Complete Works of Lewis Carroll (238 page)

The second instance occurred eleven years ago, when some of the undergraduates destroyed some valuable statuary in the Library.
Here the writer states that the Dean first announced that criminal proceedings would be taken, and then, on discovering that the offenders were "highly connected," found himself "converted to the opinion that mercy is preferable to stern justice, and charity to the strict letter of the law."
The facts are that the punishment awarded to the offenders was deliberated on and determined on by the Governing Body, consisting of the Dean, the Canons, and some twenty Senior Students; that their deliberations were most assuredly in no way affected by any thoughts of the offenders being "highly connected"; and that, when all was over, we had the satisfaction of seeing ourselves roundly abused in the papers on both sides, and charged with having been too lenient, and also with having been too severe.

The third instance occurred the other night.
Some undergraduates were making a disturbance, and the Junior Censor "made his appearance in person upon the scene of riot," and "was contumeliously handled."
Here the only statement of any real importance, the alleged assault by Christ Church men on the Junior Censor, is untrue.
The fact is that nearly all the disturbers were out-College men, and, though it is true that the Censor was struck by a stone thrown from a window, the unenviable distinction of having thrown it belongs to no member of the House.
I doubt if we have one single man here who would be capable of so base and cowardly an act.

The writer then gives us a curious account of the present constitution of the House.
The Dean, whom he calls "the right reverend gentleman," is, "in a kind of way, master of the College.
The Canons, in a vague kind of way, are supposed to control the College."
The Senior Students "dare not call their souls their own," and yet somehow dare "to vent their wrath" on the Junior Students.
His hazy, mental picture of the position of the Canons may be cleared up by explaining to him that the "control" they exercise is neither more nor less than that of any other six members of the Governing Body.
The description of the Students I pass over as not admitting any appeal to actual facts.

The truth is that Christ Church stands convicted of two unpardonable crimes—being great, and having a name.
Such a place must always expect to find itself "a wide mark for scorn and jeers"—a target where the little and the nameless may display their skill.
Only the other day an M.P., rising to ask a question about Westminster School, went on to speak of Christ Church, and wound up with a fierce attack on the ancient House.
Shall we blame him?
Do we blame the wanton schoolboy, with a pebble in his hand, all powerless to resist the alluring vastness of a barndoor?

The essence of the article seems to be summed up in the following sentence: "At Christ Church all attempts to preserve order by the usual means have hitherto proved uniformly unsuccessful, and apparently remain equally fruitless."
It is hard for one who, like myself, has lived here most of his life, to believe that this is seriously intended as a description of the place.
However, as general statements can only be met by general statements, permit me, as one who has lived here for thirty years and has taught for five-and-twenty, to say that in my experience order has been the rule, disorder the rare exception, and that, if the writer of your leading article has had an equal amount of experience in any similar place of education, and has found a set of young men more gentlemanly, more orderly, and more pleasant in every way to deal with, than I have found here, I cannot but think him an exceptionally favoured mortal.—Yours, &c.

Charles l.
Dodgson,

Student and Mathematical Lecturer of Christ Church
.

In July began an amusing correspondence between Mr.
Dodgson and a "circle-squarer," which lasted several months.
Mr.
Dodgson sent the infatuated person, whom we will call Mr.
B—, a proof that the area of a circle is less than 3.15 the square of the radius.
Mr.
B—replied, "Your proof is not in accordance with Euclid, it assumes that a circle may be considered as a rectangle, and that two right lines can enclose a space."
He returned the proof, saying that he could not accept any of it as elucidating the exact area of a circle, or as Euclidean.
As Mr.
Dodgson's method involved a slight knowledge of trigonometry, and he had reason to suspect that Mr.
B—was entirely ignorant of that subject, he thought it worth while to put him to the test by asking him a few questions upon it, but the circle-squarer, with commendable prudence, declined to discuss anything not Euclidean.
Mr.
Dodgson then wrote to him, "taking leave of the subject, until he should be willing to enlarge his field of knowledge to the elements of Algebraical Geometry."
Mr.
B—replied, with unmixed contempt, "Algebraical Geometry is all moon-shine."
He
preferred "weighing cardboard" as a means of ascertaining exact truth in mathematical research.
Finally he suggested that Mr.
Dodgson might care to join in a prize-competition to be got up among the followers of Euclid, and as he apparently wished him to understand that he (Mr.
B—) did not think much of his chances of getting a prize, Mr.
Dodgson considered that the psychological moment for putting an end to the correspondence had arrived.

