This humorous poem appears in Carroll’s earliest surviving manuscript, a magazine he created for his younger siblings when he was just thirteen years old.

A Tale of a tail—

------

An aged gardener gooseberries picked,

From off a gooseberry tree;

The thorns they oft his fingers pricked

Yet never a word said he—

------

A dog sat by him with a tail,

Oh! such a tail! I ween,

That never such in hill or dale,

Hath hitherto been seen.

------

It was a tail of desperate length,

A tail of grizly fur,

A tail of muscle, bone, and strength

Unmeet for such a cur.

------

Yet of this tail the dog seemed proud

And ever and anon,

He raised his head, and barked so loud,

That tho’ the man seemed something cowed,

Yet still his work went on.

------

At length in lashing out its tail,

It twisted it so tight,

Around his legs, 'twas no avail,

To pull with all its might.

------

The gardener scarce could make a guess,

What round his legs had got,

Yet he worked on in weariness,

Although his wrath was hot.

------

“Why, what’s the matter?” he did say,

“I can’t keep on my feet,

‘Yet not a glass I’ve had this day

‘Save one, of brandy neat.

------

“Two quarts of ale, and one good sup,

‘Of whiskey sweet and strong,

‘And yet I scarce can now stand up,

I fear that something’s wrong.

------

His work reluctantly he stopped,

The cause of this to view,

Then quickly seized an axe and chopped,

The guilty tail in two.

------

When this was done, with mirth he bowed

Till he was black and blue,

The dog it barked both long and loud,

And with good reason too.

Moral. Don’t get drunk.

Carroll told this story to Mary Watson and her two sisters one summer’s day in 1871. Decades later, Mary fondly recalled the tale

Well, then, this story is about three little girls living in a pretty old town on the banks of the River Wey with their mother, who spent all her time thinking how she could make them happy. And they were happy, too, except that sometimes they were inclined to feel a little discontented. If you look at picture No. 1, you will see what I mean: there the children are evidently saying ‘What shall we do next?’ and their mother is wondering how she can best amuse them. But, then, too much happiness, like too much cake, is apt to disagree with people—big as well as little. They had a lovely time between lessons; there were excursions and picnics, and all sorts of doings, and the summer days used to slip away in a delightful manner.

Now among their fairy stories was one about three little pigs who, when their mother died, went into the wood and built three little houses to live in: one was built of straw, another of wood and straw, and the third of bricks. But a wicked wolf came along and being hungry thought a little pig would make a very nice dinner. So he blew the straw house down and ate up the first little pig. The next day he blew down the wooden house, though it was much more difficult, and the second little pig went the same way as his poor brother. Of course, it was soon time for another dinner, so Mr. Wolf went to the brick house and blew—and blew—and blew; but nothing happened. It was too strongly built for him to blow down, so he seated himself and thought hard; and at last he had a brilliant idea: he would go down the chimney. So he climbed on to the roof; but when the little pig heard the noise, he, too, had a brilliant idea: he lighted a fire in the grate, and put a large pot of water on to boil. And when the wolf came down the chimney he fell into the pot and was cooked.

The children thought this a lovely story—all but the part where the two little pigs were eaten. How nice it would be if they were to build three little houses to live in, and they needn’t be afraid of wolves for there weren’t any in those days. Off they went; and the eldest one built a dear little house of wood with a thatched roof—just like the second picture. The next child built hers with brick walls and wooden roof—like picture No. 3. The third—whose name, I think, was Mary—built hers with brick walls and a flat brick roof—as you see in picture No. 4, which has no chimney.

It was all very jolly and nice for a time, though I think the children began to feel a bit lonely and wish for each other’s company, especially in the evenings after tea. Now it is true that in those days there were no wolves with a fancy for little girls for dinner. But there was an old fox who lived in the wood near by, and who loved nothing better than frightening children. When he heard that three little girls had built three little houses and each was living alone he jumped for joy and started off. Very soon he came to the little wooden house with the thatched roof, slyly peeped in at the window, and saw the biggest girl sitting before the fire trying to read a book. Really she was wishing she was at home.

