For it had lost its shape and shine,
And it had cost him four-and-nine,
And he was going out to dine.
“To dine!” she sneered in acid tone.
“To bend thy being to a bone
Clothed in a radiance not its own!”
“Term it not ‘radiance,’” said he:
“’Tis solid nutriment to me.
Dinner is Dinner: Tea is Tea.”
And she “Yea so? Yet wherefore cease?
Let thy scant knowledge find increase.
Say ‘Men are Men, and Geese are Geese.’”
The gentleman wanted to get away from this severe lady, but he could see no escape, for she was getting excited.
“To dine!” she shrieked, in dragon-wrath.
“To swallow wines all foam and froth!
To simper at a tablecloth!
“Canst thou desire or pie or puff?
Thy well-bred manners were enough,
Without such gross material stuff.”
“Yet well-bred men,” he faintly said,
“Are not unwilling to be fed:
Nor are they well without the bread.”
Her visage scorched him ere she spoke;
“There are,” she said, “a kind of folk
Who have no horror of a joke.
“Such wretches live: they take their share
Of common earth and common air:
We come across them here and there.”
“We grant them—there is no escape—
A sort of semihuman shape
Suggestive of the manlike Ape.”
So the arguing went on—her Voice, his Voice, and the Voice of the Sea. He tried to joke away her solemn mood with a pun.
“The world is but a Thought,” said he:
“The vast, unfathomable sea
Is but a Notion—unto me.”
And darkly fell her answer dread
Upon his unresisting head,
Like half a hundredweight of lead.
“The Good and Great must ever shun
That reckless and abandoned one
Who stoops to perpetrate a pun.
“The man that smokes—that reads the Times—
That goes to Christmas Pantomimes—
Is capable of any crimes!”
Anyone can understand these verses, but it is very plain that the poem is a satire on the rise of the learned lady, who takes no interest in the lighter, pleasanter side of life; a being much detested by Lewis Carroll, who above all things loved a “womanly woman.” As he grew older he became somewhat precise and old-fashioned in his opinions—that is perhaps the reason why he was so lovable. His ideals of womanhood and little girlhood were fixed and beautiful dreams, untouched by the rush of the times. The “new woman” puzzled and pained him quite as much as the pert, precocious, up-to-date girl. Would there were more Lewis Carrolls in the world; quiet, simple, old-fashioned, courteous gentlemen with ideals!
Here is a clever little poem dedicated to girls, which he calls
A GAME OF FIVES.
Five little girls, of five, four, three, two, one:
Rolling on the hearthrug, full of tricks and fun.
Five rosy girls, in years from ten to six:
Sitting down to lessons—no more time for tricks.
Five growing girls, from fifteen to eleven:
Music, drawing, languages, and food enough for seven!
Five winsome girls, from twenty to sixteen:
Each young man that calls I say, “Now tell me which you mean!”
Five dashing girls, the youngest twenty-one:
But if nobody proposes, what is there to be done?
Five showy girls—but thirty is an age
When girls may be engaging, but they somehow don’t engage.
Five dressy girls, of thirty-one or more:
So gracious to the shy young men they snubbed so much before!
Five passé girls. Their age? Well, never mind!
We jog along together, like the rest of human kind:
But the quondam “careless bachelor” begins to think he knows
The answer to that ancient problem “how the money goes!”
There was no theme, in short, that Lewis Carroll did not fit into a rhyme or a poem. Some of them were full of real feeling, others were sparkling with nonsense, but all had their charm. No style nor meter daunted him; no poet was too great for his clever pen to parody; no ode was too heroic for a little earthly fun; and when the measure was rollicking the rhymer was at his best. Of this last, Alice’s invitation to the Looking-Glass world is a fair example:
To the Looking-Glass world it was Alice that said,
“I’ve a scepter in hand, I’ve a crown on my head.
Let the Looking-Glass creatures, whatever they be,
Come and dine with the Red Queen, the White Queen, and me!”
Then fill up the glasses as quick as you can,
And sprinkle the table with buttons and bran;
Put cats in the coffee, and mice in the tea,
And welcome Queen Alice with thirty-times-three!
“O Looking-Glass creatures,” quoth Alice, “draw near!
’Tis an honor to see me, a favor to hear;
’Tis a privilege high to have dinner and tea
Along with the Red Queen, the White Queen, and me!”
Then fill up the glasses with treacle and ink,
Or anything else that is pleasant to drink;
Mix sand with the cider, and wool with the wine,
And welcome Queen Alice with ninety-times-nine!