PRISM }

prismatic }

dramatic } Prove PRISM to be ODIOUS.

melodrama }

melodious }

ODIOUS. }

In February, 1880, Mr. Dodgson proposed to the Christ Church

"Staff-salaries Board," that as his tutorial work was lighter he

should have £200 instead of £300 a year. It is not often that a man

proposes to cut down _his own_ salary, but the suggestion in this

case was intended to help the College authorities in the policy of

retrenchment which they were trying to carry out.

_May 24th_.--Percival, President of Trin. Coll., who

has Cardinal Newman as his guest, wrote to say that the

Cardinal would sit for a photo, to me, at Trinity. But I

could not take my photography there and he couldn't come to

me: so nothing came of it.

_Aug. 19th_. [At Eastbourne].--Took Ruth and Maud to

the Circus (Hutchinson and Tayleure's--from America). I

made friends with Mr. Tayleure, who took me to the tents of

horses, and the caravan he lived in. And I added to my

theatrical experiences by a chat with a couple of circus

children--Ada Costello, aged 9, and Polly (Evans, I think),

aged 13. I found Ada in the outer tent, with the pony on

which she was to perform--practising vaulting on to it,

varied with somersaults on the ground. I showed her my wire

puzzle, and ultimately gave it her, promising a duplicate to

Polly. Both children seemed bright and happy, and they had

pleasant manners.

_Sept. 2nd_.--Mrs. H-- took me to Dr. Bell's (the old

homoeopathic doctor) to hear Lord Radstock speak about

"training children." It was a curious affair. First a very

long hymn; then two very long extempore prayers (not by Lord

R--), which were strangely self-sufficient and wanting in

reverence. Lord R--'s remarks were commonplace enough,

though some of his theories were new, but, I think, not

true--_e.g.,_ that encouraging emulation in

schoolboys, or desiring that they should make a good

position in life, was un-Christian. I escaped at the first

opportunity after his speech, and went down on the beach,

where I made acquaintance with a family who were banking up

with sand the feet and legs of a pretty little girl perched

on a sand-castle. I got her father to make her stand to be

drawn. Further along the beach a merry little mite began

pelting me with sand; so I drew _her_ too.

_Nov. 16th_.--Thought of a plan for simplifying

money-orders, by making the sender fill up two duplicate

papers, one of which he hands in to be transmitted by the

postmaster--it containing a key-number which the receiver

has to supply in _his_ copy to get the money. I think

of suggesting this, and my plan for double postage on

Sunday, to the Government.

_Dec. 19th_.--The idea occurred to me that a game might

be made of letters, to be moved about on a chess-board till

they form words.

A little book, published during this year, "Alice (a dramatic version

of Lewis Carroll's 'Alice'), and other Fairy Tales for Children," by

Mrs. Freiligrath-Kroeker, was very successful, and, I understand,

still has a regular sale. Mr. Dodgson most gladly gave his consent to

the dramatisation of his story by so talented an authoress, and

shortly afterwards Mrs. Kroeker brought out "Through the

Looking-Glass" in a similar form.

_Jan._ 17, 1881.--To the Lyceum to see "The Cup" and

"The Corsican Brothers." The first is exquisitely put on,

and Ellen Terry as Camma is the perfection of grace, and

Irving as the villain, and Mr. Terriss as the husband, were

very good. But the piece wants substance.

_Jan._ 19_th_.--Tried to go to Oxford, but the

line is blocked near Didcot, so stayed another night in

town. The next afternoon the line was reported clear, but

the journey took 5 hours! On the day before the Dean of Ch.

Ch. and his family were snowed up for 21 hours near Radley.

_March_ 27_th_.--Went to S. Mary's and stayed for

Holy Communion, and, as Ffoulkes was alone, I mustered up

courage to help him. I read the exhortation, and was pleased

to find I did not once hesitate. I think I must try

preaching again soon, as he has often begged me to do.

_April_ 16_th_.--Mr. Greenwood approves my theory

about general elections, and wants me to write on it in the

_St. James's Gazette_. (The letter appeared on May 5,

1881.)

_May_ 14_th_.--Took the longest walk (I believe) I

have ever done--round by Dorchester, Didcot and Abingdon--27

miles--took 8 hours--no blisters, I rejoice to find, and I

feel very little tired.

_May_ 26_th_.--The row-loving men in College are

beginning to be troublesome again, and last night some 30 or

40 of them, aided by out-College men, made a great

disturbance, and regularly defied the Censors. I have just

been with the other Tutors into Hall, and heard the Dean

make an excellent speech to the House. Some two or three

will have to go down, and twelve or fifteen others will be

punished in various ways. (A later note says): The

punishments had to be modified--it turned out that the

disturbers were nearly all out-College men.

[Illustration 229: DR. Liddell. _From a photograph by Hill &

Saunders._]

Mr. Dodgson sent a letter to _The Observer_ on this subject:--

Sir,--Your paper of May 29th contains a leading article on

Christ Church, resting on so many mis-statements of fact

that I venture to appeal to your sense of justice to allow

me, if no abler writer has addressed you on the subject, an

opportunity of correcting them. It will, I think, be found

that in so doing I shall have removed the whole foundation

on which the writer has based his attack on the House, after

which I may contentedly leave the superstructure to take

care of itself. "Christ Church is always provoking the

adverse criticism of the outer world." The writer justifies

this rather broad generalisation by quoting three instances

of such provocation, which I will take one by one.

At one time we are told that "The Dean ... neglects his

functions, and spends the bulk of his time in Madeira." The

fact is that the Dean's absence from England more than

twenty years ago during two successive winters was a sad

necessity, caused by the appearance of symptoms of grave

disease, from which he has now, under God's blessing,

perfectly recovered.

The second instance occurred eleven years ago, when some of

the undergraduates destroyed some valuable statuary in the

Library. Here the writer states that the Dean first

announced that criminal proceedings would be taken, and

then, on discovering that the offenders were "highly

connected," found himself "converted to the opinion that

mercy is preferable to stern justice, and charity to the

strict letter of the law." The facts are that the punishment

awarded to the offenders was deliberated on and determined

on by the Governing Body, consisting of the Dean, the

Canons, and some twenty Senior Students; that their

deliberations were most assuredly in no way affected by any

thoughts of the offenders being "highly connected"; and

that, when all was over, we had the satisfaction of seeing

ourselves roundly abused in the papers on both sides, and

charged with having been too lenient, and also with having

been too severe.

The third instance occurred the other night. Some

undergraduates were making a disturbance, and the Junior

Censor "made his appearance in person upon the scene of

riot," and "was contumeliously handled." Here the only

statement of any real importance, the alleged assault by

Christ Church men on the Junior Censor, is untrue. The fact

is that nearly all the disturbers were out-College men, and,

though it is true that the Censor was struck by a stone

thrown from a window, the unenviable distinction of having

thrown it belongs to no member of the House. I doubt if we

have one single man here who would be capable of so base and

cowardly an act.

