Chapter VIII: (1892-1896)

Mr. Dodgson resigns the Curatorship--Bazaars--He lectures to
children--A mechanical "Humpty Dumpty"--A logical
controversy--Albert Chevalier--"Sylvie and Bruno
Concluded"--"Pillow Problems"--Mr. Dodgson's
generosity--College services--Religious difficulties--A
village sermon--Plans for the future--Reverence--"Symbolic
Logic."

At Christ Church, as at other Colleges, the Common Room is an important feature. Open from eight in the morning until ten at night, it takes the place of a club, where the "dons" may see the newspapers, talk, write letters, or enjoy a cup of tea. After dinner, members of High Table, with their guests if any are present, usually adjourn to the Common Room for wine and dessert, while there is a smoking-room hard by for those who do not despise the harmless but unnecessary weed, and below are cellars, with a goodly store of choice old wines.

The Curator's duties were therefore sufficiently onerous. They were doubly so in Mr. Dodgson's case, for his love of minute accuracy greatly increased the amount of work he had to do. It was his office to select and purchase wines, to keep accounts, to adjust selling price to cost price, to see that the two Common Room servants performed their duties, and generally to look after the comfort and convenience of the members.

"Having heard," he wrote near the end of the year 1892, "that Strong was willing to be elected (as Curator), and Common Room willing to elect him, I most gladly resigned. The sense of relief at being free from the burdensome office, which has cost me a large amount of time and trouble, is very delightful. I was made Curator, December 8, 1882, so that I have held the office more than nine years."

The literary results of his Curatorship were three very interesting little pamphlets, "Twelve Months in a Curatorship, by One who has tried it"; "Three years in a Curatorship, by One whom it has tried"; and "Curiosissima Curatoria, by 'Rude Donatus,'" all printed for private circulation, and couched in the same serio-comic vein. As a logician he naturally liked to see his thoughts in print, for, just as the mathematical mind craves for a black-board and a piece of chalk, so the logical mind must have its paper and printing-press wherewith to set forth its deductions effectively.

A few extracts must suffice to show the style of these pamphlets, and the opportunity offered for the display of humour.

In the arrangement of the prices at which wines were to be sold to members of Common Room, he found a fine scope for the exercise of his mathematical talents and his sense of proportion. In one of the pamphlets he takes old Port and Chablis as illustrations.

The original cost of each is about 3s. a bottle; but the
present value of the old Port is about 11s. a bottle. Let us
suppose, then, that we have to sell to Common Room one
bottle of old Port and three of Chablis, the original cost
of the whole being 12s., and the present value 20s. These
are our data. We have now two questions to answer. First,
what sum shall we ask for the whole? Secondly, how shall we
apportion that sum between the two kinds of wine?

The sum to be asked for the whole he decides, following precedent, is to be the present market-value of the wine; as to the second question, he goes on to say--

We have, as so often happens in the lives of distinguished
premiers, three courses before us: (1) to charge the
_present_ value for each kind of wine; (2) to put on a
certain percentage to the _original_ value of each
kind; (3) to make a compromise between these two courses.

Course 1 seems to me perfectly reasonable; but a very
plausible objection has been made to it--that it puts a
prohibitory price on the valuable wines, and that they would
remain unconsumed. This would not, however, involve any loss
to our finances; we could obviously realise the enhanced
values of the old wines by selling them to outsiders, if the
members of Common Room would not buy them. But I do not
advocate this course.

Course 2 would lead to charging 5s. a bottle for Port and
Chablis alike. The Port-drinker would be "in clover," while
the Chablis-drinker would probably begin getting his wine
direct from the merchant instead of from the Common Room
cellar, which would be a _reductio ad absurdum_ of the
tariff. Yet I have heard this course advocated, repeatedly,
as an abstract principle. "You ought to consider the
_original_ value only," I have been told. "You ought to
regard the Port-drinker as a private individual, who has
laid the wine in for himself, and who ought to have all the
advantages of its enhanced value. You cannot fairly ask him
for more than what you need to refill the bins with Port,
_plus_ the percentage thereon needed to meet the
contingent expenses." I have listened to such arguments, but
have never been convinced that the course is just. It seems
to me that the 8s. additional value which the bottle of Port
has acquired, is the property of _Common Room_, and
that Common Room has the power to give it to whom it
chooses; and it does not seem to me fair to give it all to
the Port-drinker. What merit is there in preferring Port to
Chablis, that could justify our selling the Port-drinker his
wine at less than half what he would have to give outside,
and charging the Chablis-drinker five-thirds of what he
would have to give outside? At all events, I, as a
Port-drinker, do not wish to absorb the whole advantage, and
would gladly share it with the Chablis-drinker. The course I
recommend is

Course 3, which is a compromise between 1 and 2, its
essential principle being to sell the new wines _above_
their value, in order to be able to sell the old
_below_ their value. And it is clearly desirable, as
far as possible, to make the reductions _where they will
be felt,_ and the additions _where they will not be
felt._ Moreover it seems to me that reduction is most
felt where it _goes down to the next round sum,_ and an
addition in the reverse case, _i.e.,_ when it _starts
from a round sum._ Thus, if we were to take 2d. off a 5s.
8d. wine, and add it to a 4s. 4d.--thus selling them at 5s.
6d. and 4s. 6d. the reduction would be welcomed, and the
addition unnoticed; and the change would be a popular one.

