The Life and Letters of Lewis Carroll by Stuart Dodgson Collingwood

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TO SYLVIE.

Ah! Sylvie, winsome, wise and good!
Fain would I love thee as I should.
But, to tell the truth, my dear,--
And Sylvie loves the truth to hear,--
Though fair and pure and sweet thou art,
Thine elder sister has my heart!
I gave it her long, long ago
To have and hold; and well I know,
Brave Lady Sylvie, thou wouldst scorn
To accept a heart foresworn.

Lovers thou wilt have enow
Under many a greening bough--
Lovers yet unborn galore,
Like Alice all the wide world o'er;
But, darling, I am now too old
To change. And though I still shall hold
Thee, and that puckling sprite, thy brother,
Dear, I cannot _love_ another:
In this heart of mine I own
_She_ must ever reign alone!

_March_, 1890.

N.P.

I do not know N.P.'s name and address, or I should have asked leave
before giving publicity to the above verses. If these words meet his
eye, I hope he will accept my most humble apologies for the liberty I
have taken.

At the beginning of 1894 a Baptist minister, preaching on the text,
"No man liveth to himself," made use of "Sylvie and Bruno" to enforce
his argument. After saying that he had been reading that book, he
proceeded as follows:

A child was asked to define charity. He said it was "givin'
away what yer didn't want yerself." This was some people's
idea of self-sacrifice; but it was not Christ's. Then as to
serving others in view of reward: Mr. Lewis Carroll put this
view of the subject very forcibly in his "Sylvie and
Bruno"--an excellent book for youth; indeed, for men and
women too. He first criticised Archdeacon Paley's definition
of virtue (which was said to be "the doing good to mankind,
in obedience to the will of God, and for the sake of
everlasting happiness,") and then turned to such hymns as
the following:--

Whatever, Lord, we lend to Thee,
_Repaid a thousandfold shall be_,
Then gladly will we give to Thee,
Giver of all!

Mr. Carroll's comment was brief and to the point. He said:
"Talk of Original _Sin_! Can you have a stronger proof
of the Original Goodness there must be in this nation than
the fact that Religion has been preached to us, as a
commercial speculation, for a century, and that we still
believe in a God?" ["Sylvie and Bruno," Part i., pp. 276,
277.] Of course it was quite true, as Mr. Carroll pointed
out, that our good deeds would be rewarded; but we ought to
do them because they were _good_, and not because the
reward was great.

In the Preface to "Sylvie and Bruno," Lewis Carroll alluded to certain
editions of Shakespeare which seemed to him unsuitable for children;
it never seemed to strike him that his words might be read by
children, and that thus his object very probably would be defeated,
until this fact was pointed out to him in a letter from an unknown
correspondent, Mr. J.C. Cropper, of Hampstead. Mr. Dodgson replied as
follows:--

Dear Sir,--Accept my best thanks for your thoughtful and
valuable suggestion about the Preface to "Sylvie and Bruno."
The danger you point out had not occurred to me (I suppose I
had not thought of _children_ reading the Preface): but
it is a very real one, and I am very glad to have had my
attention called to it.

Believe me, truly yours,

Lewis Carroll.

Mathematical controversy carried on by correspondence was a favourite
recreation of Mr. Dodgson's, and on February 20, 1890, he wrote:--

I've just concluded a correspondence with a Cambridge man,
who is writing a Geometry on the "Direction" theory
(Wilson's plan), and thinks he has avoided Wilson's (what
_I_ think) fallacies. He _hasn't_, but I can't
convince him! My view of life is, that it's next to
impossible to convince _anybody_ of _anything_.

The following letter is very characteristic. "Whatsoever thy hand
findeth to do, do it with all thy might," was Mr. Dodgson's rule of
life, and, as the end drew near, he only worked the harder:--

Christ Church, Oxford, _April_ 10, 1890.

My dear Atkinson,--Many and sincere thanks for your most
hospitable invitation, and for the very interesting photo of
the family group. The former I fear I must ask you to let me
defer _sine die_, and regard it as a pleasant dream,
not _quite_ hopeless of being some day realised. I keep
a list of such pleasant possibilities, and yours is now one
of ten similar kind offers of hospitality. But as life
shortens in, and the evening shadows loom in sight, one gets
to _grudge any_ time given to mere pleasure, which
might entail the leaving work half finished that one is
longing to do before the end comes.

