once. For curiosity, I will here make a
list of them.

(1) Supplement to "Euclid and Modern Rivals."

(2) 2nd Edition of "Euc. and Mod. Rivals."

(3) A book of Math. curiosities, which I think of calling
"Pillow Problems, and other Math. Trifles." This will
contain Problems worked out in the dark, Logarithms without
Tables, Sines and angles do., a paper I am now writing on
"Infinities and Infinitesimals," condensed Long
Multiplication, and perhaps others.

(4) Euclid V.

(5) "Plain Facts for Circle-Squarers," which is nearly
complete, and gives actual proof of limits 3.14158, 3.14160.

(6) A symbolical Logic, treated by my algebraic method.

(7) "A Tangled Tale."

(8) A collection of Games and Puzzles of my devising, with
fairy pictures by Miss E.G. Thomson. This might also contain
my "Mem. Tech." for dates; my "Cipher-writing" scheme for
Letter-registration, &c., &c.

(9) Nursery Alice.

(10) Serious poems in "Phantasmagoria."

(11) "Alice's Adventures Underground."

(12) "Girl's Own Shakespeare." I have begun on "Tempest."

(13) New edition of "Parliamentary Representation."

(14) New edition of Euc. I., II.

(15) The new child's book, which Mr. Furniss is to
illustrate. I have settled on no name as yet, but it will
perhaps be "Sylvie and Bruno."

I have other shadowy ideas, _e.g._, a Geometry for
Boys, a vol. of Essays on theological points freely and
plainly treated, and a drama on "Alice" (for which Mr.
Mackenzie would write music): but the above is a fair
example of "too many irons in the fire!"

A letter written about this time to his friend, Miss Edith Rix, gives some very good hints about how to work, all the more valuable because he had himself successfully carried them out. The first hint was as follows:--

When you have made a thorough and reasonably long effort, to
understand a thing, and still feel puzzled by it,
_stop_, you will only hurt yourself by going on. Put it
aside till the next morning; and if _then_ you can't
make it out, and have no one to explain it to you, put it
aside entirely, and go back to that part of the subject
which you _do_ understand. When I was reading
Mathematics for University honours, I would sometimes, after
working a week or two at some new book, and mastering ten or
twenty pages, get into a hopeless muddle, and find it just
as bad the next morning. My rule was _to begin the book
again_. And perhaps in another fortnight I had come to
the old difficulty with impetus enough to get over it. Or
perhaps not. I have several books that I have begun over and
over again.

My second hint shall be--Never leave an unsolved difficulty
_behind_. I mean, don't go any further in that book
till the difficulty is conquered. In this point, Mathematics
differs entirely from most other subjects. Suppose you are
reading an Italian book, and come to a hopelessly obscure
sentence--don't waste too much time on it, skip it, and go
on; you will do very well without it. But if you skip a
_mathematical_ difficulty, it is sure to crop up again:
you will find some other proof depending on it, and you will
only get deeper and deeper into the mud.

My third hint is, only go on working so long as the brain is
_quite_ clear. The moment you feel the ideas getting
confused leave off and rest, or your penalty will be that
you will never learn Mathematics _at all_!

Two more letters to the same friend are, I think, deserving of a place here:--

Eastbourne, _Sept_. 25, 1885.

My dear Edith,--One subject you touch on--"the Resurrection
of the Body"--is very interesting to me, and I have given it
much thought (I mean long ago). _My_ conclusion was to
give up the _literal_ meaning of the _material_
body altogether. _Identity_, in some mysterious way,
there evidently is; but there is no resisting the scientific
fact that the actual _material_ usable for
_physical_ bodies has been used over and over again--so
that each atom would have several owners. The mere solitary
fact of the existence of _cannibalism_ is to my mind a
sufficient _reductio ad absurdum_ of the theory that
the particular set of atoms I shall happen to own at death
(changed every seven years, they say) will be mine in the
next life--and all the other insuperable difficulties (such
as people born with bodily defects) are swept away at once
if we accept S. Paul's "spiritual body," and his simile of
the grain of corn. I have read very little of "Sartor
Resartus," and don't know the passage you quote: but I
accept the idea of the material body being the "dress" of
the spiritual--a dress needed for material life.