The next extract shows with what light-hearted frivolity he could approach this tremendous subject of wine:--

The consumption of Madeira (B) has been during the past
year, zero. After careful calculation I estimate that, if
this rate of consumption be steadily maintained, our present
stock will last us an infinite number of years. And although
there may be something monotonous and dreary in the prospect
of such vast cycles spent in drinking second-class Madeira,
we may yet cheer ourselves with the thought of how
economically it can be done.

To assist the Curator in the discharge of his duties, there was a Wine Committee, and for its guidance a series of rules was drawn up. The first runs as follows: "There shall be a Wine Committee, consisting of five persons, including the Curator, whose duty it shall be to assist the Curator in the management of the cellar." "Hence," wrote Mr. Dodgson, "logically it is the bounden duty of the Curator 'to assist himself.' I decline to say whether this clause has ever brightened existence for me--or whether, in the shades of evening, I may ever have been observed leaving the Common Room cellars with a small but suspicious-looking bundle, and murmuring, 'Assist thyself, assist thyself!'"

Every Christmas at Christ Church the children of the College servants have a party in the Hall. This year he was asked to entertain them, and gladly consented to do so. He hired a magic lantern and a large number of slides, and with their help told the children the three following stories: (1) "The Epiphany"; (2) "The Children Lost in the Bush"; (3) "Bruno's Picnic."

I have already referred to the services held in Christ Church for the College servants, at which Mr. Dodgson used frequently to preach. The way in which he regarded this work is very characteristic of the man. "Once more," he writes, "I have to thank my Heavenly Father for the great blessing and privilege of being allowed to speak for Him! May He bless my words to help some soul on its heavenward way." After one of these addresses he received a note from a member of the congregation, thanking him for what he had said. "It is very sweet," he said, "to get such words now and then; but there is danger in them if more such come, I must beg for silence."

During the year Mr. Dodgson wrote the following letter to the Rev. C.A. Goodhart, Rector of Lambourne, Essex:--

Dear Sir,--Your kind, sympathising and most encouraging
letter about "Sylvie and Bruno" has deserved a better
treatment from me than to have been thus kept waiting more
than two years for an answer. But life is short; and one has
many other things to do; and I have been for years almost
hopelessly in arrears in correspondence. I keep a register,
so that letters which I intend to answer do somehow come to
the front at last.

In "Sylvie and Bruno" I took courage to introduce what I had
entirely avoided in the two "Alice" books--some reference to
subjects which are, after all, the _only_ subjects of real
interest in life, subjects which are so intimately bound up
with every topic of human interest that it needs more effort
to avoid them than to touch on them; and I felt that such a
book was more suitable to a clerical writer than one of mere
fun.

I hope I have not offended many (evidently I have not
offended _you_) by putting scenes of mere fun, and talk
about God, into the same book.

Only one of all my correspondents ever guessed there was
more to come of the book. She was a child, personally
unknown to me, who wrote to "Lewis Carroll" a sweet letter
about the book, in which she said, "I'm so glad it hasn't
got a regular wind-up, as it shows there is more to come!"

There is indeed "more to come." When I came to piece
together the mass of accumulated material I found it was
quite _double_ what could be put into one volume. So I
divided it in the middle; and I hope to bring out "Sylvie
and Bruno Concluded" next Christmas--if, that is, my
Heavenly Master gives me the time and the strength for the
task; but I am nearly 60, and have no right to count on
years to come.

In signing my real name, let me beg you not to let the
information go further--I have an _intense_ dislike to
personal publicity; and, the more people there are who know
nothing of "Lewis Carroll" save his books, the happier I am.

Believe me, sincerely yours,

Charles L. Dodgson.

I have made no attempt to chronicle all the games and puzzles which Lewis Carroll invented. A list of such as have been published will be found in the Bibliographical chapter. He intended to bring out a book of "Original Games and Puzzles," with illustrations by Miss E. Gertrude Thomson. The MS. was, I believe, almost complete before his death, and one, at least, of the pictures had been drawn. On June 30th he wrote in his Diary, "Invented what I think is a new kind of riddle. A Russian had three sons. The first, named Rab, became a lawyer; the second, Ymra, became a soldier; the third became a sailor. What was his name?"