Meanwhile he was beginning to feel his regular College duties a terrible clog upon his literary work.
The Studentship which he held was not meant to tie him down to lectures and examinations.
Such work was very well for a younger man; he could best serve "the House" by his literary fame.

July
14
th.
—Came to a more definite decision than I have ever yet done—that it is about time to resign the Mathematical Lectureship.
My chief motive for holding on has been to provide money for others (for myself, I have been many years able to retire), but even the £300 a year I shall thus lose I may fairly hope to make by the additional time I shall have for book-writing.
I think of asking the G.B.
(Governing Body) next term to appoint my successor, so that I may retire at the end of the year, when I shall be close on fifty years old, and shall have held the Lectureship for exactly 26 years.
(I had the Honourmen for the last two terms of 1855, but was not full Lecturer till Hilary, 1856.)

Oct
.
18
th
.—I have just taken an important step in life, by sending to the Dean a proposal to resign the Mathematical Lectureship at the end of this year.
I shall now have my whole time at my own disposal, and, if God gives me life and continued health and strength, may hope, before my powers fail, to do some worthy work in writing—partly in the cause of mathematical education, partly in the cause of innocent recreation for children, and partly, I hope (though so utterly unworthy of being allowed to take up such work) in the cause of religious thought.
May God bless the new form of life that lies before me, that I may use it according to His holy will!

Oct.
21st
.—I had a note in the evening from the Dean, to say that he had seen the Censors on the subject of my proposed resignation at the end of the year, and that arrangements should be made, as far as could be done, to carry out my wishes; and kindly adding an expression of regret at losing my services, but allowing that I had "earned a right to retirement."
So my Lectureship seems to be near its end.

Nov.
30th
.—I find by my Journal that I gave my
first
Euclid Lecture in the Lecture-room on Monday, January 28, 1856.
It consisted of twelve men, of whom nine attended.
This morning, I have given what is most probably my
last
: the lecture is now reduced to nine, of whom all attended on Monday: this morning being a Saint's Day, the attendance was voluntary, and only two appeared—E.H.
Morris, and G.
Lavie.
I was Lecturer when the
father
of the latter took his degree, viz., in 1858.

There is a sadness in coming to the end of anything in life.
Man's instincts cling to the Life that will never end.

May 30, 1882.
—Called on Mrs.
R—.
During a good part of the evening I read
The Times
, while the party played a round game of spelling words—a thing I will never join in.
Rational conversation and
good
music are the only things which, to me, seem worth the meeting for, for grown-up people.

June 1st.
—Went out with Charsley, and did four miles on one of his velocimans, very pleasantly.

The velociman was an early and somewhat cumbrous form of tricycle; Mr.
Dodgson made many suggestions for its improvement.
He never attempted to ride a bicycle, however, but, in accordance with his own dictum, "In youth, try a bicycle, in age, buy a tricycle," confined himself to the three-wheeled variety.

Nov.
8th
.—Whitehead, of Trinity, told us a charming story in Common Room of a father and son.
They came up together: the son got into a College—the father had to go to New Inn Hall: the son passed Responsions, while his father had to put off: finally, the father failed in Mods and has gone down: the son will probably take his degree, and may then be able to prepare his father for another try.

Among the coloured cartoons in Shrimpton's window at Oxford there used to be, when I was up, a picture which I think referred to this story.

OXFORD TYPES.

From a photograph

by A.T.
Shrimpton.
.

Nov.
23rd.
—Spent two hours "invigilating" in the rooms of W.J.
Grant (who has broken his collar-bone, and is allowed to do his Greats papers in this way) while he dictated his answers to another undergraduate, Pakenham, who acted as scribe.

Nov.
24th
.—Dined with Fowler (now President of C.C.C.) in hall, to meet Ranken.
Both men are now mostly bald, with quite grey hair: yet how short a time it seems since we were undergraduates together at Whitby!
(in 1854).

Dec 8th.
—A Common Room Meeting.
Fresh powers were given to the Wine Committee, and then a new Curator elected.
I was proposed by Holland, and seconded by Harcourt, and accepted office with no light heart: there will be much trouble and thought needed to work it satisfactorily, but it will take me out of myself a little, and so may be a real good—my life was tending to become too much that of a selfish recluse.