Ch. Ch., _Dec_. 13, 1885.

Dear Edith,--I have been a severe sufferer from
_Logical_ puzzles of late. I got into a regular tangle
about the "import of propositions," as the ordinary logical
books declare that "all _x_ is _z_" doesn't even
_hint_ that any _x_'s exist, but merely that the
qualities are so inseparable that, if ever _x_ occurs,
_z_ must occur also. As to "some _x_ is _z_"
they are discreetly silent; and the living authorities I
have appealed to, including our Professor of Logic, take
opposite sides! Some say it means that the qualities are so
connected that, if any _x_'s _did_ exist, some
_must_ be _z_--others that it only means
compatibility, _i.e.,_ that some _might_ be
_z_, and they would go on asserting, with perfect
belief in their truthfulness, "some boots are made of
brass," even if they had all the boots in the world before
them, and knew that _none_ were so made, merely because
there is no inherent impossibility in making boots of brass!
Isn't it bewildering? I shall have to mention all this in my
great work on Logic--but _I_ shall take the line "any
writer may mean exactly what he pleases by a phrase so long
as he explains it beforehand." But I shall not venture to
assert "some boots are made of brass" till I have found a
pair! The Professor of Logic came over one day to talk about
it, and we had a long and exciting argument, the result of
which was "_x -x_"--a magnitude which you will be able
to evaluate for yourself.

C. L. Dodgson.

As an example of the good advice Mr. Dodgson used to give his young friends, the following letter to Miss Isabel Standen will serve excellently:--

Eastbourne, _Aug_. 4, 1885.

I can quite understand, and much sympathise with, what you
say of your feeling lonely, and not what you can honestly
call "happy." Now I am going to give you a bit of philosophy
about that--my own experience is, that _every_ new form
of life we try is, just at first, irksome rather than
pleasant. My first day or two at the sea is a little
depressing; I miss the Christ Church interests, and haven't
taken up the threads of interest here; and, just in the same
way, my first day or two, when I get back to Christ Church,
I miss the seaside pleasures, and feel with unusual
clearness the bothers of business-routine. In all such
cases, the true philosophy, I believe, is "_wait_ a
bit." Our mental nerves seem to be so adjusted that we feel
_first_ and most keenly, the _dis_-comforts of any
new form of life; but, after a bit, we get used to them, and
cease to notice them; and _then_ we have time to
realise the enjoyable features, which at first we were too
much worried to be conscious of.

Suppose you hurt your arm, and had to wear it in a sling for
a month. For the first two or three days the discomfort of
the bandage, the pressure of the sling on the neck and
shoulder, the being unable to use the arm, would be a
constant worry. You would feel as if all comfort in life
were gone; after a couple of days you would be used to the
new sensations, after a week you perhaps wouldn't notice
them at all; and life would seem just as comfortable as
ever.

So my advice is, don't think about loneliness, or happiness,
or unhappiness, for a week or two. Then "take stock" again,
and compare your feelings with what they were two weeks
previously. If they have changed, even a little, for the
better you are on the right track; if not, we may begin to
suspect the life does not suit you. But what I want
_specially_ to urge is that there's no use in comparing
one's feelings between one day and the next; you must allow
a reasonable interval, for the _direction of_ change to
show itself.

Sit on the beach, and watch the waves for a few seconds; you
say "the tide is coming in "; watch half a dozen successive
waves, and you may say "the last is the lowest; it is going
out." Wait a quarter of an hour, and compare its
_average_ place with what it was at first, and you will
say "No, it is coming in after all." ...