The following letter written to a child-friend, Miss E. Drury, illustrates Lewis Carroll's hatred of bazaars:--

Ch. Ch., Oxford, _Nov_. 10, 1892.

My dear Emmie,--I object to _all_ bazaars on the general
principle that they are very undesirable schools for young
ladies, in which they learn to be "too fast" and forward,
and are more exposed to undesirable acquaintances than in
ordinary society. And I have, besides that, special
objections to bazaars connected with charitable or religious
purposes. It seems to me that they desecrate the religious
object by their undesirable features, and that they take the
reality out of all charity by getting people to think that
they are doing a good action, when their true motive is
amusement for themselves. Ruskin has put all this far better
than I can possibly do, and, if I can find the passage, and
find the time to copy it, I will send it you. But _time_ is
a very scarce luxury for me!

Always yours affectionately,

C.L. Dodgson.

In his later years he used often to give lectures on various subjects to children. He gave a series on "Logic" at the Oxford Girls' High School, but he sometimes went further afield, as in the following instance:--

Went, as arranged with Miss A. Ottley, to the High School at
Worcester, on a visit. At half-past three I had an audience
of about a hundred little girls, aged, I should think, from
about six to fourteen. I showed them two arithmetic puzzles
on the black-board, and told them "Bruno's Picnic." At
half-past seven I addressed some serious words to a second
audience of about a hundred elder girls, probably from
fifteen to twenty--an experience of the deepest interest to
me.

The illustration on the next page will be best explained by the following letter which I have received from Mr. Walter Lindsay, of Philadelphia, U.S.:--

Phila., _September_ 12, 1898.

Dear Sir,--I shall be very glad to furnish what information
I can with respect to the "Mechanical Humpty Dumpty" which I
constructed a few years ago, but I must begin by
acknowledging that, in one sense at least, I did not
"invent" the figure. The idea was first put into my head by
an article in the _Cosmopolitan_, somewhere about 1891, I
suppose, describing a similar contrivance. As a devoted
admirer of the "Alice" books, I determined to build a Humpty
Dumpty of my own; but I left the model set by the author of
the article mentioned, and constructed the figure on
entirely different lines. In the first place, the figure as
described in the magazine had very few movements, and not
very satisfactory ones at that; and in the second place, no
attempt whatever was made to reproduce, even in a general
way, the well-known appearance of Tenniel's drawing. Humpty,
when completed, was about two feet and a half high. His
face, of course, was white; the lower half of the egg was
dressed in brilliant blue. His stockings were grey, and the
famous cravat orange, with a zigzag pattern in blue. I am
sorry to say that the photograph hardly does him justice;
but he had travelled to so many different places during his
career, that he began to be decidedly out of shape before he
sat for his portrait.

When Humpty was about to perform, a short "talk" was usually
given before the curtain rose, explaining the way in which
the Sheep put the egg on the shelf at the back of the little
shop, and how Alice went groping along to it. And then, just
as the explanation had reached the opening of the chapter on
Humpty Dumpty, the curtain rose, and Humpty was discovered,
sitting on the wall, and gazing into vacancy. As soon as the
audience had had time to recover, Alice entered, and the
conversation was carried on just as it is in the book.
Humpty Dumpty gesticulated with his arms, rolled his eyes,
raised his eyebrows, frowned, turned up his nose in scorn at
Alice's ignorance, and smiled from ear to ear when he shook
hands with her. Besides this, his mouth kept time with his
words all through the dialogue, which added very greatly to
his life-like appearance.

The effect of his huge face, as it changed from one
expression to another, was ludicrous in the extreme, and we
were often obliged to repeat sentences in the conversation
(to "go back to the last remark but one") because the
audience laughed so loudly over Humpty Dumpty's expression
of face that they drowned what he was trying to say. The
funniest effect was the change from the look of
self-satisfied complacency with which he accompanied the
words: "The king has promised me--" to that of towering rage
when Alice innocently betrays her knowledge of the secret.
At the close of the scene, when Alice has vainly endeavoured
to draw him into further conversation, and at last walks
away in disgust, Humpty loses his balance on the wall,
recovers himself, totters again, and then falls off
backwards; at the same time a box full of broken glass is
dropped on the floor behind the scenes, to represent the
"heavy crash," which "shook the forest from end to
end";--and the curtain falls.