There are several books I _greatly_ desire to get
finished for children. I am glad to find my working powers
are as good as they ever were. Even with the mathematical
book (a third edition) which I am now getting through the
press, I think nothing of working six hours at a stretch.

There is one text that often occurs to me, "The night
cometh, when no man can work." Kindest regards to Mrs.
Atkinson, and love to Gertrude.

Always sincerely yours,

C. L. Dodgson.

For the benefit of children aged "from nought to five," as
he himself phrased it, Lewis Carroll prepared a nursery
edition of "Alice." He shortened the text considerably, and
altered it so much that only the plot of the story remained
unchanged. It was illustrated by the old pictures, coloured
by Tenniel, and the cover was adorned by a picture designed
by Miss E. Gertrude Thomson. As usual, the Dedication takes
the form of an anagram, the solution of which is the name of
one of his later child-friends. "_The Nursery
'Alice,_'" was published by Macmillan and Co., in March,
1890.

On August 18th the following letter on the "Eight Hours
Movement" appeared in _The Standard:_--

Sir,--Supposing it were the custom, in a
certain town, to sell eggs in paper bags at so much per bag,
and that a fierce dispute had arisen between the egg vendors
and the public as to how many eggs each bag should be
understood to contain, the vendors wishing to be allowed to
make up smaller bags; and supposing the public were to say,
"In future we will pay you so much per egg, and you can make
up bags as you please," would any ground remain for further
dispute?

Supposing that employers of labour, when threatened with a
"strike" in case they should decline to reduce the number of
hours in a working day, were to reply, "In future we will
pay you so much per hour, and you can make up days as you
please," it does appear to me--being, as I confess, an
ignorant outsider--that the dispute would die out for want
of a _raison d'etre_, and that these disastrous
strikes, inflicting such heavy loss on employers and
employed alike, would become things of the past.

I am, Sir, your obedient servant,

Lewis Carroll.

The remainder of the year was uneventful; a few notes from his Diary
must represent it here:--

_Oct. 4th._--Called on Mr. Coventry Patmore (at
Hastings), and was very kindly received by him, and stayed
for afternoon tea and dinner. He showed me some interesting
pictures, including a charming little drawing, by Holman
Hunt, of one of his daughters when three years old. He gave
me an interesting account of his going, by Tennyson's
request, to his lodging to look for the MS. of "In
Memoriam," which he had left behind, and only finding it by
insisting on going upstairs, in spite of the landlady's
opposition, to search for it. Also he told me the story (I
think I have heard it before) of what Wordsworth told his
friends as the "one joke" of his life, in answer to a
passing carter who asked if he had seen his wife. "My good
friend, I didn't even know you had a wife!" He seems a very
hale and vigorous old man for nearly seventy, which I think
he gave as his age in writing to me.

_Oct. 31st._--This morning, thinking over the problem
of finding two squares whose sum is a square, I chanced on a
theorem (which seems _true_, though I cannot prove it),
that if x squared + y squared be even, its half is the sum of two squares.
A kindred theorem, that 2(x squared + y squared) is always the sum of two
squares, also seems true and unprovable.

_Nov. 5th.--_I have now proved the above two theorems.
Another pretty deduction from the theory of square numbers
is, that any number whose square is the sum of two squares,
is itself the sum of two squares.

I have already mentioned Mr. Dodgson's habit of thinking out problems
at night. Often new ideas would occur to him during hours of
sleeplessness, and he had long wanted to hear of or invent some easy
method of taking notes in the dark. At first he tried writing within
oblongs cut out of cardboard, but the result was apt to be illegible.
In 1891 he conceived the device of having a series of squares cut out
in card, and inventing an alphabet, of which each letter was made of
lines, which could be written along the edges of the squares, and
dots, which could be marked at the corners. The thing worked well, and
he named it the "Typhlograph," but, at the suggestion of one of his
brother-students, this was subsequently changed into "Nyctograph."

He spent the Long Vacation at Eastbourne, attending service every
Sunday at Christ Church, according to his usual rule.