The writer then gives us a curious account of the present

constitution of the House. The Dean, whom he calls "the

right reverend gentleman," is, "in a kind of way, master of

the College. The Canons, in a vague kind of way, are

supposed to control the College." The Senior Students "dare

not call their souls their own," and yet somehow dare "to

vent their wrath" on the Junior Students. His hazy, mental

picture of the position of the Canons may be cleared up by

explaining to him that the "control" they exercise is

neither more nor less than that of any other six members of

the Governing Body. The description of the Students I pass

over as not admitting any appeal to actual facts.

The truth is that Christ Church stands convicted of two

unpardonable crimes--being great, and having a name. Such a

place must always expect to find itself "a wide mark for

scorn and jeers"--a target where the little and the nameless

may display their skill. Only the other day an M.P., rising

to ask a question about Westminster School, went on to speak

of Christ Church, and wound up with a fierce attack on the

ancient House. Shall we blame him? Do we blame the wanton

schoolboy, with a pebble in his hand, all powerless to

resist the alluring vastness of a barndoor?

The essence of the article seems to be summed up in the

following sentence: "At Christ Church all attempts to

preserve order by the usual means have hitherto proved

uniformly unsuccessful, and apparently remain equally

fruitless." It is hard for one who, like myself, has lived

here most of his life, to believe that this is seriously

intended as a description of the place. However, as general

statements can only be met by general statements, permit me,

as one who has lived here for thirty years and has taught

for five-and-twenty, to say that in my experience order has

been the rule, disorder the rare exception, and that, if the

writer of your leading article has had an equal amount of

experience in any similar place of education, and has found

a set of young men more gentlemanly, more orderly, and more

pleasant in every way to deal with, than I have found here,

I cannot but think him an exceptionally favoured

mortal.--Yours, &c.

Charles L. Dodgson,

_Student and Mathematical Lecturer of Christ Church_.

In July began an amusing correspondence between Mr. Dodgson and a

"circle-squarer," which lasted several months. Mr. Dodgson sent the

infatuated person, whom we will call Mr. B--, a proof that the area of

a circle is less than 3.15 the square of the radius. Mr. B--replied,

"Your proof is not in accordance with Euclid, it assumes that a circle

may be considered as a rectangle, and that two right lines can enclose

a space." He returned the proof, saying that he could not accept any

of it as elucidating the exact area of a circle, or as Euclidean. As

Mr. Dodgson's method involved a slight knowledge of trigonometry, and

he had reason to suspect that Mr. B--was entirely ignorant of that

subject, he thought it worth while to put him to the test by asking

him a few questions upon it, but the circle-squarer, with commendable

prudence, declined to discuss anything not Euclidean. Mr. Dodgson then

wrote to him, "taking leave of the subject, until he should be willing

to enlarge his field of knowledge to the elements of Algebraical

Geometry." Mr. B--replied, with unmixed contempt, "Algebraical

Geometry is all moon-shine." _He_ preferred "weighing cardboard"

as a means of ascertaining exact truth in mathematical research.

Finally he suggested that Mr. Dodgson might care to join in a

prize-competition to be got up among the followers of Euclid, and as

he apparently wished him to understand that he (Mr. B--) did not think

much of his chances of getting a prize, Mr. Dodgson considered that

the psychological moment for putting an end to the correspondence had

arrived.

Meanwhile he was beginning to feel his regular College duties a

terrible clog upon his literary work. The Studentship which he held

was not meant to tie him down to lectures and examinations. Such work

was very well for a younger man; he could best serve "the House" by

his literary fame.

_July_ 14_th._--Came to a more definite decision

than I have ever yet done--that it is about time to resign

the Mathematical Lectureship. My chief motive for holding on

has been to provide money for others (for myself, I have

been many years able to retire), but even the £300 a year I

shall thus lose I may fairly hope to make by the additional

time I shall have for book-writing. I think of asking the

G.B. (Governing Body) next term to appoint my successor, so

that I may retire at the end of the year, when I shall be

close on fifty years old, and shall have held the

Lectureship for exactly 26 years. (I had the Honourmen for

the last two terms of 1855, but was not full Lecturer till

Hilary, 1856.)

_Oct_. 18_th_.--I have just taken an important

step in life, by sending to the Dean a proposal to resign

the Mathematical Lectureship at the end of this year. I

shall now have my whole time at my own disposal, and, if God

gives me life and continued health and strength, may hope,

before my powers fail, to do some worthy work in

writing--partly in the cause of mathematical education,

partly in the cause of innocent recreation for children, and

partly, I hope (though so utterly unworthy of being allowed

to take up such work) in the cause of religious thought. May

God bless the new form of life that lies before me, that I

may use it according to His holy will!

_Oct. 21st_.--I had a note in the evening from the

Dean, to say that he had seen the Censors on the subject of

my proposed resignation at the end of the year, and that

arrangements should be made, as far as could be done, to

carry out my wishes; and kindly adding an expression of

regret at losing my services, but allowing that I had

"earned a right to retirement." So my Lectureship seems to

be near its end.

_Nov. 30th_.--I find by my Journal that I gave my

_first_ Euclid Lecture in the Lecture-room on Monday,

January 28, 1856. It consisted of twelve men, of whom nine

attended. This morning, I have given what is most probably

my _last_: the lecture is now reduced to nine, of whom

all attended on Monday: this morning being a Saint's Day,

the attendance was voluntary, and only two appeared--E.H.

Morris, and G. Lavie. I was Lecturer when the _father_

of the latter took his degree, viz., in 1858.

There is a sadness in coming to the end of anything in life.

Man's instincts cling to the Life that will never end.

_May 30, 1882._--Called on Mrs. R--. During a good part

of the evening I read _The Times_, while the party

played a round game of spelling words--a thing I will never

join in. Rational conversation and _good_ music are the

only things which, to me, seem worth the meeting for, for

grown-up people.

_June 1st._--Went out with Charsley, and did four miles

on one of his velocimans, very pleasantly.

The velociman was an early and somewhat cumbrous form of tricycle; Mr.

Dodgson made many suggestions for its improvement. He never attempted

to ride a bicycle, however, but, in accordance with his own dictum,

"In youth, try a bicycle, in age, buy a tricycle," confined himself to

the three-wheeled variety.

[Illustration: XI Oxford types From a photograph by A.T.

Shrimpton]

_Nov. 8th_.--Whitehead, of Trinity, told us a charming

story in Common Room of a father and son. They came up

together: the son got into a College--the father had to go

to New Inn Hall: the son passed Responsions, while his

father had to put off: finally, the father failed in Mods

and has gone down: the son will probably take his degree,

and may then be able to prepare his father for another try.

Among the coloured cartoons in Shrimpton's

window at Oxford there used to be, when I was

up, a picture which I think referred to this story.

_Nov. 23rd._--Spent two hours "invigilating" in the

rooms of W.J. Grant (who has broken his collar-bone, and is

allowed to do his Greats papers in this way) while he

dictated his answers to another undergraduate, Pakenham, who

acted as scribe.

