Outwardly the life of the young Student seemed unchanged, but that is all we mortals know about it; the fairies were already at work. In moments of leisure little poems went forth to the world—a world which at first consisted of Croft Rectory—for there was another and last family magazine, of which he was sole editor and composer. He named it Misch-Masch, a curious old German word, which in our English means Hodge-Podge, and everybody, young and old, knows what a jumble Hodge-Podge is—something like New England succotash.
Misch-Masch was started by this enterprising young editor during the year after his graduation. He had become a person of vast experience between Misch-Masch and the days of The Rectory Umbrella, having been editor of College Rhymes, his college paper. He also wrote stories for the Oxonian Advertiser and the Whitby Gazette, and this printed matter, together with many new and original ideas and drawings, found a place in his new home venture.
His mathematical genius blossomed forth in a wonderful labyrinth or maze, a geometrical design within a given square form, of a tangle of intersecting lines and angles containing a hidden pathway to the center. These designs, that seem so remarkable to outsiders, were very simple to the editor of Misch-Masch, who was always inventing puzzles of some sort.
He also wrote a series of “Studies from the English Poets,” which he illustrated himself. One specially good drawing was of the following line from one of Keats’s poems. “She did so—but ’tis doubtful how or whence.” The picture represents a very fat old lady, with a capitally drawn placid face, perched on a post marked “Dangerous,” seemingly in midwater. In her chubby hand is a basket with the long neck of a goose hanging out.
Mr. Stuart Collingwood, Lewis Carroll’s nephew, gives a most interesting account of these early editorial efforts, in an article written for the Strand, an English magazine. Speaking of the above illustration he says:
“Keats is the author whom our artist has honored, and surely the shade of that much neglected songster owes something to a picture which must popularize one passage at least in his works.
“The only way I can account for the lady’s hazardous position is by supposing her to have attempted to cross a frozen lake after a thaw has set in. The goose, whose long neck projects from her basket, proves that she has just returned from market; probably the route across the lake was her shortest way home. We are to suppose that for some time she proceeded without any knowledge of the risk she was running, when suddenly she felt the ice giving way under her. By frantic exertions she succeeded in reaching the notice-board, to which she clung for days and nights together, till the ice was all melted and a deluge of rain caused the water to rise so many feet that at last she was compelled for dear life to climb to the top of the post.” We can now understand how well the illustration fits in with the line:
“She did so, but ’tis doubtful how or whence.”
Mr. Collingwood continues:
“Whether she sustained life by eating raw goose is uncertain. At least she did not follow Father William’s example by devouring the beak. The question naturally suggests itself: Why was she not rescued? My answer is that either such a dense fog enveloped the whole neighborhood that even her bulky form was invisible, or that she was so unpopular a character that each man feared the hatred of the rest if he should go to her succor.”