_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 a.s.sured 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 pa.s.sionate lover. How would you draw King Arthur when he first met Guinevere? Try _that_ type.

Eric's att.i.tude 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 t.i.tle, 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-gla.s.s, is very striking."

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Facsimile of a letter from H. Furniss to Lewis Carroll, August 23, 1886_.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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 precis of every letter he wrote or received from the 1st of January, 1861, to the 8th of the same month, 1898. These precis 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.