“That lovely ——”
“Compared with her, the rest,” she cried,
“Are just like two or three um-
“berellas standing side by side!
Oh, gem of ——”
We saw Two Brothers. I confess
To me they seemed one man.
“Now which is which, child? Can you guess?”
[20] She cried, “A-course I can!”
Bad puns like this I always dread,
And am resolved to flee ’em.
And so I left her there, and fled;
She lives at ——
[“Something fails”]
Something fails –
Perhaps the gales –
Still, there are scales
On the rails,
Packed in bales
With the mails,
Coming to a writer who regales
Little friends of his with fairy-tales.
[Letter to Violet Dodgson]
Dear Violet, I’m glad to hear
You children like the magazine
I ordered for you for a year:
And if you happen to have seen
The book about “Lord Fauntleroy,”
You’ll find an interesting bit
About the child that acts a Boy
(Now they have made a Play of it)
In Number Six. She seems to be
[10] A child without one bit of pride:
A pretty name too, hasn’t she?
The little “Elsie Leslie Lyde.”
I grieve to hear your bantam-hen
Is fond of rolling eggs away
You should remind it, now and then,
Of “Waste not, want not.” You should say
“A bantam-hen that wastes an egg,
Is sure to get extremely poor
And to be forced at last to beg
[20] For hard-boiled eggs from door to door.
How would you like it, Bantam-hen,”
You should go on, “if all your brood
Were hard-boiled chickens, you would then
Be sorry you had been so rude!”
Tell it all this and don’t forget!
And now I think it’s time for me
To sign myself, dear Violet,
Your loving Uncle,
C.L.D.
[Acrostics, riddles and a cipher-poem]
[Cipher-poem and translation]
Key word “fox”
“Jgmu qjl vgrv x ugemdt pupdeto?” wxxl x ugmh vj f jji.
“Ge’n ijsk tukcbb qfds fb qrug eq xud eyk cxdmfit ddjdef:
Fbu cgkskg mglb gf mstutt, had ubj, okc Ljudz jgmu nt jxxmh,
Pa st’ok krv eykgb vj dogoq gruke vqb zmfvtn as tuemak exjmh.”
Wrs-brs, brs-brs, wrs-brs, brs-brs: “Vrct fdjsi!” fgu, Ugmh.
Njj-sjj, sjj-sjj, njj-sjj, sjj-sjj; Jji wxxl “Urbe ek fxdmh.”
“Ljsv efdn ma lb as zapsi hlgvv,” wxxl Srr, “zru qrsmxbr yadsl!
Lh jtbv xok urbt jgey zxmkkm imlk, eyce nypdef mhtt vj mht zxjlbu.
Xv pn cz rsk xbcbbexak – na Urdmh btblk’m wvrdu:
[10] Nht dok’m gkkkkm o ifvtsu ruut mhkm’w brxey genstxiqmgk zamc!”
Njj-sjj, sjj-sjj, njj-sjj, sjj-sjj: “G urbe dogb jjo Ljudz!”
Eab-jab, jab-jab, eab-jab, jab-jab: Umgh wxxl “Eyoe’n jjudz.”
[translation]
“Will you trot a little quicker?” said a Lily to a Fox.
“It’s gone eleven half an hour, by all the village clocks:
And dinner-time is twelve, you know, and Dolly will be wroth.
If we’re not there to carry round the plates of mutton-broth.”
Bow-wow, bow-wow, bow-wow, bow, wow: “Come along!” said Lily.
Bow-wow, wow-wow, bow-wow, wow-wow: Fox said “Don’t be silly.”
“Don’t talk to me of going quick,” said Fox, “you howling Hound!
My feet are done with patent glue, that sticks them to the ground.
It is my own invention – so Dolly needn’t scold:
[10] She can’t invent a patent glue that’s worth its weight in gold!”
Bow-wow, wow-wow, bow-wow, wow-wow: “I don’t care for Dolly!”
Bow-wow, wow-wow, bow-wow, wow-wow; Lily said “That’s folly.”
A Riddle
Tell me truly, Maidens three,
Where can all these wonders be?
Where tooth of lion, eye of ox,
And foot of cat and tail of fox,
With ear of mouse and tongue of hound
And beard of goat, together bound
With hair of Maiden, strew the ground.
[Puzzle] (To Mary, Ina, and Harriet or ‘Hartie’ Watson.)
When . a . y and I . a told . a .. ie they’d seen a
Small .. ea . u . e with . i ..., dressed in crimson and blue,
. a .. ie cried “ ’Twas a . ai . y! Why, I . a and . a .y,
I should have been happy if I had been you!”
Said . a . y “You wouldn’t.” Said I . a ‘You shouldn’t –
Since you can’t be us, and we couldn’t be you.
You are one, my dear . a .. ie, but we are a . a .. y,
And a . i ... e . i . tells us that one isn’t two.”