With love, I am always affectionately yours,

C. L. Dodgson.

The next event to chronicle in Lewis Carroll's Life is the publication, by Messrs. Macmillan, of "A Tangled Tale," a series of mathematical problems which had originally appeared in the _Monthly Packet_. In addition to the problems themselves, the author added their correct solutions, with criticisms on the solutions, correct or otherwise, which the readers of the _Monthly Packet_ had sent in to him. With some people this is the most popular of all his books; it is certainly the most successful attempt he ever made to combine mathematics and humour. The book was illustrated by Mr. A.B. Frost, who entered most thoroughly into the spirit of the thing. One of his pictures, "Balbus was assisting his mother-in-law to convince the dragon," is irresistibly comic. A short quotation will better enable the reader to understand the point of the joke:--

Balbus was waiting for them at the hotel; the journey down
had tried him, he said; so his two pupils had been the round
of the place, in search of lodgings, without the old tutor
who had been their inseparable companion from their
childhood. They had named him after the hero of their Latin
exercise-book, which overflowed with anecdotes about that
versatile genius--anecdotes whose vagueness in detail was
more than compensated by their sensational brilliance.
"Balbus has overcome all his enemies" had been marked by
their tutor, in the margin of the book, "Successful
Bravery." In this way he had tried to extract a moral from
every anecdote about Balbus--sometimes one of warning, as in
"Balbus had borrowed a healthy dragon," against which he had
written, "Rashness in Speculation "--sometimes of
encouragement, as in the words, "Influence of Sympathy in
United Action," which stood opposite to the anecdote "Balbus
was assisting his mother-in-law to convince the dragon"--and
sometimes it dwindled down to a single word, such as
"Prudence," which was all he could extract from the touching
record that "Balbus, having scorched the tail of the dragon,
went away." His pupils liked the short morals best, as it
left them more room for marginal illustrations, and in this
instance they required all the space they could get to
exhibit the rapidity of the hero's departure.

Balbus and his pupils go in search of lodgings, which are only to be found in a certain square; at No. 52, one of the pupils supplements the usual questions by asking the landlady if the cat scratches:--

The landlady looked round suspiciously, as if to make sure
the cat was not listening. "I will not deceive you,
gentlemen," she said. "It _do_ scratch, but not without
you pulls its whiskers! It'll never do it," she repeated
slowly, with a visible effort to recall the exact words of
some written agreement between herself and the cat, "without
you pulls its whiskers!"

"Much may be excused in a cat so treated," said Balbus as
they left the house and crossed to No. 70, leaving the
landlady curtesying on the doorstep, and still murmuring to
herself her parting words, as if they were a form of
blessing--"Not without you pulls its whiskers!"

They secure one room at each of the following numbers--the square contains 20 doors on each side--Nine, Twenty-five, Fifty-two, and Seventy-three. They require three bedrooms and one day-room, and decide to take as day-room the one that gives them the least walking to do to get to it. The problem, of course, is to discover which room they adopted as the day-room. There are ten such "knots" in the book, and few, if any of them, can be untied without a good deal of thought.

Owing, probably, to the strain of incessant work, Mr. Dodgson about this period began to be subject to a very peculiar, yet not very uncommon, optical delusion, which takes the form of seeing moving fortifications. Considering the fact that he spent a good twelve hours out of every twenty-four in reading and writing, and that he was now well over fifty years old, it was not surprising that nature should begin to rebel at last, and warn him of the necessity of occasional rest.

Some verses on "Wonderland" by "One who loves Alice," appeared in the Christmas number of _Sylvia's Home Journal_, 1885. They were written by Miss M.E. Manners, and, as Lewis Carroll himself admired them, they will, I think, be read with interest:--

WONDERLAND.

How sweet those happy days gone by,
Those days of sunny weather,
When Alice fair, with golden hair,
And we--were young together;--
When first with eager gaze we scann'd
The page which told of Wonderland.

On hearthrug in the winter-time
We lay and read it over;
We read it in the summer's prime,
Amidst the hay and clover.
The trees, by evening breezes fann'd,
Murmured sweet tales of Wonderland.

We climbed the mantelpiece, and broke
The jars of Dresden china;
In Jabberwocky tongue we spoke,
We called the kitten "Dinah!"
And, oh! how earnestly we planned
To go ourselves to Wonderland.

The path was fringed with flowers rare,
With rainbow colours tinted;
The way was "up a winding stair,"
Our elders wisely hinted.
We did not wish to understand
_Bed_ was the road to Wonderland.

