An old lady I knew, once tried to check the military ardour of a little boy by showing him the picture of a battlefield and describing some of its horrors. But the only reply she got was, “I’ll be a soldier. Tell it again!”

Another little boy, after having listened with great attention to the story of Lot’s wife, asked innocently, “Where does the salt come from that’s not made of ladies?”

Dr. Paget (Dean of Christ Church) was conducting a school examination, and in the course of his questions he happened to ask a small boy the meaning of “average.” He was utterly bewildered by the reply, “The things that hens lay on,” until the youngster explained that he had read in a book that hens lay on an average so many eggs a year!

Have you heard the story of the dog who was sent into the sea after sticks? He brought them back properly for a time, and then returned swimming in a curious manner, and apparently in difficulties. On closer inspection it appeared that he had caught hold of his own tail in mistake and was bringing it to land in triumph!

On one occasion I was walking in Oxford with Maggie Bowman,[46] then a mere child, when we met the Bishop of Oxford, to whom I introduced my little guest. His lordship asked her what she thought of Oxford, and was much amused when the little actress replied, with true professional aplomb, “I think it’s the best place in the provinces!”

Three Stories from Mr. Dodgson’s Diary

July 23, 1867 (when on holiday in Dantzig). On our way to the station we came across the grandest instance of the “Majesty of Justice” that I have ever witnessed. A little boy was being taken to the magistrate, or to prison (probably for picking a pocket). The achievement of this feat had been entrusted to two soldiers in full uniform, who were solemnly marching, one in front of the poor little urchin and one behind, with bayonets fixed, of course, to be ready to charge in case he should attempt to escape.

August, 1867 (on a visit to Kronstadt with Canon Liddon, of Oxford). Liddon had surrendered his overcoat early in the day, and we found it must be recovered from the waiting-maid, who talked only Russian, and as I had left the dictionary behind, and the little vocabulary did not contain coat, we were in some difficulty. Liddon began by exhibiting his coat, with much gesticulation, including the taking it half off. To our delight, she appeared to understand at once, left the room, and returned in a minute with—a large clothes brush. On this Liddon tried a further and more energetic demonstration; he took off his coat and laid it at her feet, pointed downwards (to intimate that in the lower regions was the object of his desire), smiled with an expression of the joy and gratitude with which he would receive it, and put the coat on again. Once more a gleam of intelligence lighted up the plain but expressive features of the young person; she was absent much longer this time, and when she returned, she brought, to our dismay, a large cushion and a pillow, and began to prepare the sofa for the nap that she now saw clearly was the thing the dumb gentleman wanted. A happy thought occurred to me, and I hastily drew a sketch representing Liddon, with one coat on, receiving a second and larger one from the hands of a benignant Russian peasant. The language of hieroglyphics succeeded where all other means had failed, and we returned to St. Petersburg with the humiliating knowledge that our standard of civilisation was now reduced to the level of ancient Nineveh.

December 17, 1895. I have given books to Kate Tyndall and Sydney Fairbrother, and have heard from them, and find I was entirely mistaken in taking them for children. Both are married women![47]

Lewis Carroll had a nervous horror of infection that occasionally resulted in a good deal of unconscious humour. During a brief holiday which the two elder Miss Bowmans spent with him at Eastbourne, the news came that their youngest sister had caught scarlet fever. After this, the two children had to read every letter which came from their mother as best they could from the other side of the room, while their host held the epistle aloft, his head averted so that he should not see what was not intended for his eyes.

On the occasion of another Eastbourne visit the same little girls were taken by their friend for a steamer trip to Hastings. This was with the idea of accustoming them to sea-travelling, in view of the forthcoming professional visit of the little actresses to America. Their “rehearsal” was certainly instructive, for the sea was much rougher than at any time during their subsequent trip across the Atlantic, with the result that they suffered considerably. “Uncle Dodgson,” as they invariably called him, did his best to console them by continually repeating, “Crossing the Atlantic will be much worse than this!”

He (Lewis Carroll) 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!”

Tight boots were a great aversion of his, especially for children. One little girl who was staying with him at Eastbourne had occasion to buy a new pair of boots. Lewis Carroll gave instructions to the bootmaker as to how they were to be made, so as to be thoroughly comfortable, with the result that when they came home they were more useful than ornamental, being very nearly as broad as they were long! Which shows that even hygienic principles may be pushed too far.

In Guildford there is (or was) an American confectioner’s, where the cakes are cooked by a very quick process before the public and handed to you smoking hot, direct from the cook. This preparation used to be a source of considerable interest to the juvenile population, who could watch the proceedings through the shop window. One afternoon, when Lewis Carroll was purchasing cakes for some of his child chums, seven small ragged youngsters formed an envious group outside. But they soon became a participatory one, for, purchasing seven of the choicest specimens of confectionery, the lover of children took them outside and distributed them to the eager little ones.

“My first introduction”[48] (writes Sir George Baden-Powell) “to the author of ‘Through the Looking Glass’ was about the year 1870 or 1871, and under appropriate conditions! I was then coaching at Oxford with the well-known Rev. E. Hatch, and was on friendly terms with his bright and pretty children. Entering his house one day, and facing the dining-room, I heard mysterious noises under the table, and saw the cloth move as if some one were hiding. Children’s legs revealed it as no burglar, and there was nothing for it but to crawl upon them, roaring as a lion. Bursting in upon them, in their stronghold under the table, I was met by the staid but amused gaze of a reverend gentleman. Frequently afterwards did I see and hear Lewis Carroll entertaining the youngsters in his inimitable way.”

Possibly the funniest story about Lewis Carroll is the rather well-known one which relates how Queen Victoria, being charmed by “Alice in Wonderland,” and hearing that the author was really the Rev. C. L. Dodgson, ordered the rest of his works. Her surprise at receiving a large parcel of mathematical and technical works may be imagined!