_Nov. 24th_.--Dined with Fowler (now President of

C.C.C.) in hall, to meet Ranken. Both men are now mostly

bald, with quite grey hair: yet how short a time it seems

since we were undergraduates together at Whitby! (in 1854).

_Dec 8th._--A Common Room Meeting. Fresh powers were

given to the Wine Committee, and then a new Curator elected.

I was proposed by Holland, and seconded by Harcourt, and

accepted office with no light heart: there will be much

trouble and thought needed to work it satisfactorily, but it

will take me out of myself a little, and so may be a real

good--my life was tending to become too much that of a

selfish recluse.

During this year he composed the words of a song, "Dreamland." The air

was _dreamed_ by his friend, the late Rev. C. E. Hutchinson, of

Chichester. The history of the dream is here given in the words of the

dreamer:--

I found myself seated, with many others, in darkness, in a

large amphitheatre. Deep stillness prevailed. A kind of

hushed expectancy was upon us. We sat awaiting I know not

what. Before us hung a vast and dark curtain, and between it

and us was a kind of stage. Suddenly an intense wish seized

me to look upon the forms of some of the heroes of past

days. I cannot say whom in particular I longed to behold,

but, even as I wished, a faint light flickered over the

stage, and I was aware of a silent procession of figures

moving from right to left across the platform in front of

me. As each figure approached the left-hand corner it turned

and gazed at me, and I knew (by what means I cannot say) its

name. One only I recall--Saint George; the light shone with

a peculiar blueish lustre on his shield and helmet as he

turned and slowly faced me. The figures were shadowy, and

floated like mist before me; as each one disappeared an

invisible choir behind the curtain sang the "Dream music." I

awoke with the melody ringing in my ears, and the words of

the last line complete--"I see the shadows falling, and

slowly pass away." The rest I could not recall.

[Illustration: Dreamland--Facsimile of Words and Music.]

DREAMLAND.

Words by LEWIS CARROLL.

Music by C.E. HUTCHINSON.

When midnight mists are creeping

And all the land is sleeping

Around me tread the mighty dead,

And slowly pass away.

Lo, warriors, saints, and sages,

From out the vanished ages,

With solemn pace and reverend face

Appear and pass away.

The blaze of noonday splendour,

The twilight soft and tender,

May charm the eye: yet they shall die,

Shall die and pass away

But here, in Dreamland's centre,

No spoiler's hand may enter,

These visions fair, this radiance rare,

Shall never pass away

I see the shadows falling,

The forms of eld recalling;

Around me tread the mighty dead,

And slowly pass away

One of the best services to education which Mr. Dodgson performed was

his edition of "Euclid I. and II.," which was published in 1882. In

writing "Euclid and His Modern Rivals," he had criticised somewhat

severely the various substitutes proposed for Euclid, so far as they

concerned beginners; but at the same time he had admitted that within

prescribed limits Euclid's text is capable of amendment and

improvement, and this is what he attempted to do in this book. That he

was fully justified is shown by the fact that during the years

1882-1889 the book ran through eight editions. In the Introduction he

enumerates, under the three headings of "Additions," "Omissions," and

"Alterations," the chief points of difference between his own and the

ordinary editions of Euclid, with his reasons for adopting them. They

are the outcome of long experience, and the most conservative of

teachers would readily accept them.

The proof of I. 24, for example, is decidedly better and more

satisfactory than the ordinary proof, and the introduction of the

definition of "projection" certainly simplifies the cumbrous

enunciations of II. 12 and 13. Again, the alternative proof of II. 8,

suggested in the Introduction, is valuable, and removes all excuse for

omitting this proposition, as is commonly clone.

The figures used are from the blocks prepared for the late Mr.

Todhunter's well-known edition of Euclid, to which Mr. Dodgson's

manual forms an excellent stepping-stone.

At the beginning of 1883 he went up to town to see the collection of

D. G. Rossetti's pictures in the Burlington Gallery. He was especially

struck with "Found," which he thus describes--

A picture of a man finding, in the streets of London, a girl

he had loved years before in the days of her innocence. She

is huddled up against the wall, dressed in gaudy colours,

and trying to turn away her agonised face, while he, holding

her wrists, is looking down with an expression of pain and

pity, condemnation and love, which is one of the most

marvellous things I have ever seen done in painting.

_Jan_. 27, 1883 [His birthday].--I cannot say I feel

much older at 51 than at 21! Had my first

"tasting-luncheon"; it seemed to give great satisfaction.

[The object of the Curator's "tasting-luncheon" was, of

course, to give members of Common Room an opportunity of

deciding what wines should be bought.]

_March_ 15_th._--Went up to town to fulfil my

promise to Lucy A.--: to take her for her _first_ visit

to the theatre. We got to the Lyceum in good time, and the

play was capitally acted. I had hinted to Beatrice (Miss

Ellen Terry) how much she could add to Lucy's pleasure by

sending round a "carte" of herself; she sent a cabinet. She

is certainly an adept in giving gifts that gratify.

_April_ 23_d_.--Tried another long walk--22 miles,

to Besilsleigh, Fyfield, Kingston, Bagpuize, Frilford,

Marcham, and Abingdon. The last half of the way was in the

face of wind, rain, snow, and hail. Was too lame to go into

Hall.

* * * * *

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").

[Illustration: H. Furniss. _From a photograph_.]

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!"

[Illustration: _From a crayon drawing by the Rev. H.C.

Gaye_.]

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.

[Illustration: Medley of Tenniel's Illustrations in "Alice."

_From an etching by Miss Whitehead; used as a theatrical

advertisement_.]

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."

[Illustration: _Facsimile of a letter from H. Furniss to

Lewis Carroll, August 23, 1886_.]

[Illustration: Sylvie and Bruno. _From a drawing by Henry

Holiday_.]

* * * * *

CHAPTER VII

(1888-1891)

A systematic life--"Memoria Technica"--Mr. Dodgson's

shyness--"A Lesson in Latin"--The "Wonderland"

Stamp-Case--"Wise Words about Letter-Writing"--Princess

Alice--"Sylvie and Bruno"--"The night cometh"--"The Nursery

'Alice'"--Coventry Patmore--Telepathy--Resignation of Dr.

Liddell--A letter about Logic.

An old bachelor is generally very precise and exact in his habits. He

has no one but himself to look after, nothing to distract his

attention from his own affairs; and Mr. Dodgson was the most precise

and exact of old bachelors. He made a précis of every letter he wrote

or received from the 1st of January, 1861, to the 8th of the same

month, 1898. These précis were all numbered and entered in

reference-books, and by an ingenious system of cross-numbering he was

able to trace a whole correspondence, which might extend through

several volumes. The last number entered in his book is 98,721.

He had scores of green cardboard boxes, all neatly labelled, in which

he kept his various papers. These boxes formed quite a feature of his

study at Oxford, a large number of them being arranged upon a

revolving bookstand. The lists, of various sorts, which he kept were

innumerable; one of them, that of unanswered correspondents,

generally held seventy or eighty names at a time, exclusive of

autograph-hunters, whom he did not answer on principle. He seemed to

delight in being arithmetically accurate about every detail of life.