Mr. Fox determined to blow the house down in the proper fairy-story fashion. The next day there was a heavy gale. Filling a large can with the wind, as you see in picture No. 5, he pushed it in at the window of the biggest girl’s house. Bang it went and the house fell down like picture No. 6, just as Hartie escaped. You may depend that she ran home as fast as she could, thoroughly frightened, and determined never to go away from home again.

The old fox was delighted with the success of his plan, and the next day, having filled another can with wind, he went off to the house of the second little girl, who saw him coming and hid in the cupboard. Directly the fox placed the can of wind on the shelf, just inside the window, and off it went! But it only blew the roof off—chimney and all, as you will see in picture No. 7. However, that was enough for Ina—didn’t I say her name was Ina?—who sprang out of the cupboard, through the back door, and straight for home, while the old fox rolled on the ground with laughter. Ina soon reached home and flew into her mother’s arms vowing that she never wanted to go away again, especially alone.

But what about the youngest little girl, Mary; we must see how she got on. Mr. Fox had a good look at her house to see how he could best blow it up or down. But it was not such an easy task as the others. You will remember she had  built it all of bricks, even the roof; the windows were all barred , and there was no convenient chimney or he might have tried putting a can of wind down it. He could think of nothing then; so he went home to consider what was best to be done. Early next morning he had no better plan than that of knocking at the door and, when it was opened, throwing the can of wind in. But he didn’t know Mary: she quite expected the visit and had been making plans for his reception.

You must know that Mary had built her house on a hill; and when she saw Mr. Fox coming up the hill she took her butter churn (she had a beauty in the house) and opening the door gave it a good push which sent it rolling down the hill—you can see it rolling down in picture No. 8. It went faster every moment, and when the fox saw it bounding towards him it was too late for him to get out of the way: the heavy churn went right over him and killed him.

The only thing to do now was to cook and eat him like the little pig in the story. So she fetched him up the hill, put him in a big pot on the fire and cooked him, tail and all—as you see in the last picture. As she sat down to the meal, what was her delight to see her mother coming in. Nothing could be better, and Mary soon had a place laid for mother. I suppose they soon disposed of Mr. Fox. There they are in the picture ready to begin on the dinner so kindly provided by the old schemer. Although everything ended very happily, I am quite sure Mary was glad to return home with her mother. She was welcomed by her sisters and they resumed their old happy life, enjoying it all the more because of their adventures.

Nine-year-old Alice wrote this letter to her father from their country house on the Welsh coast

Penmorfa,
Landudno.

My dearest Papa.

Many many happy returns
of your birthday, the 6th of Febry That
makes you (as you were born in “William the
Conquerors” time) 797 years old. Yesterday
we had another gale it left off at 12 Edith
and I had our beds moved down into Harry’s
room, we lay on two mattresses on the floor
and were very comfortable indeed little Rho-
-da had her little cot down into Mama’s
room where Pickey and Ina slept and
Mama was in the Blue Room, altogether
we were very jolly. We shall be very glad
to see you again. We are reading “Daisy
Burns,” we like it very much have you
read it? Mama has. We went to the town
today with Mademoiselle Dué Mrs.
Bagots governess. she ran after us to try
and catch us but she could[n’t] and we had
a great bit of fun. The sun made its first
attempt to make a sunset, there has not
been any [appearance] of one before to-day
since you left. I have been trying to illu-
minate I have not anything more to tell
you as I shall be able to tell you better
by mouth which is better than letter

I remain ever
Your affectionate and loving daughter
Alice Pleasance Liddell.

Thursday evening
5th of Feb 1863.