Now, as to how it was all done. Humpty was made of barrel
hoops, and covered with stiff paper and muslin. His eyes
were round balls of rags, covered with muslin, drawn
smoothly, and with the pupil and iris marked on the front.
These eyes were pivoted to a board, fastened just behind the
eye-openings in the face. To the eyeballs were sewed strong
pieces of tape, which passed through screw-eyes on the edges
of the board, and so down to a row of levers which were
hinged in the lower part of the figure. One lever raised
both eyes upward, another moved them both to the left, and
so on. The eyebrows were of worsted and indiarubber knitted
together. They were fastened at the ends, and raised and
lowered by fine white threads passing through small holes in
the face, and also operated by levers. The arms projected
into the interior of the machine, and the gestures were made
by moving the short ends inside. The right hand contained a
spring clothes-pin, by which he was enabled to hold the
note-book in which Alice set down the celebrated problem--

365
1
___
364

The movement of the mouth, in talking, was produced by a
long tape, running down to a pedal, which was controlled by
the foot of the performer. And the smile consisted of long
strips of red tape, which were drawn out through slits at
the corners of the mouth by means of threads which passed
through holes in the sides of the head. The performer--who
was always your humble servant--stood on a box behind the
wall, his head just reaching the top of the egg, which was
open all the way up the back. At the lower end of the
figure, convenient to the hands of the performer, was the
row of levers, like a little keyboard; and by striking
different chords on the keys, any desired expression could
be produced on the face.

Of course, a performance of this kind without a good Alice
would be unutterably flat; but the little girl who played
opposite to Humpty, Miss Nellie K---, was so exactly the
counterpart of Alice, both in appearance and disposition,
that most children thought she was the original, right out
of the book.

Humpty still exists, but he has not seen active life for
some years. His own popularity was the cause of his
retirement; for having given a number of performances (for
Charity, of course), and delighted many thousands of
children of all ages, the demands upon his time, from
Sunday-schools and other institutions, became so numerous
that the performers were obliged to withdraw him in
self-defence. He was a great deal of trouble to build, but
the success he met with and the pleasure he gave more than
repaid me for the bother; and I am sure that any one else
who tries it will reach the same conclusion.

Yours sincerely,

Walter Lindsay.

At the beginning of 1893 a fierce logical battle was being waged between Lewis Carroll and Mr. Cook Wilson, Professor of Logic at Oxford. The Professor, in spite of the countless arguments that Mr. Dodgson hurled at his head, would not confess that he had committed a fallacy.

On February 5th the Professor appears to have conceded a point, for Mr. Dodgson writes: "Heard from Cook Wilson, who has long declined to read a paper which I sent January 12th, and which seems to me to prove the fallacy of a view of his about Hypotheticals. He now offers to read it, if _I_ will study a proof he sent, that another problem of mine had contradictory _data_. I have accepted his offer, and studied and answered his paper. So I now look forward hopefully to the result of his reading mine."

The hopes which he entertained were doomed to be disappointed; the controversy bore no fruits save a few pamphlets and an enormous amount of correspondence, and finally the two antagonists had to agree to differ.

As a rule Mr. Dodgson was a stern opponent of music-halls and music-hall singers; but he made one or two exceptions with regard to the latter. For Chevalier he had nothing but praise; he heard him at one of his recitals, for he never in his life entered a "Variety Theatre." I give the passage from his Diary:--

Went to hear Mr. Albert Chevalier's Recital. I only knew of
him as being now recognised as _facile princeps_ among
music-hall singers, and did not remember that I had seen him
twice or oftener on the stage--first as "Mr. Hobbs" in
"Little Lord Fauntleroy," and afterwards as a "horsy" young
man in a _matinée_ in which Violet Vanbrugh appeared. He was
decidedly _good_ as an actor; but as a comic singer (with
considerable powers of pathos as well) he is quite
first-rate. His chief merit seems to be the earnestness with
which he throws himself into the work. The songs (mostly his
own writing) were quite inoffensive, and very funny. I am
very glad to be able to think that his influence on public
taste is towards refinement and purity. I liked best "The
Future Mrs. 'Awkins," with its taking tune, and "My Old
Dutch," which revealed powers that, I should think, would
come out grandly in Robsonian parts, such as "The Porter's
Knot." "The Little Nipper" was also well worth hearing.

Mr. Dodgson's views on Sunday Observance were old-fashioned, but he lived up to them, and did not try to force them upon people with whose actions he had no concern. They were purely matters of "private opinion" with him. On October 2nd he wrote to Miss E.G. Thomson, who was illustrating his "Three Sunsets":--

Would you kindly do _no_ sketches, or photos, for
_me_, on a Sunday? It is, in _my_ view (of
_course_ I don't condemn any one who differs from me)
inconsistent with keeping the day holy. I do _not_ hold
it to be the Jewish "Sabbath," but I _do_ hold it to be
"the Lord's Day," and so to be made very distinct from the
other days.