[Acrostic for Ruth Dymes]
Round the wondrous globe I wander wild,
Up and down-hill – Age succeeds to youth –
Toiling all in vain to find a child
Half so loving, half so dear as Ruth.
To Miss Margaret Dymes
Maidens, if a maid you meet
Always free from pout and pet,
Ready smile and temper sweet,
Greet my little Margaret.
And if loved by all she be
Rightly, not a pampered pet,
Easily you then may see
’Tis my little Margaret.
[“No, no! I cannot write a line”]
No, no! I cannot write a line,
I cannot write a word:
The thoughts I think appear in ink
So shockingly absurd.
To wander in an empty cave
Is fruitless work, ’tis said:
What must it be for one like me
To wander in his head?
You say that I’m “to write a verse” –
[10] O Maggie, put it quite
The other way, and kindly say
That I’m “averse to write”!
[“ ‘Are you deaf, Father William?’ the young man said”]
“Are you deaf, Father William?” the young man said,
“Did you hear what I told you just now?
Excuse me for shouting! Don’t waggle your head
Like a blundering, sleepy old cow!
“A little maid dwelling in Wallington Town,
Is my friend, so I beg to remark:
Do you think she’d be pleased if a book were sent down
Entitled ‘The Hunt of the Snark?’ ”
“Pack it up in brown paper!” the old man cried,
[10] And seal it with olive-and-dove.
“I command you to do it!” he added with pride,
“Nor forget, my good fellow, to send her beside
Easter Greetings, and give her my love.”
To the Misses Drury
“Maidens! if you love the tale,
If you love the Snark,
Need I urge you, spread the sail,
Now, while freshly blows the gale,
In your ocean-barque!
“English Maidens love renown,
Enterprise, and fuss!”
Laughingly those Maidens frown;
Laughingly, with eyes cast down;
[10] And they answer thus:
“English Maidens fear to roam.
Much we dread the dark;
Much we dread what ills might come,
If we left our English home,
Even for a Snark!”
[“Alice dear, will you join me in hu
nting the Snark”]
Alice dear, will you join me in hunting the Snark?
Let us go to the chase hand-in-hand:
If we only can find one before it gets dark,
Could anything happen more grand?
Ever ready to share in the Beaver’s despair,
Count your poor little fingers and thumbs;
Recollecting with tears all the smudges and smears
On the page where you work at your sums!
May I help you to seek it with thimbles and care?
[10] Pursuing with forks and hope?
To threaten its life with a railway-share?
Or to charm it with smiles – but a maiden so fair
Need not trouble herself about soap!
[“Alice dreamed one night that she”]
Alice dreamed one night that she
Left her home in Wonderland:
In a house called “Number Three
Carleton Road” she seemed to be,
Empress of a Bellman’s band.
Patiently the chase she led,
Running over Tufnell Park –
All because a book she read,
That was running in her head;
[10] ’Twas “The Hunting of the Snark”!
[“From the air do they come”]
From the air do they come?
Little voices that tell
Of “boo” and of “jum,”
Ringing clear like a bell –
“Even here,” they repeat,
Now and then, when it’s dark,
Chance will aid you to meet,
Even here, with a Snark!
Sep. 2, 1876
[“Love-lighted eyes, that will not start”]
Love-lighted eyes, that will not start
At frown of rage or malice!
Uplifted brow, undaunted heart
Ready to dine on raspberry-tart
Along with fairy Alice!
In scenes as wonderful as if
She’d flitted in a magic skiff
Across the sea to Calais:
Be sure this night, in Fancy’s feast,
[10] Even till Morning gilds the east,
Laura will dream of Alice!
Perchance, as long years onward haste,
Laura will weary of the taste
Of Life’s embittered chalice:
May she, in such a woeful hour,
Endued with Memory’s mystic power,
Recall the dreams of Alice!
June 17, 1876.
Madrigal
He shouts amain, he shouts again,
(Her brother, fierce, as bluff King Hal),
“I tell you flat, I shall do that!”
She softly whispers “ ‘May’ for ‘shall’!”
He wistful sighed one eventide
(Her friend, that made this Madrigal),
“And shall I kiss you, pretty Miss!”
She softly whispers “ ‘May’ for ‘shall’.”
With eager eyes my reader cries,
[10] “Your friend must be indeed a val-
-uable child, so sweet, so mild!
What do you call her?” “May For shall.”
[Anagrammatic Sonnet]
As to the war, try elm. I tried.
The wig cast in, I went to ride
“Ring? Yes.” We rang. “Let’s rap.” We don’t.
“O shew her wit!” As yet she won’t.
Saw eel in Rome. Dry one: he’s wet.
I am dry. O forge! Th’rogue. Why a net?