We thought we'd wait till we should grow
Stronger as well as bolder,
But now, alas! full well we know
We're only growing older.
The key held by a childish hand,
Fits best the door of Wonderland.

Yet still the Hatter drinks his tea,
The Duchess finds a moral,
And Tweedledum and Tweedledee
Forget in fright their quarrel.
The Walrus still weeps on the sand,
That strews the shores of Wonderland.

And other children feel the spell
Which once we felt before them,
And while the well-known tale we tell,
We watch it stealing o'er them:
Before their dazzled eyes expand
The glorious realms of Wonderland.

Yes, "time is fleet," and we have gained
Years more than twice eleven;
Alice, dear child, hast thou remained
"Exactually" seven?
With "proper aid," "two" could command
Time to go back in Wonderland.

Or have the years (untouched by charms),
With joy and sorrow laden,
Rolled by, and brought unto thy arms
A dainty little maiden?
Another Alice, who shall stand
By thee to hear of Wonderland.

Carroll! accept the heartfelt thanks
Of children of all ages,
Of those who long have left their ranks,
Yet still must love the pages
Written by him whose magic wand
Called up the scenes of Wonderland.

Long mayst thou live, the sound to hear
Which most thy heart rejoices,
Of children's laughter ringing clear,
And children's merry voices,
Until for thee an angel-hand
Draws back the veil of Wonderland.

One Who Loves "Alice."

Three letters, written at the beginning of 1886 to Miss Edith Rix, to whom he had dedicated "A Tangled Tale," are interesting as showing the deeper side of his character:--

Guildford, _Jan_. 15, 1886.

My dear Edith,--I have been meaning for some time to write
to you about agnosticism, and other matters in your letter
which I have left unnoticed. And yet I do not know, much as
what you say interests me, and much as I should like to be
of use to any wandering seeker after truth, that I am at all
likely to say anything that will be new to you and of any
practical use.

The Moral Science student you describe must be a beautiful
character, and if, as you say, she lives a noble life, then,
even though she does not, as yet, see any God, for whose
sake she can do things, I don't think you need be unhappy
about her. "When thou wast under the fig tree, I saw thee,"
is often supposed to mean that Nathanael had been
_praying_, praying no doubt ignorantly and imperfectly,
but yet using the light he had: and it seems to have been
accepted as faith in the Messiah. More and more it seems to
me (I hope you won't be _very_ much shocked at me as an
ultra "Broad" Churchman) that what a person _is_ is of
more importance in God's sight than merely what propositions
he affirms or denies. _You_, at any rate, can do more
good among those new friends of yours by showing them what a
Christian _is_, than by telling them what a Christian
_believes_....

I have a deep dread of argument on religious topics: it has
many risks, and little chance of doing good. You and I will
never _argue_, I hope, on any controverted religious
question: though I do hope we may see the day when we may
freely _speak_ of such things, even where we happen to
hold different views. But even then I should have no
inclination, if we did differ, to conclude that my view was
the right one, and to try to convert you to it....

Now I come to your letter dated Dec. 22nd, and must scold
you for saying that my solution of the problem was "quite
different _to_ all common ways of doing it": if
_you_ think that's good English, well and good; but
_I_ must beg to differ to you, and to hope you will
_never_ write me a sentence similar from this again.
However, "worse remains behind"; and if you deliberately
intend in future, when writing to me about one of England's
greatest poets, to call him "Shelly," then all I can say is,
that you and I will have to quarrel! Be warned in time.

C. L. Dodgson.

CH. Ch., _Jan_. 26, 1886.

My Dear Edith,--I am interested by what you say of Miss--.
You will know, without my saying it, that if she, or any
other friend of yours with any troubles, were to like to
write to me, I would _very_ gladly try to help: with
all my ignorance and weakness, God has, I think, blessed my
efforts in that way: but then His strength is made perfect
in weakness....

Ch. Ch., _Feb_. 14, 1886.