In December, the Logical controversy being over for a time, Mr. Dodgson invented a new problem to puzzle his mathematical friends with, which was called "The Monkey and Weight Problem." A rope is supposed to be hung over a wheel fixed to the roof of a building; at one end of the rope a weight is fixed, which exactly counterbalances a monkey which is hanging on to the other end. Suppose that the monkey begins to climb the rope, what will be the result? The following extract from the Diary illustrates the several possible answers which may be given:--

Got Professor Clifton's answer to the "Monkey and Weight
Problem." It is very curious, the different views taken by
good mathematicians. Price says the weight goes _up_, with
increasing velocity; Clifton (and Harcourt) that it goes
_up_, at the same rate as the monkey; while Sampson says
that it goes _down_.

On December 24th Mr. Dodgson received the first twelve copies of "Sylvie and Bruno Concluded," just about four years after the appearance of the first part of the story. In this second volume the two fairy children are as delightful as ever; it also contains what I think most people will agree to be the most beautiful poem Lewis Carroll ever wrote, "Say, what is the spell, when her fledglings are cheeping?" (p. 305). In the preface he pays a well-deserved compliment to Mr. Harry Furniss for his wonderfully clever pictures; he also explains how the book was written, showing that many of the amusing remarks of Bruno had been uttered by real children. He makes allusion to two books, which only his death prevented him from finishing--"Original Games and Puzzles," and a paper on "Sport," viewed from the standpoint of the humanitarian. From a literary point of view the second volume of "Sylvie and Bruno" lacks unity; a fairy tale is all very well, and a novel also is all very well, but the combination of the two is surely a mistake. However, the reader who cares more for the spirit than the letter will not notice this blemish; to him "Sylvie and Bruno Concluded" will be interesting and helpful, as the revelation of a very beautiful personality.

You have made everything turn out just as I should have
chosen [writes a friend to whom he had sent a copy], and
made right all that disappointed me in the first part. I
have not only to thank you for writing an interesting book,
but for writing a helpful one too. I am sure that "Sylvie
and Bruno" has given me many thoughts that will help me all
life through. One cannot know "Sylvie" without being the
better for it. You may say that "Mister Sir" is not
consciously meant to be yourself, but I cannot help feeling
that he is. As "Mister Sir" talks, I hear your voice in
every word. I think, perhaps, that is why I like the book so
much.

I have received an interesting letter from Mr. Furniss, bearing upon the subject of "Sylvie and Bruno," and Lewis Carroll's methods of work. The letter runs as follows:--

I have illustrated stories of most of our leading authors,
and I can safely say that Lewis Carroll was the only one who
cared to understand the illustrations to his own book. He
was the W. S. Gilbert for children, and, like Gilbert
producing one of his operas, Lewis Carroll took infinite
pains to study every detail in producing his extraordinary
and delightful books. Mr. Gilbert, as every one knows, has a
model of the stage; he puts up the scenery, draws every
figure, moves them about just as he wishes the real actors
to move about. Lewis Carroll was precisely the same. This,
of course, led to a great deal of work and trouble, and made
the illustrating of his books more a matter of artistic
interest than of professional profit. I was _seven years_
illustrating his last work, and during that time I had the
pleasure of many an interesting meeting with the fascinating
author, and I was quite repaid for the trouble I took, not
only by his generous appreciation of my efforts, but by the
liberal remuneration he gave for the work, and also by the
charm of having intercourse with the interesting, if
somewhat erratic genius.

A book very different in character from "Sylvie and Bruno," but under the same well-known pseudonym, appeared about the same time. I refer to "Pillow Problems," the second part of the series entitled "Curiosa Mathematica."

"Pillow Problems thought out during wakeful hours" is a collection of mathematical problems, which Mr. Dodgson solved while lying awake at night. A few there are to which the title is not strictly applicable, but all alike were worked out mentally before any diagram or word of the solution was committed to paper.

The author says that his usual practice was to write down the _answer_ first of all, and afterwards the question and its solution. His motive, he says, for publishing these problems was not from any desire to display his powers of mental calculation. Those who knew him will readily believe this, though they will hardly be inclined to accept his own modest estimate of those powers.

Still the book was intended, not for the select few who can scale the mountain heights of advanced mathematics, but for the much larger class of ordinary mathematicians, and they at least will be able to appreciate the gifted author, and to wonder how he could follow so clearly in his head the mental diagrams and intricate calculations involved in some of these "Pillow Problems."