He always rose at the same early hour, and, if he was in residence at

Christ Church, attended College Service. He spent the day according to

a prescribed routine, which usually included a long walk into the

country, very often alone, but sometimes with another Don, or perhaps,

if the walk was not to be as long as usual, with some little

girl-friend at his side. When he had a companion with him, he would

talk the whole time, telling delightful stories, or explaining some

new logical problem; if he was alone, he used to think out his books,

as probably many another author has done and will do, in the course of

a lonely walk. The only irregularity noticeable in his mode of life

was the hour of retiring, which varied from 11 p.m. to four o'clock in

the morning, according to the amount of work which he felt himself in

the mood for.

He had a wonderfully good memory, except for faces and dates. The

former were always a stumbling-block to him, and people used to say

(most unjustly) that he was intentionally short-sighted. One night he

went up to London to dine with a friend, whom he had only recently

met. The next morning a gentleman greeted him as he was walking. "I

beg your pardon," said Mr. Dodgson, "but you have the advantage of me.

I have no remembrance of having ever seen you before this moment."

"That is very strange," the other replied, "for I was your host last

night!" Such little incidents as this happened more than once. To help

himself to remember dates, he devised a system of mnemonics, which he

circulated among his friends. As it has never been published, and as

some of my readers may find it useful, I reproduce it here.

My "Memoria Technica" is a modification of Gray's; but,

whereas he used both consonants and vowels to represent

digits, and had to content himself with a syllable of

gibberish to represent the date or whatever other number was

required, I use only consonants, and fill in with vowels _ad

libitum,_ and thus can always manage to make a real word of

whatever has to be represented.

The principles on which the necessary 20 consonants have

been chosen are as follows:--

1. "b" and "c," the first two consonants in the alphabet.

2. "d" from "duo," "w" from "two."

3. "t" from "tres," the other may wait awhile.

4. "f" from "four," "q" from "quattuor."

5. "l" and "v," because "l" and "v" are the Roman symbols

for "fifty" and "five."

6. "s" and "x" from "six."

7. "p" and "m" from "septem."

8. "h" from "huit," and "k" from the Greek "okto."

9. "n" from "nine"; and "g" because it is so like a "9."

0. "z" and "r" from "zero."

There is now one consonant still waiting for its digit,

viz., "j," and one digit waiting for its consonant, viz.,

"3," the conclusion is obvious.

The result may be tabulated thus:--

|1 |2 |3 |4 |5 |6 |7 |8 |9 |0 |

|b |d |t |f |l |s |p |h |n |z |

|c |w |j |q |v |x |m |k |g |r |

When a word has been found, whose last consonants represent

the number required, the best plan is to put it as the last

word of a rhymed couplet, so that, whatever other words in

it are forgotten, the rhyme will secure the only really

important word.

Now suppose you wish to remember the date of the discovery

of America, which is 1492; the "1" may be left out as

obvious; all we need is "492."

Write it thus:--

4 9 2

f n d

q g w

and try to find a word that contains "f" or "q," "n" or "g,"

"d" or "w." A word soon suggests itself--"found."

The poetic faculty must now be brought into play, and the

following couplet will soon be evolved:--

"Columbus sailed the world around,

Until America was F O U N D."

If possible, invent the couplets for yourself; you will

remember them better than any others.

_June_, 1888.

The inventor found this "Memoria Technica" very useful in helping him

to remember the dates of the different Colleges. He often, of course,

had to show his friends the sights of Oxford, and the easy way in

which, asked or unasked, he could embellish his descriptions with

dates used to surprise those who did not know how the thing was done.

The couplet for St. John's College ran as follows:--

"They must have a bevel

To keep them so LEVEL."

The allusion is to the beautiful lawns, for which St. John's is

famous.

In his power of remembering anecdotes, and bringing them out just at

the right moment, Mr. Dodgson was unsurpassed. A guest brought into

Christ Church Common Room was usually handed over to him to be amused.

He was not a good man to tell a story to--he had always heard it

before; but as a _raconteur_ I never met his equal. And the best

of it was that his stories never grew--except in number.

One would have expected that a mind so clear and logical and definite

would have fought shy of the feminine intellect, which is generally

supposed to be deficient in those qualities; and so it is somewhat

surprising to find that by far the greater number of his friends were

ladies. He was quite prepared to correct them, however, when they were

guilty of what seemed to him unreasoning conduct, as is shown by the

following extract from a letter of his to a young lady who had asked

him to try and find a place for a governess, without giving the

latter's address:--

Some of my friends are business-men, and it is pleasant to

see how methodical and careful they are in transacting any

business-matter. If, for instance, one of them were to write

to me, asking me to look out for a place for a French

governess in whom he was interested, I should be sure to

admire the care with which he would give me _her name in

full_--(in extra-legible writing if it were an unusual

name)--as well as her address. Some of my friends are not

men of business.

So many such requests were addressed to him that at one time he had a

circular letter printed, with a list of people requiring various

appointments or assistants, which he sent round to his friends.

In one respect Lewis Carroll resembled the stoic philosophers, for no

outward circumstance could upset the tranquillity of his mind. He

lived, in fact, the life which Marcus Aurelius commends so highly, the

life of calm contentment, based on the assurance that so long as we

are faithful to ourselves, no seeming evils can really harm us. But in

him there was one exception to this rule. During an argument he was

often excited. The war of words, the keen and subtle conflict between

trained minds--in this his soul took delight, in this he sought and

found the joy of battle and of victory. Yet he would not allow his

serenity to be ruffled by any foe whom he considered unworthy of his

steel; he refused to argue with people whom he knew to be hopelessly

illogical--definitely refused, though with such tact that no wound was

given, even to the most sensitive.

He was modest in the true sense of the term, neither overestimating

nor underrating his own mental powers, and preferring to follow his

own course without regarding outside criticism. "I never read anything

about myself or my books," he writes in a letter to a friend; and the

reason he used to give was that if the critics praised him he might

become conceited, while, if they found fault, he would only feel hurt

and angry. On October 25, 1888, he wrote in his Diary: "I see there is

a leader in to-day's _Standard_ on myself as a writer; but I do

not mean to read it. It is not healthy reading, I think."

He hated publicity, and tried to avoid it in every way. "Do not tell

any one, if you see me in the theatre," he wrote once to Miss Marion

Terry. On another occasion, when he was dining out at Oxford, and some

one, who did not know that it was a forbidden subject, turned the

conversation on "Alice in Wonderland," he rose suddenly and fled from

the house. I could multiply instances of this sort, but it would be

unjust to his memory to insist upon the morbid way in which he

regarded personal popularity. As compared with self-advertisement, it

is certainly the lesser evil; but that it _is_ an evil, and a

very painful one to its possessor, Mr. Dodgson fully saw. Of course it

had its humorous side, as, for instance, when he was brought into

contact with lion-hunters, autograph-collectors, _et hoc genus

omne_. He was very suspicious of unknown correspondents who

addressed questions to him; in later years he either did not answer

them at all, or used a typewriter. Before he bought his typewriter, he

would get some friend to write for him, and even to sign "Lewis

Carroll" at the end of the letter. It used to give him great amusement

to picture the astonishment of the recipients of these letters, if by

any chance they ever came to compare his "autographs."