_Sept._ 6, 1891.--At the evening service at Christ
Church a curious thing happened, suggestive of telepathy.
Before giving out the second hymn the curate read out some
notices. Meanwhile I took my hymn-book, and said to myself
(I have no idea _why_), "It will be hymn 416," and I
turned to it. It was not one I recognised as having ever
heard; and, on looking at it, I said, "It is very prosaic;
it is a very unlikely one"--and it was really startling,
the next minute, to hear the curate announce "Hymn 416."

In October it became generally known that Dean Liddell was going to
resign at Christmas. This was a great blow to Mr. Dodgson, but little
mitigated by the fact that the very man whom he himself would have
chosen, Dr. Paget, was appointed to fill the vacant place. The old
Dean was very popular in College; even the undergraduates, with whom
he was seldom brought into contact, felt the magic of his commanding
personality and the charm of his gracious, old-world manner. He was a
man whom, once seen, it was almost impossible to forget.

[Illustration: The Dean of Christ Church. _From a
photograph by Hill & Saunders._]

Shortly before the resignation of Dr. Liddell, the Duchess of Albany
spent a few days at the Deanery. Mr. Dodgson was asked to meet her
Royal Highness at luncheon, but was unable to go. Princess Alice and
the little Duke of Albany, however, paid him a visit, and were
initiated in the art of making paper pistols. He promised to send the
Princess a copy of a book called "The Fairies," and the children,
having spent a happy half-hour in his rooms, returned to the Deanery.
This was one of the days which he "marked with a white stone." He sent
a copy of "The Nursery 'Alice'" to the little Princess Alice, and
received a note of thanks from her, and also a letter from her mother,
in which she said that the book had taught the Princess to like
reading, and to do it out of lesson-time. To the Duke he gave a copy
of a book entitled "The Merry Elves." In his little note of thanks for
this gift, the boy said, "Alice and I want you to love us both." Mr.
Dodgson sent Princess Alice a puzzle, promising that if she found it
out, he would give her a "golden chair from Wonderland."

At the close of the year he wrote me a long letter, which I think
worthy of reproducing here, for he spent a long time over it, and it
contains excellent examples of his clear way of putting things.

_To S.D. Collingwood._

Ch. Ch., Oxford, _Dec_. 29, 1891.

My Dear Stuart,--(Rather a large note-sheet, isn't it? But
they do differ in size, you know.) I fancy this book of
science (which I have had a good while, without making any
use of it), may prove of some use to you, with your boys. [I
was a schoolmaster at that time.] Also this cycling-book (or
whatever it is to be called) may be useful in putting down
engagements, &c., besides telling you a lot about cycles.
There was no use in sending it to _me; my _cycling days
are over.

You ask me if your last piece of "Meritt" printing is dark
enough. I think not. I should say the rollers want fresh
inking. As to the _matter_ of your specimen--[it was a
poor little essay on killing animals for the purpose of
scientific recreations, _e.g._, collecting
butterflies]--I think you _cannot_ spend your time
better than in trying to set down clearly, in that
essay-form, your ideas on any subject that chances to
interest you; and _specially_ any theological subject
that strikes you in the course of your reading for Holy
Orders.

It will be most _excellent_ practice for you, against
the time when you try to compose sermons, to try thus to
realise exactly what it is you mean, and to express it
clearly, and (a much harder matter) to get into proper shape
the _reasons_ of your opinions, and to see whether they
do, or do not, tend to prove the conclusions you come to.
You have never studied technical Logic, at all, I fancy. [I
_had_, but I freely admit that the essay in question
proved that I had not then learnt to apply my principles to
practice.] It would have been a great help: but still it is
not indispensable: after all, it is only the putting into
rules of the way in which _every_ mind proceeds, when
it draws valid conclusions; and, by practice in careful
thinking, you may get to know "fallacies" when you meet with
them, without knowing the formal _rules_.

At present, when you try to give _reasons_, you are in
considerable danger of propounding fallacies. Instances
occur in this little essay of yours; and I hope it won't
offend your _amour propre_ very much, if an old uncle,
who has studied Logic for forty years, makes a few remarks
on it.

I am not going to enter _at all_ on the subject-matter
itself, or to say whether I agree, or not, with your
_conclusions_: but merely to examine, from a
logic-lecturer's point of view, your _premisses_ as
relating to them.