His chief motive in publishing the book was to show how, by a little determination, the mind "can be made to concentrate itself on some intellectual subject (not necessarily mathematics), and thus banish those petty troubles and vexations which most people experience, and which--unless the mind be otherwise occupied--_will_ persist in invading the hours of night." And this remedy, as he shows, serves a higher purpose still. In a paragraph which deserves quoting at length, as it gives us a momentary glimpse of his refined and beautiful character, he says:--

Perhaps I may venture for a moment to use a more serious
tone, and to point out that there are mental troubles, much
worse than mere worry, for which an absorbing object of
thought may serve as a remedy. There are sceptical thoughts,
which seem for the moment to uproot the firmest faith: there
are blasphemous thoughts, which dart unbidden into the most
reverent souls: there are unholy thoughts, which torture
with their hateful presence the fancy that would fain be
pure. Against all these some real mental work is a most
helpful ally. That "unclean spirit" of the parable, who
brought back with him seven others more wicked than himself,
only did so because he found the chamber "swept and
garnished," and its owner sitting with folded hands. Had he
found it all alive with the "busy hum" of active _work_,
there would have been scant welcome for him and his seven!

It would have robbed the book of its true character if Lewis Carroll had attempted to improve on the work done in his head, and consequently we have the solutions exactly as he worked them out before setting them down on paper. Of the Problems themselves there is not much to be said here; they are original, and some of them (e.g., No. 52) expressed in a style peculiarly the author's own. The subjects included in their range are Arithmetic, Algebra, Pure Geometry (Plane), Trigonometry, Algebraic Geometry, and Differential Calculus; and there is one Problem to which Mr. Dodgson says he "can proudly point," in "Transcendental Probabilities," which is here given: "A bag contains two counters, as to which nothing is known except that each is either black or white. Ascertain their colour without taking them out of the bag." The answer is, "One is black and the other white." For the solution the reader is referred to the book itself, a study of which will well repay him, apart from the chance he may have of discovering some mistake, and the consequent joy thereat!

A few extracts from the Diary follow, written during the early part of 1894:--

_Feb._ 1_st.--Dies notandus._ As Ragg was reading
Prayers, and Bayne and I were the only M.A.'s in the stalls,
I tried the experiment of going to the lectern and reading
the lesson. I did not hesitate much, but feel it too great a
strain on the nerves to be tried often. Then I went to the
Latin Chapel for Holy Communion. Only Paget (Dean) and Dr.
Huntley came: so, for the first time in my recollection, it
had to be given up. Then I returned to my rooms, and found
in _The Standard_ the very important communication from
Gladstone denying the rumour that he has decided upon
resigning the Premiership, but admitting that, owing to
failing powers, it may come at any moment. It will make a
complete change in the position of politics! Then I got,
from Cook Wilson, what I have been so long trying for--an
accepted transcript of the fallacious argument over which we
have had an (apparently) endless fight. I think the end is
near, _now_.

_Feb._ 4_th._--The idea occurred to me that it
might be a pleasant variation in Backgammon to throw
_three_ dice, and choose any two of the three numbers.
The average quality of the throws would be much raised. I
reckon that the chance of "6, 6" would be about two and a
half what it now is. It would also furnish a means, similar
to giving points in billiards, for equalising players: the
weaker might use three dice, the other using two. I think of
calling it "Thirdie Backgammon."

_March_ 31_st._--Have just got printed, as a
leaflet, "A Disputed Point in Logic"--the point Professor
Wilson and I have been arguing so long. This paper is wholly
in his own words, and puts the point very clearly. I think
of submitting it to all my logical friends.

"A Disputed Point in Logic" appeared also, I believe, in _Mind_, July, 1894.

This seems a fitting place in which to speak of a side of Mr. Dodgson's character of which he himself was naturally very reticent--his wonderful generosity. My own experience of him was of a man who was always ready to do one a kindness, even though it put him to great expense and inconvenience; but of course I did not know, during his lifetime, that my experience of him was the same as that of all his other friends. The income from his books and other sources, which might have been spent in a life of luxury and selfishness, he distributed lavishly where he saw it was needed, and in order to do this he always lived in the most simple way. To make others happy was the Golden Rule of his life. On August 31st he wrote, in a letter to a friend, Miss Mary Brown: "And now what am I to tell you about myself? To say I am quite well 'goes without saying' with me. In fact, my life is so strangely free from all trial and trouble that I cannot doubt my own happiness is one of the talents entrusted to me to 'occupy' with, till the Master shall return, by doing something to make other lives happy."

In several instances, where friends in needy circumstances have written to him for loans of money, he has answered them, "I will not _lend_, but I will _give_ you the £100 you ask for." To help child-friends who wanted to go on the stage, or to take up music as a profession, he has introduced them to leading actors and actresses, paid for them having lessons in singing from the best masters, sent round circulars to his numerous acquaintances begging them to patronise the first concert or recital.

