“The following letter written to me in 1873, about a large wax doll that Mr. Dodgson had presented to me, and which I left behind when I went on a visit from home, is an interesting specimen. Emily and Mabel [referred to in the letter] were other dolls of mine and known also by him, but though they have long since departed this life, I need hardly say I still possess the doll ‘Alice.’
“‘My dear Birdie: I met her just outside Tom Gate, walking very stiffly and I think she was trying to find her way to my rooms. So I said, “Why have you come here without Birdie?” So she said, “Birdie’s gone! and Emily’s gone! and Mabel isn’t kind to me!”’ And two little waxy tears came running down her cheeks.
“Why, how stupid of me! I’ve never told who it was all the time! It was your own doll. I was very glad to see her, and took her to my room, and gave her some Vesta matches to eat, and a cup of nice melted wax to drink, for the poor little thing was very hungry and thirsty after her long walk. So I said, ‘Come and sit by the fire and let’s have a comfortable chat?’ ‘Oh, no! no!’ she said, ‘I’d much rather not; you know I do melt so very easily!’ And she made me take her quite to the other side of the room, where it was very cold; and then she sat on my knee and fanned herself with a pen-wiper, because she said she was afraid the end of her nose was beginning to melt.
“‘You have no idea how careful we have to be—we dolls,’ she said. ‘Why, there was a sister of mine—would you believe it?—she went up to the fire to warm her hands, and one of her hands dropped right off! There now!’ ‘Of course it dropped right off,’ I said, ‘because it was the right hand.’ ‘And how do you know it was the right hand, Mister Carroll?’ the doll said. So I said, ‘I think it must have been the right hand because the other hand was left.’
“The doll said, ‘I shan’t laugh. It’s a very bad joke. Why, even a common wooden doll could make a better joke than that. And besides they’ve made my mouth so stiff and hard that I can’t laugh if I try ever so much.’ ‘Don’t be cross about it,’ I said, ‘but tell me this: I’m going to give Birdie and the other children one photograph each, whichever they choose; which do you think Birdie will choose?’ ‘I don’t know,’ said the doll; ‘you’d better ask her!’ So I took her home in a hansom cab. Which would you like, do you think? Arthur as Cupid? or Arthur and Wilfred together? or you and Ethel as beggar children? or Ethel standing on a box? or, one of yourself?
“‘Your affectionate friend,
“‘Lewis Carroll.’”
There were, as you see, special occasions when boys were accepted, or rather tolerated, and special boys with whom he exchanged courtesies from time to time. The little Hatch boys were favored, we cannot say for their own small sakes, but because there were two little sisters and their feelings had to be considered. Lewis Carroll even took their pictures, and went so far as to write a little prologue for Beatrice and her brother Wilfred. The “grown-ups” were to give some private theatricals which the children were to introduce in the following dialogue:
(Enter Beatrice leading Wilfred. She leaves him at center [front], and after going round on tiptoe to make sure they are not overheard, returns and takes his arm.)
B. Wiffie! I’m sure that something is the matter!
All day there’s been-oh, such a fuss and clatter!
Mamma’s been trying on a funny dress—
I never saw the house in such a mess!
(Puts her arms around his neck.)
Is there a secret, Wiffie?
W. (Shaking her off.) Yes, of course!
B. And you won’t tell it? (Whimpers.) Then you’re very cross!
(Turns away from him and clasps her hands ecstatically.)
I’m sure of this! It’s something quite uncommon!
W. (Stretching up his arms with a mock heroic air.)
Oh, Curiosity! Thy name is woman!
(Puts his arm round her coaxingly.)
Well, Birdie, then I’ll tell! (Mysteriously.)
What should you say
If they were going to act—a little play?
B. (Jumping up and clapping her hands.)
I’d say, “How nice!”
W. (Pointing to audience.)
But will it please the rest?
B. Oh, yes! Because, you know, they’ll do their best!
(Turns to audience.)
You’ll praise them, won’t you, when you’ve seen the play?
Just say, “How nice!” before you go away!
(They run away hand in hand.)
Of course the little girl had the last word, but then, as Lewis Carroll himself would say, “Little girls usually had.”