On one occasion the secretary of a "Young Ladies' Academy" in the

United States asked him to present some of his works to the School

Library. The envelope was addressed to "Lewis Carroll, Christ Church,"

an incongruity which always annoyed him intensely. He replied to the

Secretary, "As Mr. Dodgson's books are all on Mathematical subjects,

he fears that they would not be very acceptable in a school library."

Some fourteen or fifteen years ago, the Fourth-class of the Girl's

Latin School at Boston, U.S., started a magazine, and asked him if

they might call it _The Jabberwock._ He wrote in reply:--

Mr. Lewis Carroll has much pleasure in giving to the editors

of the proposed magazine permission to use the title they

wish for. He finds that the Anglo-Saxon word "wocer" or

"wocor" signifies "offspring" or "fruit." Taking "jabber" in

its ordinary acceptation of "excited and voluble

discussion," this would give the meaning of "the result of

much excited discussion." Whether this phrase will have any

application to the projected periodical, it will be for the

future historian of American literature to determine. Mr.

Carroll wishes all success to the forthcoming magazine.

From that time forward he took a great interest in the magazine, and

thought very well of it. It used, I believe, to be regularly supplied

to him. Only once did he express disapproval of anything it contained,

and that was in 1888, when he felt it necessary to administer a rebuke

for what he thought to be an irreverent joke. The sequel is given in

the following extract from _The Jabberwock_ for June, 1888:--

A FRIEND WORTH HAVING.

_The Jabberwock_ has many friends, and perhaps a few

(very few, let us hope) enemies. But, of the former, the

friend who has helped us most on the road to success is Mr.

Lewis Carroll, the author of "Alice in Wonderland," &c. Our

readers will remember his kind letter granting us permission

to use the name "Jabberwock," and also giving the meaning of

that word. Since then we have received another letter from

him, in which he expresses both surprise and regret at an

anecdote which we published in an early number of our little

paper. We would assure Mr. Carroll, as well as our other

friends, that we had no intention of making light of a

serious matter, but merely quoted the anecdote to show what

sort of a book Washington's diary was.

But now a third letter from our kind friend has come,

enclosing, to our delight, a poem, "A Lesson in Latin," the

pleasantest Latin lesson we have had this year.

The first two letters from Mr. Carroll were in a beautiful

literary hand, whereas the third is written with a

typewriter. It is to this fact that he refers in his letter,

which is as follows:--

"29, Bedford Street,

Covent Garden, LONDON,

_May_ 16, 1888.

Dear Young Friends,--After the Black Draught of serious

remonstrance which I ventured to send to you the other day,

surely a Lump of Sugar will not be unacceptable? The

enclosed I wrote this afternoon on purpose for you.

I hope you will grant it admission to the columns of _The

Jabberwock_, and not scorn it as a mere play upon words.

This mode of writing, is, of course, an American invention.

We never invent new machinery here; we do but use, to the

best of our ability, the machines you send us. For the one I

am now using, I beg you to accept my best thanks, and to

believe me

Your sincere friend,

Lewis Carroll."

Surely we can patiently swallow many Black Draughts, if we

are to be rewarded with so sweet a Lump of Sugar!

The enclosed poem, which has since been republished in

"Three Sunsets," runs as follows:

A LESSON IN LATIN.

Our Latin books, in motley row,

Invite us to the task--

Gay Horace, stately Cicero;

Yet there's one verb, when once we know,

No higher skill we ask:

This ranks all other lore above--

We've learned "amare" means "to love"!

So hour by hour, from flower to flower,

We sip the sweets of life:

Till ah! too soon the clouds arise,

And knitted brows and angry eyes

Proclaim the dawn of strife.

With half a smile and half a sigh,

"Amare! Bitter One!" we cry.

Last night we owned, with looks forlorn,

"Too well the scholar knows

There is no rose without a thorn "--

But peace is made! we sing, this morn,

"No thorn without a rose!"

Our Latin lesson is complete:

We've learned that Love is "Bitter-sweet"

Lewis Carroll.

In October Mr. Dodgson invented a very ingenious little stamp-case,

decorated with two "Pictorial Surprises," representing the "Cheshire

Cat" vanishing till nothing but the grin was left, and the baby

turning into a pig in "Alice's" arms. The invention was entered at

Stationers' Hall, and published by Messrs. Emberlin and Son, of

Oxford. As an appropriate accompaniment, he wrote "Eight or Nine Wise

Words on Letter-Writing," a little booklet which is still sold along

with the case. The "Wise Words," as the following extracts show, have

the true "Carrollian" ring about them:--

Some American writer has said "the snakes in this district

may be divided into one species--the venomous." The same

principle applies here. Postage-stamp-cases may be divided

into one species--the "Wonderland."

Since I have possessed a "Wonderland-Stamp-Case," Life has

been bright and peaceful, and I have used no other. I

believe the Queen's Laundress uses no other.

My fifth Rule is, if your friend makes a severe remark,

either leave it unnoticed or make your reply distinctly less

severe: and, if he makes a friendly remark, tending towards

"making up" the little difference that has arisen between

you, let your reply be distinctly _more_ friendly. If,

in picking a quarrel, each party declined to go more than

_three-eighths_ of the way, and if, in making friends,

each was ready to go _five-eighths_ of the way--why,

there would be more reconciliations than quarrels! Which is

like the Irishman's remonstrance to his gad-about daughter:

"Shure, you're _always_ goin' out! You go out

_three_ times for wanst that you come in!"

My sixth Rule is, _don't try to have the last word!_

How many a controversy would be nipped in the bud, if each

was anxious to let the _other_ have the last word!

Never mind how telling a rejoinder you leave unuttered:

never mind your friend's supposing that you are silent from

lack of anything to say: let the thing drop, as soon as it

is possible without discourtesy: remember "Speech is

silvern, but silence is golden"! (N.B. If you are a

gentleman, and your friend a lady, this Rule is superfluous:

_you won't get the last word!_)

Remember the old proverb, "Cross-writing makes

cross-reading." "The _old_ proverb?" you say

inquiringly. "_How_ old?" Well, not so _very_

ancient, I must confess. In fact, I invented it while

writing this paragraph. Still, you know, "old" is a

_comparative_ term. I think you would be _quite_

justified in addressing a chicken, just out of the shell, as

"old boy!" _when compared_ with another chicken that

was only half-out!

The pamphlet ends with an explanation of Lewis Carroll's method of

using a correspondence-book, illustrated by a few imaginary pages from

such a compilation, which are very humorous.

[Illustration: _Facsimile of programme of "Alice in

Wonderland_."]

At the end of the year the "Alice" operetta was again produced at the

Globe Theatre, with Miss Isa Bowman as the heroine. "Isa makes a

delightful Alice," Mr. Dodgson writes, "and Emsie [a younger sister]

is wonderfully good as Dormouse and as Second Ghost [of an oyster!],

when she sings a verse, and dances the Sailor's Hornpipe."