My Dear Edith,... I think I've already noticed, in a way,
most of the rest of that letter--except what you say about
learning more things "after we are dead." _I_ certainly
like to think that may be so. But I have heard the other
view strongly urged, a good deal based on "then shall we
know even as we are known." But I can't believe that that
means we shall have _all_ knowledge given us in a
moment--nor can I fancy it would make me any happier: it is
the _learning_ that is the chief joy, here, at any
rate....

I find another remark anent "pupils"--a bold speculation
that my 1,000 pupils may really "go on" in the future life,
till they _have_ really outstripped Euclid. And,
please, what is _Euclid_ to be doing all that time? ...

One of the most dreadful things you have ever told me is
your students' theory of going and speaking to any one they
are interested in, without any introductions. This, joined
with what you say of some of them being interested in
"Alice," suggests the horrid idea of their some day walking
into this room and beginning a conversation. It is enough to
make one shiver, even to think of it!

Never mind if people do say "Good gracious!" when you help
old women: it _is_ being, in some degree, both "good"
_and_ "gracious," one may hope. So the remark wasn't so
inappropriate.

I fear I agree with your friend in not liking all sermons.
Some of them, one has to confess, are rubbish: but then I
release my attention from the preacher, and go ahead in any
line of thought he may have started: and his after-eloquence
acts as a kind of accompaniment--like music while one is
reading poetry, which often, to me, adds to the effect.

C. L. Dodgson.

The "Alice" operetta, which Mr. Dodgson had despaired of, was at last to become a reality. Mr. Savile Clarke wrote on August 28th to ask his leave to dramatise the two books, and he gladly assented. He only made one condition, which was very characteristic of him, that there should be "no _suggestion_ even of coarseness in libretto or in stage business." The hint was hardly necessary, for Mr. Savile Clarke was not the sort of man to spoil his work, or to allow others to spoil it, by vulgarity. Several alterations were made in the books before they were suitable for a dramatic performance; Mr. Dodgson had to write a song for the ghosts of the oysters, which the Walrus and the Carpenter had devoured. He also completed "Tis the voice of the lobster," so as to make it into a song. It ran as follows:--

Tis the voice of the lobster; I heard him declare
"You have baked me too brown: I must sugar my hair."
As a duck with its eyelids, so he with his nose
Trims his belt and his buttons, and turns out his toes.
When the sands are all dry, he is gay as a lark,
And talks with the utmost contempt of the shark;
But when the tide rises, and sharks are around,
His words have a timid and tremulous sound.

I passed by his garden, and marked, with one eye,
How the owl and the panther were sharing a pie:
The panther took pie-crust, and gravy, and meat,
And the owl had the dish for his share of the treat.
When the plate was divided, the owl, as a boon,
Was kindly permitted to pocket the spoon:
But the panther obtained both the fork and the knife,
So, when _he_ lost his temper, the owl lost its life.

The play, for the first few weeks at least, was a great success. Some notes in Mr. Dodgson's Diary which relate to it, show how he appreciated Mr. Savile Clarke's venture:--

_Dec. 30th._--To London with M--, and took her to
"Alice in Wonderland," Mr. Savile Clarke's play at the
Prince of Wales's Theatre. The first act (Wonderland) goes
well, specially the Mad Tea Party. Mr. Sydney Harcourt is a
capital Hatter, and little Dorothy d'Alcourt (æt. 61/2) a
delicious Dormouse. Phoebe Carlo is a splendid Alice. Her
song and dance with the Cheshire Cat (Master C. Adeson, who
played the Pirate King in "Pirates of Penzance") was a gem.
As a whole the play seems a success.

_Feb_. 11, 1887.--Went to the "Alice" play, where we
sat next a chatty old gentleman, who told me that the author
of "Alice" had sent Phoebe Carlo a book, and that she had
written to him to say that she would do her very best, and
further, that he is "an Oxford man"--all which I hope I
received with a sufficient expression of pleased interest.

Shortly before the production of the play, a Miss Whitehead had drawn a very clever medley-picture, in which nearly all Tenniel's wonderful creations--the Dormouse, the White Knight, the Mad Hatter, &c.--appeared. This design was most useful as a "poster" to advertise the play. After the London run was over, the company made a tour of the provinces, where it met with a fair amount of success.