(1) "As the lower animals do not appear to have personality
or individual existence, I cannot see that any particular
one's life can be very important," &c. The word
"personality" is very vague: I don't know what you mean by
it. If you were to ask yourself, "What test should I use in
distinguishing what _has_, from what has _not_,
personality?" you might perhaps be able to express your
meaning more clearly. The phrase "individual existence" is
clear enough, and is in direct logical contradiction to the
phrase "particular one." To say, of anything, that it has
_not_ "individual existence," and yet that it _is_
a "particular one," involves the logical fallacy called a
"contradiction in terms."

(2) "In both cases" (animal and plant) "death is only the
conversion of matter from one form to another." The word
"form" is very vague--I fancy you use it in a sort of
_chemical_ sense (like saying "sugar is starch in
another form," where the change in nature is generally
believed to be a rearrangement of the very same atoms). If
you mean to assert that the difference between a live animal
and a dead animal, _i.e.,_ between animate and
sensitive matter, and the same matter when it becomes
inanimate and insensitive, is a mere rearrangement of the
same atoms, your premiss is intelligible. (It is a bolder
one than any biologists have yet advanced. The most
sceptical of them admits, I believe, that "vitality" is a
thing _per se. _However, that is beside my present
scope.) But this premiss is advanced to prove that it is of
no "consequence" to kill an animal. But, granting that the
conversion of sensitive into insensitive matter (and of
course _vice versa_) is a mere change of "form," and
_therefore_ of no "consequence"; granting this, we
cannot escape the including under this rule all similar
cases. If the _power_ of feeling pain, and the
_absence_ of that power, are only a difference of
"form," the conclusion is inevitable that the _feeling_
pain, and the _not_ feeling it, are _also_ only a
difference in form, _i.e.,_ to convert matter, which is
_not_ feeling pain, into matter _feeling_ pain, is
only to change its "form," and, if the process of "changing
form" is of no "consequence" in the case of sensitive and
insensitive matter, we must admit that it is _also_ of
no "consequence" in the case of pain-feeling and _not_
pain-feeling matter. This conclusion, I imagine, you neither
intended nor foresaw. The premiss, which you use, involves
the fallacy called "proving too much."

The best advice that could be given to you, when you begin
to compose sermons, would be what an old friend once gave to
a young man who was going out to be an Indian judge (in
India, it seems, the judge decides things, without a jury,
like our County Court judges). "Give _your decisions_
boldly and clearly; they will probably be _right_. But
do _not_ give your _reasons: they_ will probably
be _wrong"_ If your lot in life is to be in a
_country_ parish, it will perhaps not matter
_much_ whether the reasons given in your sermons do or
do not prove your conclusions. But even there you
_might_ meet, and in a town congregation you would be
_sure_ to meet, clever sceptics, who know well how to
argue, who will detect your fallacies and point them out to
those who are _not_ yet troubled with doubts, and thus
undermine _all_ their confidence in your teaching.

At Eastbourne, last summer, I heard a preacher advance the
astounding argument, "We believe that the Bible is true,
because our holy Mother, the Church, tells us it is." I pity
that unfortunate clergyman if ever he is bold enough to
enter any Young Men's Debating Club where there is some
clear-headed sceptic who has heard, or heard of, that
sermon. I can fancy how the young man would rub his hands,
in delight, and would say to himself, "Just see me get him
into a corner, and convict him of arguing in a circle!"

The bad logic that occurs in many and many a well-meant
sermon, is a real danger to modern Christianity. When
detected, it may seriously injure many believers, and fill
them with miserable doubts. So my advice to you, as a young
theological student, is "Sift your reasons _well_, and,
before you offer them to others, make sure that they prove
your conclusions."

I hope you won't give this letter of mine (which it has cost
me some time and thought to write) just a single reading and
then burn it; but that you will lay it aside. Perhaps, even
years hence, it may be of some use to you to read it again.

Believe me always

Your affectionate Uncle,

C. L. Dodgson.

* * * * *

CHAPTER VIII

(1892-1896)

Mr. Dodgson resigns the Curatorship--Bazaars--He lectures to
children--A mechanical "Humpty Dumpty"--A logical
controversy--Albert Chevalier--"Sylvie and Bruno
Concluded"--"Pillow Problems"--Mr. Dodgson's
generosity--College services--Religious difficulties--A
village sermon--Plans for the future--Reverence--"Symbolic
Logic."

