Lewis Carroll in Wonderland and at Home Part 17

And she "Yea so? Yet wherefore cease?

Let thy scant knowledge find increase.

Say 'Men are Men, and Geese are Geese.'"

The gentleman wanted to get away from this severe lady, but he could see no escape, for she was getting excited.

"To dine!" she shrieked, in dragon-wrath.

"To swallow wines all foam and froth!

To simper at a tablecloth!

"Canst thou desire or pie or puff?

Thy well-bred manners were enough, Without such gross material stuff."

"Yet well-bred men," he faintly said, "Are not unwilling to be fed: Nor are they well without the bread."

Her visage scorched him ere she spoke; "There are," she said, "a kind of folk Who have no horror of a joke.

"Such wretches live: they take their share Of common earth and common air: We come across them here and there."

"We grant them--there is no escape-- A sort of semihuman shape Suggestive of the manlike Ape."

So the arguing went on--her Voice, his Voice, and the Voice of the Sea. He tried to joke away her solemn mood with a pun.

"The world is but a Thought," said he: "The vast, unfathomable sea Is but a Notion--unto me."

And darkly fell her answer dread Upon his unresisting head, Like half a hundredweight of lead.

"The Good and Great must ever shun That reckless and abandoned one Who stoops to perpetrate a pun.

"The man that smokes--that reads the _Times_-- That goes to Christmas Pantomimes-- Is capable of _any_ crimes!"

Anyone can understand these verses, but it is very plain that the poem is a satire on the rise of the learned lady, who takes no interest in the lighter, pleasanter side of life; a being much detested by Lewis Carroll, who above all things loved a "womanly woman." As he grew older he became somewhat precise and old-fashioned in his opinions--that is perhaps the reason why he was so lovable. His ideals of womanhood and little girlhood were fixed and beautiful dreams, untouched by the rush of the times. The "new woman" puzzled and pained him quite as much as the pert, precocious, up-to-date girl. Would there were more Lewis Carrolls in the world; quiet, simple, old-fashioned, courteous gentlemen with ideals!

Here is a clever little poem dedicated to girls, which he calls

A GAME OF FIVES.

Five little girls, of five, four, three, two, one: Rolling on the hearthrug, full of tricks and fun.

Five rosy girls, in years from ten to six: Sitting down to lessons--no more time for tricks.

Five growing girls, from fifteen to eleven: Music, drawing, languages, and food enough for seven!

Five winsome girls, from twenty to sixteen: Each young man that calls I say, "Now tell me which you _mean_!"

Five dashing girls, the youngest twenty-one: But if n.o.body proposes, what is there to be done?

Five showy girls--but thirty is an age When girls may be _engaging_, but they somehow don't _engage_.

Five dressy girls, of thirty-one or more: So gracious to the shy young men they snubbed so much before!

Five _pa.s.s_ girls. Their age? Well, never mind!

We jog along together, like the rest of human kind: But the quondam "careless bachelor" begins to think he knows The answer to that ancient problem "how the money goes!"

There was no theme, in short, that Lewis Carroll did not fit into a rhyme or a poem. Some of them were full of real feeling, others were sparkling with nonsense, but all had their charm. No style nor meter daunted him; no poet was too great for his clever pen to parody; no ode was too heroic for a little earthly fun; and when the measure was rollicking the rhymer was at his best. Of this last, _Alice's_ invitation to the Looking-Gla.s.s world is a fair example:

To the Looking-Gla.s.s world it was Alice that said, "I've a scepter in hand, I've a crown on my head.

Let the Looking-Gla.s.s creatures, whatever they be, Come and dine with the Red Queen, the White Queen, and me!"

Then fill up the gla.s.ses as quick as you can, And sprinkle the table with b.u.t.tons and bran; Put cats in the coffee, and mice in the tea, And welcome Queen Alice with thirty-times-three!

"O Looking-Gla.s.s creatures," quoth Alice, "draw near!

'Tis an honor to see me, a favor to hear; 'Tis a privilege high to have dinner and tea Along with the Red Queen, the White Queen, and me!"

Then fill up the gla.s.ses with treacle and ink, Or anything else that is pleasant to drink; Mix sand with the cider, and wool with the wine, And welcome Queen Alice with ninety-times-nine!

The real sentiment always cropped out in his verses to little girls; from youth to age he was their "good knight and true" and all his fairest thoughts were kept for them. Many a grown woman has carefully h.o.a.rded among her treasures some bit of verse from Lewis Carroll, which her happy childhood inspired him to write; but the dedication of "Alice through the Looking-Gla.s.s" was to the unknown child, whom his book went forth to please:

Child of the pure, unclouded brow And dreaming eyes of wonder!

Though time be fleet, and I and thou Are half a life asunder, Thy loving smile will surely hail The love-gift of a fairy tale.

I have not seen thy sunny face, Nor heard thy silver laughter: No thought of me shall find a place In thy young life's hereafter, Enough that now thou wilt not fail To listen to my fairy tale.

A tale begun in other days, When summer suns were glowing, A simple chime, that served to time The rhythm of our rowing, Whose echoes live in memory yet, Though envious years would say "forget."

Come, hearken then, ere voice of dread, With bitter tidings laden, Shall summon to unwelcome bed A melancholy maiden!

We are but older children, dear, Who fret to find our bedtime near.

Without, the frost, the blinding snow, The storm-wind's moody madness; Within, the firelight's ruddy glow, And childhood's nest of gladness.

The magic words shall hold thee fast; Thou shalt not heed the raving blast.

And though the shadow of a sigh May tremble through the story, For "happy summer days" gone by And vanished summer glory, It shall not touch, with breath of bale, The pleasance of our fairy tale.

These are only a meager handful of his many poems. Through his life this gift stayed with him, with all its early spirit and freshness; the added years but added grace and lightness to his touch, for in the "Story of Sylvie and Bruno" there are some gems: but that is another chapter and we shall hear them later.

And so the years pa.s.sed, and the writer of the "Alices" and the "Jabberwocky" and "The Hunting of the Snark" and other poems fastened himself slowly but surely into the loyal hearts of his many readers, and the grave mathematical lecturer of Christ Church seemed just a trifle older and graver than of yore. He was very reserved, very shy, and kept somewhat aloof from his fellow "dons"; but let a little girl tap _ever_ so faintly at his study door, the knock was heard, the door flung wide, Charles Lutwidge Dodgson vanished into some inner sanctum, and Lewis Carroll stood smiling on the threshold to welcome her with open arms.

CHAPTER XI.

GAMES, RIDDLES, AND PROBLEMS.

Lewis Carroll had a mind which never rested in waking hours, and as is the case with all such active thinkers, his hours of sleeping were often broken by long stretches of wakefulness, during which time the thinking machinery set itself in motion and spun out problems and riddles and odd games and puzzles.

"Puzzles and problems of all sorts were a delight to Mr. Dodgson," writes Miss Beatrice Hatch in the _Strand Magazine_. "Many a sleepless night was occupied by what he called a 'pillow problem'; in fact his mathematical mind seemed always at work on something of the kind, and he loved to discuss and argue a point connected with his logic, if he could but find a willing listener. Sometimes, while paying an afternoon call, he would borrow sc.r.a.ps of paper and leave neat little diagrams or word puzzles to be worked out by his friends."