At the end of 1886, "Alice's Adventures Underground," a facsimile of the original MS. book, afterwards developed into "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland," with thirty-seven illustrations by the author, was published by Macmillan & Co. A postscript to the Preface stated that any profits that might arise from the book would be given to Children's Hospitals and Convalescent Homes for Sick Children. Shortly before the book came out, Lewis Carroll wrote to Mrs. Hargreaves, giving a description of the difficulties that he had encountered in producing it:--

Christ Church, Oxford,

_November_ 11, 1886.

My Dear Mrs. Hargreaves,--Many thanks for your permission to
insert "Hospitals" in the Preface to your book. I have had
almost as many adventures in getting that unfortunate
facsimile finished, _Above_ ground, as your namesake
had _Under_ it!

First, the zincographer in London, recommended to me for
photographing the book, page by page, and preparing the
zinc-blocks, declined to undertake it unless I would entrust
the book to _him_, which I entirely refused to do. I
felt that it was only due to you, in return for your great
kindness in lending so unique a book, to be scrupulous in
not letting it be even _touched_ by the workmen's
hands. In vain I offered to come and reside in London with
the book, and to attend daily in the studio, to place it in
position to be photographed, and turn over the pages as
required. He said that could not be done because "other
authors' works were being photographed there, which must on
no account be seen by the public." I undertook not to look
at _anything_ but my own book; but it was no use: we
could not come to terms.

Then -- recommended me a certain Mr. X--, an excellent
photographer, but in so small a way of business that I
should have to _prepay_ him, bit by bit, for the
zinc-blocks: and _he_ was willing to come to Oxford,
and do it here. So it was all done in my studio, I remaining
in waiting all the time, to turn over the pages.

But I daresay I have told you so much of the story already.

Mr. X-- did a first-rate set of negatives, and took them
away with him to get the zinc-blocks made. These he
delivered pretty regularly at first, and there seemed to be
every prospect of getting the book out by Christmas, 1885.

On October 18, 1885, I sent your book to Mrs. Liddell, who
had told me your sisters were going to visit you and would
take it with them. I trust it reached you safely?

Soon after this--I having prepaid for the whole of the
zinc-blocks--the supply suddenly ceased, while twenty-two
pages were still due, and Mr. X-- disappeared!

My belief is that he was in hiding from his creditors. We
sought him in vain. So things went on for months. At one
time I thought of employing a detective to find him, but was
assured that "all detectives are scoundrels." The
alternative seemed to be to ask you to lend the book again,
and get the missing pages re-photographed. But I was most
unwilling to rob you of it again, and also afraid of the
risk of loss of the book, if sent by post--for even
"registered post" does not seem _absolutely_ safe.

In April he called at Macmillan's and left _eight_
blocks, and again vanished into obscurity.

This left us with fourteen pages (dotted up and down the
book) still missing. I waited awhile longer, and then put
the thing into the hands of a solicitor, who soon found the
man, but could get nothing but promises from him. "You will
never get the blocks," said the solicitor, "unless you
frighten him by a summons before a magistrate." To this at
last I unwillingly consented: the summons had to be taken
out at--(that is where this aggravating man is living),
and this entailed two journeys from Eastbourne--one to get
the summons (my _personal_ presence being necessary),
and the other to attend in court with the solicitor on the
day fixed for hearing the case. The defendant didn't appear;
so the magistrate said he would take the case in his
absence. Then I had the new and exciting experience of being
put into the witness-box, and sworn, and cross-examined by a
rather savage magistrate's clerk, who seemed to think that,
if he only bullied me enough, he would soon catch me out in
a falsehood! I had to give the magistrate a little lecture
on photo-zincography, and the poor man declared the case was
so complicated he must adjourn it for another week. But this
time, in order to secure the presence of our slippery
defendant, he issued a warrant for his apprehension, and the
constable had orders to take him into custody and lodge him
in prison, the night before the day when the case was to
come on. The news of _this_ effectually frightened him,
and he delivered up the fourteen negatives (he hadn't done
the blocks) before the fatal day arrived. I was rejoiced to
get them, even though it entailed the paying a second time
for getting the fourteen blocks done, and withdrew the
action.