At Christ Church, as at other Colleges, the Common Room is an
important feature. Open from eight in the morning until ten at night,
it takes the place of a club, where the "dons" may see the newspapers,
talk, write letters, or enjoy a cup of tea. After dinner, members of
High Table, with their guests if any are present, usually adjourn to
the Common Room for wine and dessert, while there is a smoking-room
hard by for those who do not despise the harmless but unnecessary
weed, and below are cellars, with a goodly store of choice old wines.

The Curator's duties were therefore sufficiently onerous. They were
doubly so in Mr. Dodgson's case, for his love of minute accuracy
greatly increased the amount of work he had to do. It was his office
to select and purchase wines, to keep accounts, to adjust selling
price to cost price, to see that the two Common Room servants
performed their duties, and generally to look after the comfort and
convenience of the members.

"Having heard," he wrote near the end of the year 1892, "that Strong
was willing to be elected (as Curator), and Common Room willing to
elect him, I most gladly resigned. The sense of relief at being free
from the burdensome office, which has cost me a large amount of time
and trouble, is very delightful. I was made Curator, December 8, 1882,
so that I have held the office more than nine years."

The literary results of his Curatorship were three very interesting
little pamphlets, "Twelve Months in a Curatorship, by One who has
tried it"; "Three years in a Curatorship, by One whom it has tried";
and "Curiosissima Curatoria, by 'Rude Donatus,'" all printed for
private circulation, and couched in the same serio-comic vein. As a
logician he naturally liked to see his thoughts in print, for, just as
the mathematical mind craves for a black-board and a piece of chalk,
so the logical mind must have its paper and printing-press wherewith
to set forth its deductions effectively.

A few extracts must suffice to show the style of these pamphlets, and
the opportunity offered for the display of humour.

In the arrangement of the prices at which wines were to be sold to
members of Common Room, he found a fine scope for the exercise of his
mathematical talents and his sense of proportion. In one of the
pamphlets he takes old Port and Chablis as illustrations.

The original cost of each is about 3s. a bottle; but the
present value of the old Port is about 11s. a bottle. Let us
suppose, then, that we have to sell to Common Room one
bottle of old Port and three of Chablis, the original cost
of the whole being 12s., and the present value 20s. These
are our data. We have now two questions to answer. First,
what sum shall we ask for the whole? Secondly, how shall we
apportion that sum between the two kinds of wine?

The sum to be asked for the whole he decides, following precedent, is
to be the present market-value of the wine; as to the second question,
he goes on to say--

We have, as so often happens in the lives of distinguished
premiers, three courses before us: (1) to charge the
_present_ value for each kind of wine; (2) to put on a
certain percentage to the _original_ value of each
kind; (3) to make a compromise between these two courses.

Course 1 seems to me perfectly reasonable; but a very
plausible objection has been made to it--that it puts a
prohibitory price on the valuable wines, and that they would
remain unconsumed. This would not, however, involve any loss
to our finances; we could obviously realise the enhanced
values of the old wines by selling them to outsiders, if the
members of Common Room would not buy them. But I do not
advocate this course.

Course 2 would lead to charging 5s. a bottle for Port and
Chablis alike. The Port-drinker would be "in clover," while
the Chablis-drinker would probably begin getting his wine
direct from the merchant instead of from the Common Room
cellar, which would be a _reductio ad absurdum_ of the
tariff. Yet I have heard this course advocated, repeatedly,
as an abstract principle. "You ought to consider the
_original_ value only," I have been told. "You ought to
regard the Port-drinker as a private individual, who has
laid the wine in for himself, and who ought to have all the
advantages of its enhanced value. You cannot fairly ask him
for more than what you need to refill the bins with Port,
_plus_ the percentage thereon needed to meet the
contingent expenses." I have listened to such arguments, but
have never been convinced that the course is just. It seems
to me that the 8s. additional value which the bottle of Port
has acquired, is the property of _Common Room_, and
that Common Room has the power to give it to whom it
chooses; and it does not seem to me fair to give it all to
the Port-drinker. What merit is there in preferring Port to
Chablis, that could justify our selling the Port-drinker his
wine at less than half what he would have to give outside,
and charging the Chablis-drinker five-thirds of what he
would have to give outside? At all events, I, as a
Port-drinker, do not wish to absorb the whole advantage, and
would gladly share it with the Chablis-drinker. The course I
recommend is

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