Carroll wrote about the outing that occasioned the first telling of “Alice’s Adventures” in a characteristically brief diary entry

[Entry begins on right-hand page:]

July 4 (F) Atkinson brought over to
my rooms some friends of his, a Mrs.
& Miss Peters, of whom I took photographs,
& who afterwards looked over my albums
& staid to lunch. They then went off
to the Museum, & Duckworth & I
made an expedition up the river to
Godstow with the 3 Liddells: we
had tea on the bank there, & did
not reach Ch. Ch. Again till ¼
past 8, when we took them on to
my rooms to see my collection of
micro-photographs, & restored them to
the Deanery just before 9

----------------------------------------------------------

July 5 (Sat.) Left, with Atkinson,
for London at 9.. 2, meeting at the
station the LIddells, who went along by the
same train. We reached 4, Alfred
Place about 11, & found Aunt [Lucy, Frances],
& [Elizabeth] there, & took the 2 last to see
Marochetti’s studio. After luncheon
Atkinson left, & we visited the Inter-
-national Bazaar.

[Carroll’s addition to the July 4 entry, on the left-hand page:]

On which occasion I told
them the fairy-tale of “Alice’s
Adventures Under Ground,” which I
undertook to write out for Alice,
& which is now finished (as to the
text) though the pictures are not
yet nearly done—Feb. 10. 1863
nor yet—Mar. 12. 1864.
“Alice’s Hour in Elfland”? June 9/64.
“Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”? June 28.

Carroll wrote the second stanza of the nonsense poem in 1886 for the first theatrical adaptation of Alice

’Tis the voice of the Lobster, I heard him declare
“You have baked me too brown: I must sugar my hair.”
As a duck with its eyelids, so he with his nose
Trims his belt & his buttons, & turns out his toes.
When the sands are all dry, he is gay as a lark,
And will talk in contemptuous tones of the Shark:
But, when the tide rises and Sharks are around,
His voice has a timid & tremulous sound.

I passed by his garden, & marked with one eye
How the Owl & the Panther were sharing a pie:
The Panther took pie-crust, & gravy, & meat,
While the Owl got the dish as his share of the treat.
When the plate pie was divided all finished, the Owl , as a boon,
Was kindly permitted to pocket the spoon:
While the Panther received knife & fork with a growl,
And concluded the banquet by eating the Owl.

Lewis Carroll.
Oct. 31. 1886

Carroll wrote to Tom Taylor, the Victorian dramatist and editor of Punch magazine, to ask for help in “fixing on a name” for his fairy tale

Ch. Ch. Oxford
June 10. 1864

My dear Sir,

You were kind enough
to wish me to let you know
some while before I came
to town on my photographic
visit, that you might see
whether you could entrap
any victims for me. My
plans are not definitely
settled yet, but, so far as I
can see, I shall be in
town on or before the 20th
(though I could come sooner
If there were reason to do so.)
After that I shall be
photographing at various
friends' houses for 2 or
3 weeks.— I am obliged
to speak vaguely, as my
plans will be liable to
change from day to day.—

I have many children
sitters engaged—among
others, Mr. Millais', who will
make most picturesque subjects.

Believe me
Ever yours truly
C. L. Dodgson

P.S. I should be very glad
If you could help me in
fixing on a name for my
fairy-tale, which Mr.
Tenniell (in consequence
of your kind introduction)
is now illustrating for me,
& which I hope to get
published before X^mas. The
heroine spends an hour
underground, & meets various
birds, beasts & (no fairies)
endowed with speech. The
whole thing is a dream, but
that I don't want revealed
till the end. I first thought
of “Alice's Adventures
Under Ground,” but that
was pronounced too like
a lesson-book, in which
instruction about mines
would be administered in
the form of a grill: then
I took “Alice's Golden
Hour,” but that I gave
up, having a dark suspicion
that there is already
a book called “Lily's Golden Hours.”

Here are other names
I have thought of:

Alice among the { elves goblins

Alice's { hour doings adventures

in { elf-land wonderland.

Of all these I at present
prefer “Alice's Adventures
in Wonderland.” In spite of
your “morality,” I want
something sensational. Perhaps
you can suggest a name
better than any of these.