The fourteen blocks were quickly done and put into the
printer's hands; and all is going on smoothly at last: and I
quite hope to have the book completed, and to be able to
send you a very special copy (bound in white vellum, unless
you would prefer some other style of binding) by the end of
the month.

Believe me always,

Sincerely yours,

C. L. Dodgson.

"The Game of Logic" was Lewis Carroll's next book; it appeared about the end of February, 1887. As a method of teaching the first principles of Logic to children it has proved most useful; the subject, usually considered very difficult to a beginner, is made extremely easy by simplification of method, and both interesting and amusing by the quaint syllogisms that the author devised, such as--

No bald person needs a hair-brush;
No lizards have hair;
Therefore[1] No lizard needs a hair brush.

Caterpillars are not eloquent;
Jones is eloquent;
Jones is not a caterpillar.

Meanwhile, with much interchange of correspondence between author and artist, the pictures for the new fairy tale, "Sylvie and Bruno," were being gradually evolved. Each of them was subjected by Lewis Carroll to the most minute criticism--hyper-criticism, perhaps, occasionally. A few instances of the sort of criticisms he used to make upon Mr. Furniss's work may be interesting; I have extracted them from a letter dated September 1, 1887. It will be seen that when he really admired a sketch he did not stint his praise:--

(1) "Sylvie helping beetle" [p. 193]. A quite charming
composition.

(3) "The Doctor" and "Eric." (Mr. Furniss's idea of their
appearance). No! The Doctor won't do _at all!_ He is a
smug London man, a great "ladies' man," who would hardly
talk anything but medical "shop." He is forty at least, and
can have had no love-affair for the last fifteen years. I
want him to be about twenty-five, powerful in frame,
poetical in face: capable of intelligent interest in any
subject, and of being a passionate lover. How would you draw
King Arthur when he first met Guinevere? Try _that_
type.

Eric's attitude is capital: but his face is a little too
near to the ordinary "masher." Please avoid _that_
inane creature; and please don't cut his hair short. That
fashion will be "out" directly.

(4) "Lady Muriel" (head); ditto (full length); "Earl."

I don't like _either_ face of Lady Muriel. I don't
think I could talk to her; and I'm quite sure I couldn't
fall in love with her. Her dress ("evening," of course) is
very pretty, I think.

I don't like the Earl's face either. He is proud of his
title, very formal, and one who would keep one "at arm's
length" always. And he is too prodigiously tall. I want a
gentle, genial old man; with whom one would feel at one's
ease in a moment.

(8) "Uggug becoming Porcupine" ("Sylvie and Bruno,
Concluded," page 388), is exactly my conception of it. I
expect this will be one of the most effective pictures in
the book. The faces of the people should express intense
_terror_.

(9) "The Professor" is altogether _delightful_. When
you get the text, you will see that you have hit the very
centre of the bull's-eye.

[A sketch of "Bruno"]. No, no! Please don't give us the (to
my mind) very ugly, quite modern costume, which shows with
such cruel distinctness a podgy, pot-bellied (excuse the
vulgarism) boy, who couldn't run a mile to save his life. I
want Bruno to be _strong_, but at the same time light
and active--with the figure of one of the little acrobats
one sees at the circus--not "Master Tommy," who habitually
gorges himself with pudding. Also that dress I dislike very
much. Please give him a short tunic, and _real_
knickerbockers--not the tight knee-breeches they are rapidly
shrinking to.

Very truly yours,

C. L. Dodgson.

By Mr. Furniss's kind permission I am enabled to give an example of the other side of the correspondence, one of his letters to Mr. Dodgson, all the more interesting for the charming little sketch which it contains.

With respect to the spider, Mr. Dodgson had written: "Some writer says that the full face of a spider, as seen under a magnifying-glass, is very striking."

* * * * *