[“They both make a roaring – a roaring all night”]
They both make a roaring – a roaring all night:
They both are a fisherman-father’s delight:
They are both, when in fury, a terrible sight!
The First nurses tenderly three little hulls,
To the lullaby-music of shrill-screaming gulls,
And laughs when they dimple his face with their skulls.
The Second’s a tidyish sort of a lad,
Who behaves pretty well to a man he calls “Dad,”
And earns the remark “Well, he isn’t so bad!”
[10] Of the two put together, oh what shall I say?
’Tis a time when “to live” means the same as “to play”:
When the busiest person does nothing all day:
When the grave College Don, full of lore inexpressi-
ble, puts it all by, and is forced to confess he
Can think but of Agnes and Evey [and Jessie.]
Love Among the Roses
“Seek ye Love, ye fairy-sprites?
Ask where reddest roses grow.
Rosy fancies he invites,
And in roses he delights,
Have ye found him?” “No!”
“Seek again, and find the boy
In Childhood’s heart, so pure and clear.”
Now the fairies leap for joy,
Crying, “Love is here!”
[10] “Love has found his proper nest;
And we guard him while he dozes
In a dream of peace and rest
Rosier than roses.”
Jan. 3, 1878.
[“Around my lonely hearth to-night”]
Around my lonely hearth to-night,
Ghostlike the shadows wander:
Now here, now there, a childish sprite,
Earthborn and yet as angel bright,
Seems near me as I ponder.
Gaily she shouts: the laughing air
Echoes her note of gladness –
Or bends herself with earnest care
Round fairy-fortress to prepare
[10] Grim battlement or turret-stair –
In childhood’s merry madness!
New raptures still hath youth in store.
Age may but fondly cherish
Half-faded memories of yore –
Up, craven heart! repine no more!
Love stretches hands from shore to shore:
Love is, and shall not perish!
[Poem for Dolly Draper]
Dear Dolly, since I do not know
Of any grander name than “Dolly”
Let me for once address you so,
Leaving “Miss Draper” out, although
You may be startled at my folly!
Day, “twenty-seventh”; month, “the first”;
Rejoice that now you know the worst!
And, though you may be tall and stately,
Putting your pride in a moment by,
[10] Excuse my telling you that I
Remain yours most affectionately,
Lewis Carroll
To M. A. B. (To Miss Marion Terry, “Mary Ann Bessie Terry.”)
The royal MAB, dethroned, discrowned
By fairy rebels wild,
Has found a home on English ground,
And lives an English child.
I know it, Maiden, when I see
A fairy-tale upon your knee –
And note the page that idly lingers
Beneath those still and listless fingers –
And mark those dreamy looks that stray
[10] To some bright vision far away,
Still seeking, in the pictured story,
The memory of a vanished glory.
[This is a response to her reply]
Maiden, though thy heart may quail
And thy quivering lip grow pale,
Read the Bellman’s tragic tale!
Is it Life of which it tells?
Of a pulse that sinks and swells,
Never lacking chime of bells?
Bells of sorrow, bells of cheer,
Easter, Christmas, glad New Year,
Still they sound, afar, anear.
[10] So may Life’s sweet bells for thee,
In the summers yet to be,
Evermore make melody!
To Miss Gaynor Simpson
My first tends his aid when you plunge into trade:
My
second in jollifications:
My whole, laid on thinnish, imparts a neat finish
To pictorial representations.
For Alexandra Kitchin
My First’s a drink resembling wine:
My Second closely follows nine:
My Third doth sentences combine:
My Fourth is hung upon “the line”:
My Whole’s a victim I design
To photograph when days are fine.
Feb. 23. 1880
A Charade
My First heads all atrocity heartrending:
My Next to finish it is ever tending:
My Third in Town its merry life is spending:
My fourth is the beginning of an ending.
My Whole is one of those perplexing misses,
Where looks of Youth encourage friendly kisses,
And yet where Age is sober fact, and this is
Destruction to such transitory blisses!
Dedicated to a tea-tea. Why? Oh, when?
“Te veniente die, te decedente canemus”
“From dawn to decline of day of tea we will utter thy praises”.
Give tea to my first: ’tis as round as a ball
And when stunted & small,
I can’t spare it at all.
Give tea to my second: ’tis quite the best way
For concluding delay
When you don’t want to stay.
Give tea to my Third: it’s a name I assign
To plate, pictures, or wine,
Which is yours and not mine.
[10] Give no tea to my Whole: it will keep her awake,
And her small head will ache,
And a riot she’ll make,
Till, for quietness’s sake,
You supply her with cake.
To my Pupil
Beloved Pupil! Tamed by thee,
Addish-, Subtrac-, Multiplica-tion,
Division, Fractions, Rule of Three,
Attest thy deft manipulation!
Then onward! Let the voice of Fame
From Age to Age repeat thy story,
Jabberwocky and Other Nonsense Page 23