In writing his books he never attempted to win popularity by acceding to the prejudices and frailties of the age--his one object was to make his books useful and helpful and ennobling. Like the great Master, in whose steps he so earnestly strove to follow, he "went about doing good." And one is glad to think that even his memory is being made to serve the same purpose. The "Alice" cots are a worthy sequel to his generous life.

Even Mr. Dodgson, with all his boasted health, was not absolutely proof against disease, for on February 12, 1895, he writes:--

Tenth day of a rather bad attack of influenza of the ague
type. Last night the fever rose to a great height, partly
caused by a succession of _five_ visitors. One,
however, was of my own seeking--Dean Paget, to whom I was
thankful to be able to tell all I have had in my mind for a
year or more, as to our Chapel services _not_ being as
helpful as they could be made. The chief fault is extreme
_rapidity_. I long ago gave up the attempt to say the
Confession at that pace; and now I say it, and the Lord's
Prayer, close together, and never hear a word of the
Absolution. Also many of the Lessons are quite unedifying.

On July 11th he wrote to my brother on the subject of a paper about Eternal Punishment, which was to form the first of a series of essays on Religious Difficulties:--

I am sending you the article on "Eternal Punishment" as it
is. There is plenty of matter for consideration, as to which
I shall be glad to know your views.

Also if there are other points, connected with religion,
where you feel that perplexing difficulties exist, I should
be glad to know of them in order to see whether I can see my
way to saying anything helpful.

But I had better add that I do not want to deal with any
such difficulties, _unless_ they tend to affect _life.
Speculative_ difficulties which do not affect conduct, and
which come into collision with any of the principles which I
intend to state as axioms, lie outside the scope of my book.
These axioms are:--

(1) Human conduct is capable of being _right_, and of
being _wrong_.

(2) I possess Free-Will, and am able to choose between
right and wrong.

(3) I have in some cases chosen wrong.

(4) I am responsible for choosing wrong.

(5) I am responsible to a person.

(6) This person is perfectly good.

I call them axioms, because I have no _proofs_ to offer for
them. There will probably be others, but these are all I can
think of just now.

The Rev. H. Hopley, Vicar of Westham, has sent me the following interesting account of a sermon Mr. Dodgson preached at his church:--

In the autumn of 1895 the Vicar of Eastbourne was to have
preached my Harvest Sermon at Westham, a village five miles
away; but something or other intervened, and in the middle
of the week I learned he could not come. A mutual friend
suggested my asking Mr. Dodgson, who was then in Eastbourne,
to help me, and I went with him to his rooms. I was quite a
stranger to Mr. Dodgson; but knowing from hearsay how
reluctant he usually was to preach, I apologised and
explained my position--with Sunday so near at hand. After a
moment's hesitation he consented, and in a most genial
manner made me feel quite at ease as to the abruptness of my
petition. On the morrow he came over to my vicarage, and
made friends with my daughters, teaching them some new
manner of playing croquet [probably Castle Croquet], and
writing out for them puzzles and anagrams that he had
composed.

The following letter was forwarded on the Saturday:--

"7, Lushington Road, Eastbourne,

_September_ 26, 1895.

Dear Mr. Hopley,--I think you will excuse the liberty
I am taking in asking you to give me some food after the
service on Sunday, so that I may have no need to catch the
train, but can walk back at leisure. This will save me from
the worry of trying to conclude at an exact minute, and
you, perhaps, from the trouble of finding short hymns, to save
time. It will not, I hope, cause your cook any trouble, as
my regular rule here is _cold_ dinner on Sundays. This not
from any "Sabbatarian" theory, but from the wish to let our
_employés_ have the day _wholly_ at their own disposal.

I beg Miss Hopley's acceptance of the enclosed papers--
(puzzles and diagrams.)

Believe me, very truly yours,

C.L. Dodgson."

On Sunday our grand old church was crowded, and, although
our villagers are mostly agricultural labourers, yet they
breathlessly listened to a sermon forty minutes long, and
apparently took in every word of it. It was quite extempore,
in very simple words, and illustrated by some delightful and
most touching stories of children. I only wish there had
been a shorthand-writer there.

In the vestry after service, while he was signing his name
in the Preachers' Book, a church officer handed him a bit of
paper. "Mr. Dodgson, would you very kindly write your name
on that?" "Sir!" drawing himself up sternly--"Sir, I never
do that for any one"--and then, more kindly, "You see, if I
did it for one, I must do it for all."

An amusing incident in Mr. Dodgson's life is connected with the well-known drama, "Two Little Vagabonds." I give the story as he wrote it in his Diary:--

_Nov._ 28_th.--Matinée_ at the Princess's of "Two Little
Vagabonds," a very sensational melodrama, capitally acted.
"Dick" and "Wally" were played by Kate Tyndall and Sydney
Fairbrother, whom I guess to be about fifteen and twelve.
Both were excellent, and the latter remarkable for the
perfect realism of her acting. There was some beautiful
religious dialogue between "Wally" and a hospital nurse--
most reverently spoken, and reverently received by the
audience.