[Illustration: "The Mad Tea-Party." _From a photograph by

Elliott & Fry_.]

The first of an incomplete series, "Curiosa Mathematica," was

published for Mr. Dodgson by Messrs. Macmillan during the year. It was

entitled "A New Theory of Parallels," and any one taking it up for the

first time might be tempted to ask, Is the author serious, or is he

simply giving us some _jeu d'esprit?_ A closer inspection,

however, soon settles the question, and the reader, if mathematics be

his hobby, is carried irresistibly along till he reaches the last

page.

The object which Mr. Dodgson set himself to accomplish was to prove

Euclid I. 32 without assuming the celebrated 12th Axiom, a feat which

calls up visions of the "Circle-Squarers."

The work is divided into two parts: Book I. contains certain

Propositions which require no disputable Axiom for their proof, and

when once the few Definitions of "amount," &c., have become familiar

it is easy reading. In Book II. the author introduces a new Axiom, or

rather "Quasi-Axiom"--for it's _self-evident_ character is open

to dispute. This Axiom is as follows:--

In any Circle the inscribed equilateral Tetragon (Hexagon in

editions 1st and 2nd) is greater than any one of the

Segments which lie outside it.

Assuming the truth of this Axiom, Mr. Dodgson proves a series of

Propositions, which lead up to and enable him to accomplish the feat

referred to above.

At the end of Book II. he places a proof (so far as finite magnitudes

are concerned) of Euclid's Axiom, preceded by and dependent on the

Axiom that "If two homogeneous magnitudes be both of them finite, the

lesser may be so multiplied by a finite number as to exceed the

greater." This Axiom, he says, he believes to be assumed by every

writer who has attempted to prove Euclid's 12th Axiom. The proof

itself is borrowed, with slight alterations, from Cuthbertson's

"Euclidean Geometry."

In Appendix I. there is an alternative Axiom which may be substituted

for that which introduces Book II., and which will probably commend

itself to many minds as being more truly axiomatic. To substitute

this, however, involves some additions and alterations, which the

author appends.

Appendix II. is headed by the somewhat startling question, "Is

Euclid's Axiom true?" and though true for finite magnitudes--the sense

in which, no doubt, Euclid meant it to be taken--it is shown to be not

universally true. In Appendix III. he propounds the question, "How

should Parallels be defined?"

Appendix IV., which deals with the theory of Parallels as it stands

to-day, concludes with the following words:--

I am inclined to believe that if ever Euclid I. 32 is proved

without a new Axiom, it will be by some new and ampler

definition of the _Right Line_--some definition which

shall connote that mysterious property, which it must

somehow possess, which causes Euclid I. 32 to be true. Try

_that_ track, my gentle reader! It is not much trodden

as yet. And may success attend your search!

In the Introduction, which, as is frequently the case, ought to be

read _last_ in order to be appreciated properly, he relates his

experiences with two of those "misguided visionaries," the

circle-squarers. One of them had selected 3.2 as the value for

"_pi_," and the other proved, to his own satisfaction at least,

that it is correctly represented by 3! The Rev. Watson Hagger, to

whose kindness, as I have already stated in my Preface, my readers are

indebted for the several accounts of Mr. Dodgson's books on

mathematics which appear in this Memoir, had a similar experience with

one of these "cranks." This circle-squarer selected 3.125 as the value

for "_pi_," and Mr. Hagger, who was fired with Mr. Dodgson's

ambition to convince his correspondent of his error, failed as

signally as Mr. Dodgson did.

The following letter is interesting as showing that, strict

Conservative though he was, he was not in religious matters

narrow-minded; he held his own opinions strongly, but he would never

condemn those of other people. He saw "good in everything," and there

was but little exaggeration, be it said in all reverence, in the

phrase which an old friend of his used in speaking of him to me: "Mr.

Dodgson was as broad--as broad as _Christ_."

Christ Church, Oxford, _May_ 4, 1889.

Dear Miss Manners,--I hope to have a new book out very soon,

and had entered your name on the list of friends to whom

copies are to go; but, on second thoughts, perhaps you might

prefer that I should send it to your little sister (?)

(niece) Rachel, whom you mentioned in one of your letters.

It is to be called "The Nursery Alice," and is meant for

very young children, consisting of coloured enlargements of

twenty of the pictures in "Alice," with explanations such as

one would give in showing them to a little child.

I was much interested by your letter, telling me you belong

to the Society of Friends. Please do not think of _me_

as one to whom a "difference of creed" is a bar to

friendship. My sense of brother- and sisterhood is at least

broad enough to include _Christians_ of all

denominations; in fact, I have one valued friend (a lady who

seems to live to do good kind things) who is a Unitarian.

Shall I put "Rachel Manners" in the book?

Believe me, very sincerely yours,

C. L. Dodgson.

From June 7th to June 10th he stayed at Hatfield.

Once at luncheon [he writes] I had the Duchess (of Albany)

as neighbour and once at breakfast, and had several other

chats with her, and found her very pleasant indeed. Princess

Alice is a sweet little girl. Her little brother (the Duke

of Albany) was entirely fascinating, a perfect little

prince, and the picture of good-humour. On Sunday afternoon

I had a pleasant half-hour with the children [Princess

Alice, the Duke of Albany, Honorable Mabel Palmer, Lady

Victoria Manners, and Lord Haddon], telling them "Bruno's

Picnic" and folding a fishing-boat for them. I got the

Duchess's leave to send the little Alice a copy of the

"Nursery Alice," and mean to send it with "Alice

Underground" for herself.

Towards the end of the year Lewis Carroll had tremendously hard work,

completing "Sylvie and Bruno." For several days on end he worked from

breakfast until nearly ten in the evening without a rest. At last it

was off his hands, and for a month or so he was (comparatively) an

idle man. Some notes from his Diary, written during this period,

follow:--

_Nov. 17th._--Met, for first time, an actual believer

in the "craze" that buying and selling are wrong (!) (he is

rather 'out of his mind'). The most curious thing was his

declaration that he himself _lives_ on that theory, and

never buys anything, and has no money! I thought of railway

travelling, and ventured to ask how he got from London to

Oxford? "On a bicycle!" And how he got the bicycle? "It was

given him!" So I was floored, and there was no time to think

of any other instances. The whole thing was so new to me

that, when he declared it to be _un-Christian_, I quite

forgot the text, "He that hath no sword, let him sell his

garment, and buy one."

_Dec. 19th._--Went over to Birmingham to see a

performance of "Alice" (Mrs. Freiligrath Kroeker's version)

at the High School. I rashly offered to tell "Bruno's

Picnic" afterwards to the little children, thinking I should

have an audience of 40 or 50, mostly children, instead of

which I had to tell it from the stage to an audience of

about 280, mostly older girls and grown-up people! However,

I got some of the children to come on the stage with me, and

the little Alice (Muriel Howard-Smith, æt. 11) stood by me,

which made it less awful. The evening began with some of

"Julius Caesar" in German. This and "Alice" were really

capitally acted, the White Queen being quite the best I have

seen (Miss B. Lloyd Owen). I was introduced to Alice and a

few more, and was quite sorry to hear afterwards that the

other performers wanted to shake hands.

