took her to see everything worth looking at, and made a rhyming diary for her which he called--

MAGGIE'S VISIT TO OXFORD.

When Maggie once to Oxford came On tour as "Bootle's Baby,"

She said: "I'll see this place of fame, However dull the day be!"

So with her friend she visited The sights that it was rich in, And first of all she poked her head Inside the Christ Church Kitchen.

The cooks around that little child Stood waiting in a ring; And every time that Maggie smiled, Those cooks began to sing-- Shouting the Battle-cry of Freedom!

"Roast, boil, and bake, For Maggie's sake!

Bring cutlets fine For _her_ to dine; Meringues so sweet For _her_ to eat-- For Maggie may be Bootle's Baby."

There are a great many verses describing her walks and what she saw, among other wonders "a lovely p.u.s.s.y Cat."

And everywhere that Maggie went That Cat was sure to go-- Shouting the Battle-cry of Freedom!

"Miaow! Miaow!

Come make your bow!

Take off your hats, Ye p.u.s.s.y Cats!

And purr and purr To welcome _her_-- For Maggie may be Bootle's Baby!"

So back to Christ Church-not too late For them to go and see A Christ Church Undergraduate, Who gave them cakes and tea.

In Magdalen Park the deer are wild With joy that Maggie brings Some bread, a friend had given the child, To feed the pretty things.

They flock round Maggie without fear, They breakfast and they lunch, They dine, they sup, those happy deer-- Still as they munch and munch, Shouting the Battle-cry of Freedom!

"Yes, deer are we, And dear is she.

We love this child So sweet and mild: We all are fed With Maggie's bread-- For Maggie may be Bootle's Baby!"

They met a Bishop on their way-- A Bishop large as life-- With loving smile that seemed to say "Will Maggie be my wife?"

Maggie thought _not_, because you see She was so _very_ young, And he was old as old could be-- So Maggie held her tongue.

"My Lord, she's Bootle's Baby; we Are going up and down,"

Her friend explained, "that she may see The sights of Oxford-town."

"Now, say what kind of place it is!"

The Bishop gayly cried, "The best place in the Provinces!"

The little maid replied.

Away next morning Maggie went From Oxford-town; but yet The happy hours she there had spent She could not soon forget.

"Oxford, good-bye!

She seemed to sigh, You dear old City With gardens pretty, And lawns and flowers And College towers, And Tom's great Bell, Farewell! farewell!

For Maggie may be Bootle's Baby!"

Here is just a piece of a letter which shows that Lewis Carroll could tease when he liked. It is evident that Isa washed to buy the "Alice" book in French, to give to a friend, so she navely wrote to headquarters to ask the price. This is the reply:

"Eastbourne.

"MY OWN DARLING ISA,--The value of a copy of the French 'Alice' is 45: but, as you want the 'cheapest' kind, and as you are a great friend of mine, and as I am of a very n.o.ble, generous disposition, I have made up my mind to a _great_ sacrifice, and have taken 3, 10s, 0d, off the price, so that you do not owe me more than 41, 10s, 0d, and this you can pay me, in gold or bank notes, _as soon as you ever like_. Oh, dear! I wonder why I write such nonsense! Can you explain to me, my pet, how it happens that when I take up my pen to write a letter to _you_, it won't write sense. Do you think the rule is that when the pen finds it has to write to a nonsensical, good-for-nothing child it sets to work to write a nonsensical, good-for-nothing letter? Well, now I'll tell you the real truth. As Miss Kitty Wilson is a dear friend of yours, of course she's a _sort_ of a friend of mine. So I thought (in my vanity) 'perhaps she would like to have a copy "from the author" with her name written in it.' So I sent her one--but I hope she'll understand that I do it because she's _your_ friend, for you see I had never _heard_ of her before; so I wouldn't have any other reason."

When he published his last long story, "Sylvie and Bruno," the dedication was to her, an acrostic on her name; but as "Sylvie and Bruno" will be spoken of later on, perhaps it will be more interesting to give the dainty little verses where they belong. He sent his pet a specially bound copy of the new book, with the following letter:

"Christ Church, May 16, '90.

"DEAREST ISA:--I had this bound for you when the book first came out, and it's been waiting here ever since Dec. 17, for I really didn't dare to send it across the Atlantic--the whales are _so_ inconsiderate. They'd have been sure to want to borrow it to show to the little whales, quite forgetting that the salt water would be sure to spoil it.

"Also I've been waiting for you to get back to send Emsie the 'Nursery Alice.' I give it to the youngest in a family generally, but I've given one to Maggie as well, because she travels about so much, and I thought she would like to have one to take with her. I hope Nellie's eyes won't get _quite_ green with jealousy at two (indeed three) of her sisters getting presents, and nothing for her! I've nothing but my love to send her to-day, but she shall have _something some_ day.--Ever your loving

"UNCLE CHARLES."

The "Nursery Alice" he refers to was arranged by himself for children "from naught to five" as he quaintly puts it. It contained twenty beautiful colored drawings from the Tenniel ill.u.s.trations, with a cover designed by E. Gertrude Thomson, of whose work he was very fond. The words were simplified for nursery readers.

In another letter to Isa he talks very seriously about "social position."

"Ladies," he writes, "have to be _much_ more particular in observing the distinctions of what is called 'social position,' and the _lower_ their own position is (in the scale of 'lady' ship) the more jealous they seem to be in guarding it.... Not long ago I was staying in a house with a young lady (about twenty years old I should think) with a t.i.tle of her own, as she was an earl's daughter. I happened to sit next to her at dinner, and every time I spoke to her she looked at me more as if she was looking down on me from about a mile up in the air, and as if she was saying to herself, 'How _dare_ you speak to _me_! Why you're not good enough to black my shoes!' It was so unpleasant that next day at luncheon I got as far from her as I could.

"Of course we are all _quite_ equal in G.o.d's sight, but we _do_ make a lot of distinctions (some of them quite unmeaning) among ourselves!"

However, he was not always so unfortunate among great people, the "truly great" that is. In Lord Salisbury's house he was always a welcome and honored guest, for in a letter to "his little girl" from Hatfield House he tells her of the d.u.c.h.ess of Albany and her two children.

"She is the widow of Prince Leopold (the Queen's youngest son), so her children are a Prince and a Princess; the girl is Alice, but I don't know the boy's Christian name; they call him 'Albany' because he is the Duke of Albany.

"Now that I have made friends with a real live little Princess, I don't intend ever to _speak_ to children who haven't any t.i.tles. In fact, I'm so proud, and I hold my chin so high, that I shouldn't even _see_ you if we met! No, darlings, you mustn't believe _that_. If I made friends with a _dozen_ Princesses, I would love you better than all of them together, even if I had them all rolled up into a sort of child-roly-poly.

"Love to Nellie and Emsie.--Your loving Uncle,

"C.L.D.

"x.x.xx.x.xX "[kisses]."

Nothing could give us a better glimpse of the wholesome nature of this quiet "don" of ours than these letters to a little child; a wholesome child like himself, whose every emotion was to him like the page of some fairy book, to be read and read again. Isa Bowman could not know, child as she was, _what_ she was to this man, who with all his busy life, and all his gifts and talents, and all his many friendships, was so curiously lonely. But later, when she was grown, and wrote the little book of memories from which we have drawn so many sweet lessons, she doubtless realized, as she rolled back the years, what they had been to her--and what to Lewis Carroll.

CHAPTER XIV.

A TRIP WITH SYLVIE AND BRUNO.