_Dec._ 17_th._--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!

The following is an extract from a letter written in 1896 to one of his sisters, in allusion to a death which had recently occurred in the family:--

It is getting increasingly difficult now to remember _which_
of one's friends remain alive, and _which_ have gone "into
the land of the great departed, into the silent land." Also,
such news comes less and less as a shock, and more and more
one realises that it is an experience each of _us_ has to
face before long. That fact is getting _less_ dreamlike to
me now, and I sometimes think what a grand thing it will be
to be able to say to oneself, "Death is _over_ now; there is
not _that_ experience to be faced again."

I am beginning to think that, if the _books I_ am still
hoping to write are to be done _at all,_ they must be done
_now_, and that I am _meant_ thus to utilise the splendid
health I have had, unbroken, for the last year and a half,
and the working powers that are fully as great as, if not
greater, than I have ever had. I brought with me here (this
letter was written from Eastbourne) the MS., such as it is
(very fragmentary and unarranged) for the book about
religious difficulties, and I meant, when I came here, to
devote myself to that, but I have changed my plan. It seems
to me that _that_ subject is one that hundreds of living men
could do, if they would only try, _much_ better than I
could, whereas there is no living man who could (or at any
rate who would take the trouble to) arrange and finish and
publish the second part of the "Logic." Also, I _have_ the
Logic book in my head; it will only need three or four
months to write out, and I have _not_ got the other book in
my head, and it might take years to think out. So I have
decided to get Part ii. finished _first_, and I am working
at it day and night. I have taken to early rising, and
sometimes sit down to my work before seven, and have one and
a half hours at it before breakfast. The book will be a
great novelty, and will help, I fully believe, to make the
study of Logic _far_ easier than it now is. And it will, I
also believe, be a help to religious thought by giving
_clearness_ of conception and of expression, which may
enable many people to face, and conquer, many religious
difficulties for themselves. So I do really regard it as
work for _God_.

Another letter, written a few months later to Miss Dora Abdy, deals with the subject of "Reverence," which Mr. Dodgson considered a virtue not held in sufficient esteem nowadays:--

My Dear Dora,--In correcting the proofs of "Through the
Looking-Glass" (which is to have "An Easter Greeting"
inserted at the end), I am reminded that in that letter (I
enclose a copy), I had tried to express my thoughts on the
very subject we talked about last night--the relation of
_laughter_ to religious thought. One of the hardest things
in the world is to convey a meaning accurately from one mind
to another, but the _sort_ of meaning I want to convey to
other minds is that while the laughter of _joy_ is in full
harmony with our deeper life, the laughter of amusement
should be kept apart from it. The danger is too great of
thus learning to look at solemn things in a spirit of
_mockery_, and to seek in them opportunities for exercising
_wit_. That is the spirit which has spoiled, for me, the
beauty of some of the Bible. Surely there is a deep meaning
in our prayer, "Give us an heart to love and _dread_ Thee."
We do not mean _terror_: but a dread that will harmonise
with love; "respect" we should call it as towards a human
being, "reverence" as towards God and all religious things.

Yours affectionately,

C.L. Dodgson.

In his "Game of Logic" Lewis Carroll introduced an original method of working logical problems by means of diagrams; this method he superseded in after years for a much simpler one, the method of "Subscripts."

In "Symbolic Logic, Part i." (London: Macmillan, 1896) he employed both methods. The Introduction is specially addressed "to Learners," whom Lewis Carroll advises to read the book straight through, without _dipping_.

This Rule [he says] is very desirable with other kinds of
books--such as novels, for instance, where you may easily
spoil much of the enjoyment you would otherwise get from the
story by dipping into it further on, so that what the author
meant to be a pleasant surprise comes to you as a matter of
course. Some people, I know, make a practice of looking into
vol. iii. first, just to see how the story ends; and perhaps
it _is_ as well just to know that all ends
_happily_--that the much persecuted lovers _do_
marry after all, that he is proved to be quite innocent of
the murder, that the wicked cousin is completely foiled in
his plot, and gets the punishment he deserves, and that the
rich uncle in India (_Qu._ Why in _India? Ans._
Because, somehow, uncles never _can_ get rich anywhere
else) dies at exactly the right moment--before taking the
trouble to read vol i. This, I say, is _just_
permissible with a _novel_, where vol. iii. has a
_meaning_, even for those who have not read the earlier
part of the story; but with a _scientific_ book, it is
sheer insanity. You will find the latter part
_hopelessly_ unintelligible, if you read it before
reaching it in regular course.

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