The publication of "Sylvie and Bruno" marks an epoch in its author's

life, for it was the publication of all the ideals and sentiments

which he held most dear. It was a book with a definite purpose; it

would be more true to say with several definite purposes. For this

very reason it is not an artistic triumph as the two "Alice" books

undoubtedly are; it is on a lower literary level, there is no unity in

the story. But from a higher standpoint, that of the Christian and the

philanthropist, the book is the best thing he ever wrote. It is a

noble effort to uphold the right, or what he thought to be the right,

without fear of contempt or unpopularity. The influence which his

earlier books had given him he was determined to use in asserting

neglected truths.

[Illustration: The Late Duke of Albany. _From a photograph

by Lewis Carroll._]

Of course the story has other features, delightful nonsense not

surpassed by anything in "Wonderland," childish prattle with all the

charm of reality about it, and pictures which may fairly be said to

rival those of Sir John Tenniel. Had these been all, the book would

have been a great success. As things are, there are probably hundreds

of readers who have been scared by the religious arguments and

political discussions which make up a large part of it, and who have

never discovered that Sylvie is just as entrancing a personage as

Alice when you get to know her.

Perhaps the sentiment of the following poem, sent to Lewis Carroll by

an anonymous correspondent, may also explain why some of "Alice's"

lovers have given "Sylvie" a less warm welcome:--

TO SYLVIE.

Ah! Sylvie, winsome, wise and good!

Fain would I love thee as I should.

But, to tell the truth, my dear,--

And Sylvie loves the truth to hear,--

Though fair and pure and sweet thou art,

Thine elder sister has my heart!

I gave it her long, long ago

To have and hold; and well I know,

Brave Lady Sylvie, thou wouldst scorn

To accept a heart foresworn.

Lovers thou wilt have enow

Under many a greening bough--

Lovers yet unborn galore,

Like Alice all the wide world o'er;

But, darling, I am now too old

To change. And though I still shall hold

Thee, and that puckling sprite, thy brother,

Dear, I cannot _love_ another:

In this heart of mine I own

_She_ must ever reign alone!

_March_, 1890.

N.P.

I do not know N.P.'s name and address, or I should have asked leave

before giving publicity to the above verses. If these words meet his

eye, I hope he will accept my most humble apologies for the liberty I

have taken.

At the beginning of 1894 a Baptist minister, preaching on the text,

"No man liveth to himself," made use of "Sylvie and Bruno" to enforce

his argument. After saying that he had been reading that book, he

proceeded as follows:

A child was asked to define charity. He said it was "givin'

away what yer didn't want yerself." This was some people's

idea of self-sacrifice; but it was not Christ's. Then as to

serving others in view of reward: Mr. Lewis Carroll put this

view of the subject very forcibly in his "Sylvie and

Bruno"--an excellent book for youth; indeed, for men and

women too. He first criticised Archdeacon Paley's definition

of virtue (which was said to be "the doing good to mankind,

in obedience to the will of God, and for the sake of

everlasting happiness,") and then turned to such hymns as

the following:--

Whatever, Lord, we lend to Thee,

_Repaid a thousandfold shall be_,

Then gladly will we give to Thee,

Giver of all!

Mr. Carroll's comment was brief and to the point. He said:

"Talk of Original _Sin_! Can you have a stronger proof

of the Original Goodness there must be in this nation than

the fact that Religion has been preached to us, as a

commercial speculation, for a century, and that we still

believe in a God?" ["Sylvie and Bruno," Part i., pp. 276,

277.] Of course it was quite true, as Mr. Carroll pointed

out, that our good deeds would be rewarded; but we ought to

do them because they were _good_, and not because the

reward was great.

In the Preface to "Sylvie and Bruno," Lewis Carroll alluded to certain

editions of Shakespeare which seemed to him unsuitable for children;

it never seemed to strike him that his words might be read by

children, and that thus his object very probably would be defeated,

until this fact was pointed out to him in a letter from an unknown

correspondent, Mr. J.C. Cropper, of Hampstead. Mr. Dodgson replied as

follows:--

Dear Sir,--Accept my best thanks for your thoughtful and

valuable suggestion about the Preface to "Sylvie and Bruno."

The danger you point out had not occurred to me (I suppose I

had not thought of _children_ reading the Preface): but

it is a very real one, and I am very glad to have had my

attention called to it.

Believe me, truly yours,

Lewis Carroll.

Mathematical controversy carried on by correspondence was a favourite

recreation of Mr. Dodgson's, and on February 20, 1890, he wrote:--

I've just concluded a correspondence with a Cambridge man,

who is writing a Geometry on the "Direction" theory

(Wilson's plan), and thinks he has avoided Wilson's (what

_I_ think) fallacies. He _hasn't_, but I can't

convince him! My view of life is, that it's next to

impossible to convince _anybody_ of _anything_.

The following letter is very characteristic. "Whatsoever thy hand

findeth to do, do it with all thy might," was Mr. Dodgson's rule of

life, and, as the end drew near, he only worked the harder:--

Christ Church, Oxford, _April_ 10, 1890.

My dear Atkinson,--Many and sincere thanks for your most

hospitable invitation, and for the very interesting photo of

the family group. The former I fear I must ask you to let me

defer _sine die_, and regard it as a pleasant dream,

not _quite_ hopeless of being some day realised. I keep

a list of such pleasant possibilities, and yours is now one

of ten similar kind offers of hospitality. But as life

shortens in, and the evening shadows loom in sight, one gets

to _grudge any_ time given to mere pleasure, which

might entail the leaving work half finished that one is

longing to do before the end comes.

There are several books I _greatly_ desire to get

finished for children. I am glad to find my working powers

are as good as they ever were. Even with the mathematical

book (a third edition) which I am now getting through the

press, I think nothing of working six hours at a stretch.

There is one text that often occurs to me, "The night

cometh, when no man can work." Kindest regards to Mrs.

Atkinson, and love to Gertrude.

Always sincerely yours,

C. L. Dodgson.

For the benefit of children aged "from nought to five," as

he himself phrased it, Lewis Carroll prepared a nursery

edition of "Alice." He shortened the text considerably, and

altered it so much that only the plot of the story remained

unchanged. It was illustrated by the old pictures, coloured

by Tenniel, and the cover was adorned by a picture designed

by Miss E. Gertrude Thomson. As usual, the Dedication takes

the form of an anagram, the solution of which is the name of

one of his later child-friends. "_The Nursery

'Alice,_'" was published by Macmillan and Co., in March,

1890.

On August 18th the following letter on the "Eight Hours

Movement" appeared in _The Standard:_--

Sir,--Supposing it were the custom, in a

certain town, to sell eggs in paper bags at so much per bag,

and that a fierce dispute had arisen between the egg vendors

and the public as to how many eggs each bag should be

understood to contain, the vendors wishing to be allowed to

make up smaller bags; and supposing the public were to say,

"In future we will pay you so much per egg, and you can make

up bags as you please," would any ground remain for further

dispute?

Supposing that employers of labour, when threatened with a

"strike" in case they should decline to reduce the number of

hours in a working day, were to reply, "In future we will

pay you so much per hour, and you can make up days as you

please," it does appear to me--being, as I confess, an

ignorant outsider--that the dispute would die out for want

of a _raison d'être_, and that these disastrous

strikes, inflicting such heavy loss on employers and

employed alike, would become things of the past.

I am, Sir, your obedient servant,

Lewis Carroll.

The remainder of the year was uneventful; a few notes from his Diary

must represent it here:--

_Oct. 4th._--Called on Mr. Coventry Patmore (at

Hastings), and was very kindly received by him, and stayed

for afternoon tea and dinner. He showed me some interesting

pictures, including a charming little drawing, by Holman

Hunt, of one of his daughters when three years old. He gave

me an interesting account of his going, by Tennyson's

request, to his lodging to look for the MS. of "In

Memoriam," which he had left behind, and only finding it by

insisting on going upstairs, in spite of the landlady's

opposition, to search for it. Also he told me the story (I

think I have heard it before) of what Wordsworth told his

friends as the "one joke" of his life, in answer to a

passing carter who asked if he had seen his wife. "My good

friend, I didn't even know you had a wife!" He seems a very

hale and vigorous old man for nearly seventy, which I think

he gave as his age in writing to me.

_Oct. 31st._--This morning, thinking over the problem

of finding two squares whose sum is a square, I chanced on a

theorem (which seems _true_, though I cannot prove it),

that if x² + y² be even, its half is the sum of two squares.

A kindred theorem, that 2(x² + y²) is always the sum of two

squares, also seems true and unprovable.

_Nov. 5th.--_I have now proved the above two theorems.

Another pretty deduction from the theory of square numbers

is, that any number whose square is the sum of two squares,

is itself the sum of two squares.

I have already mentioned Mr. Dodgson's habit of thinking out problems

at night. Often new ideas would occur to him during hours of

sleeplessness, and he had long wanted to hear of or invent some easy

method of taking notes in the dark. At first he tried writing within

oblongs cut out of cardboard, but the result was apt to be illegible.

In 1891 he conceived the device of having a series of squares cut out

in card, and inventing an alphabet, of which each letter was made of

lines, which could be written along the edges of the squares, and

dots, which could be marked at the corners. The thing worked well, and

he named it the "Typhlograph," but, at the suggestion of one of his

brother-students, this was subsequently changed into "Nyctograph."

He spent the Long Vacation at Eastbourne, attending service every

Sunday at Christ Church, according to his usual rule.

_Sept._ 6, 1891.--At the evening service at Christ

Church a curious thing happened, suggestive of telepathy.

Before giving out the second hymn the curate read out some

notices. Meanwhile I took my hymn-book, and said to myself

(I have no idea _why_), "It will be hymn 416," and I

turned to it. It was not one I recognised as having ever

heard; and, on looking at it, I said, "It is very prosaic;

it is a very unlikely one"--and it was really startling,

the next minute, to hear the curate announce "Hymn 416."

In October it became generally known that Dean Liddell was going to

resign at Christmas. This was a great blow to Mr. Dodgson, but little

mitigated by the fact that the very man whom he himself would have

chosen, Dr. Paget, was appointed to fill the vacant place. The old

Dean was very popular in College; even the undergraduates, with whom

he was seldom brought into contact, felt the magic of his commanding

personality and the charm of his gracious, old-world manner. He was a

man whom, once seen, it was almost impossible to forget.

[Illustration: The Dean of Christ Church. _From a

photograph by Hill & Saunders._]

Shortly before the resignation of Dr. Liddell, the Duchess of Albany

spent a few days at the Deanery. Mr. Dodgson was asked to meet her

Royal Highness at luncheon, but was unable to go. Princess Alice and

the little Duke of Albany, however, paid him a visit, and were

initiated in the art of making paper pistols. He promised to send the

Princess a copy of a book called "The Fairies," and the children,

having spent a happy half-hour in his rooms, returned to the Deanery.

This was one of the days which he "marked with a white stone." He sent

a copy of "The Nursery 'Alice'" to the little Princess Alice, and

received a note of thanks from her, and also a letter from her mother,

in which she said that the book had taught the Princess to like

reading, and to do it out of lesson-time. To the Duke he gave a copy

of a book entitled "The Merry Elves." In his little note of thanks for

this gift, the boy said, "Alice and I want you to love us both." Mr.

Dodgson sent Princess Alice a puzzle, promising that if she found it

out, he would give her a "golden chair from Wonderland."

At the close of the year he wrote me a long letter, which I think

worthy of reproducing here, for he spent a long time over it, and it

contains excellent examples of his clear way of putting things.

_To S.D. Collingwood._

Ch. Ch., Oxford, _Dec_. 29, 1891.

My Dear Stuart,--(Rather a large note-sheet, isn't it? But

they do differ in size, you know.) I fancy this book of

science (which I have had a good while, without making any

use of it), may prove of some use to you, with your boys. [I

was a schoolmaster at that time.] Also this cycling-book (or

whatever it is to be called) may be useful in putting down

engagements, &c., besides telling you a lot about cycles.

There was no use in sending it to _me; my _cycling days

are over.

You ask me if your last piece of "Meritt" printing is dark

enough. I think not. I should say the rollers want fresh

inking. As to the _matter_ of your specimen--[it was a

poor little essay on killing animals for the purpose of

scientific recreations, _e.g._, collecting

butterflies]--I think you _cannot_ spend your time

better than in trying to set down clearly, in that

essay-form, your ideas on any subject that chances to

interest you; and _specially_ any theological subject

that strikes you in the course of your reading for Holy

Orders.

It will be most _excellent_ practice for you, against

the time when you try to compose sermons, to try thus to

realise exactly what it is you mean, and to express it

clearly, and (a much harder matter) to get into proper shape

the _reasons_ of your opinions, and to see whether they

do, or do not, tend to prove the conclusions you come to.

You have never studied technical Logic, at all, I fancy. [I

_had_, but I freely admit that the essay in question

proved that I had not then learnt to apply my principles to

practice.] It would have been a great help: but still it is

not indispensable: after all, it is only the putting into

rules of the way in which _every_ mind proceeds, when

it draws valid conclusions; and, by practice in careful

thinking, you may get to know "fallacies" when you meet with

them, without knowing the formal _rules_.

At present, when you try to give _reasons_, you are in

considerable danger of propounding fallacies. Instances

occur in this little essay of yours; and I hope it won't

offend your _amour propre_ very much, if an old uncle,

who has studied Logic for forty years, makes a few remarks

on it.

I am not going to enter _at all_ on the subject-matter

itself, or to say whether I agree, or not, with your

_conclusions_: but merely to examine, from a

logic-lecturer's point of view, your _premisses_ as

relating to them.