Carroll’s earliest surviving letter to his publisher is about the binding for Alice

Ch. Ch. Oxford
Nov. 11. 1864

Dear Sir,

I have been considering
the question of the colour of
“Alice’s Adventures,” & have come
to the conclusion that bright
red will be the best—not
the best, perhaps, artistically,
but the most attractive to
childish eyes. Can this colour
be managed, with the same
smooth, bright cloth that you
have in green?

Truly yours,
CLDodgson

Carroll recorded Alice’s earliest reviews on a blank page in his diary

[On left-hand page:]

Newspaper Notices
of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

-------------------------

1865

Reader----------------------------Nov. 12
Press------------------------------Nov. 25
Guardian-------------------------Dec. 13
Publisher’s Circular------------Dec. 8
Athenaeum----------------------Dec. 16
Illustrated London News------Dec. 16
Illustrated Times----------------Dec. 16
Pall Mall Gazette---------------Dec. 23
Spectator-------------------------Dec. 23
Times------------------------------Dec. 26
London Review-----------------Dec. 23
Star--------------------------------
Christmas Bookseller----------Dec. 25

_____________________________

Monthly Packet-----------------Jan. 1/66
John Bull--------------------------Jan. 20
Literary Churchman-----------May 5
Sunderland Herald------------May 25
Aunt Judy’s Magazine-------June  1
                      (allusion)
Contemporary Review^------Oct. 1

[On right-hand page:]

Oct. 2. (Sun.) Communion Sunday.
May God grant that I in sincerity
“repent of my sins, & intend to lead
a new life—“ For Jesus Christ’s sake—
I have omitted all account
of my visit to Whitburn. I went
on the 19th of September, & was
housed by William & Fanny at their
little house. During my stay, I
took a good many photographs—of
the Wilcoxes, the Langton Clarkes,
Mrs. Balfour & children &c.—these
occupied the mornings, & the afternoons
went in croquêt, walking &c., We
dined out once—with Mr. & Miss Lang
(he is Dutch Consul at Newcastle.)
on Thursday the 29th some of the
Croft party came over, & we made
an expedition to Newcastle, & went
(a party of 9) to Mr. Leathart’s, who
has a large collection of pictures. I
had got a note of introduction from
[Mr. Arthur Hughes, who is painting a picture of Mrs. Leatheart and the children…]

Tenniel advised Carroll to cut the “railway scene” from the Looking-Glass manuscript

10 Portsdown Road.
April 4.

My dear Dodgson,

I should have
written sooner but I
have been a good deal
worried in various ways.

I would infinitely
rather give no opinion
as to what would be
best left out in the
book—but since you
put the question point-
blank, I am bound
to say—supposing
excision somewhere to be
absolutely necessary—
that the Railway scene
never did strike me as
being very strong, & that
I think it might be sacri-
ficed without much repining—
besides, there is no subject
down in the illustration of
it in the condensed list.

Please let me know to
what extent you have
used—or intend using—
the pruning-knife—my
great fear is that all
this indecision & revision
will interfere fatally with
the progress of the book.
In hast to claim post.

Yours sincerely
J. Tenniel

You shall have some more sizes in a few days.

Ch. Ch. Oxford
Nov. 11. / 86

My dear Mrs. Hargreaves,

Many thanks for your
permission to insert “Hospi-
-tals” in the Preface to your
book—I have had almost
as many Adventures, in getting
that unfortunate facsimile
finished, Above Ground, as
your namesake had Under it!

First, the zincographer in
London, recommended to me for
photographing the book, page by
page, & preparing the zinc-blocks,
declined to undertake it unless
I would entrust the book to
him—which I entirely refused
to do. I felt that it was only
due to you, in return for your
great kindness in lending so

[letter continues on back of the page:]

unique a book, to be scrupulous in not letting it be even touched by the workmen’s hands. In vain I offered to come and reside in London with the book, and to attend daily in the studio, to place it in position to be photographed, and turn over the pages required: he said that could not be done because “other author’s works were being photographed there, which must on no account be seen by the public.” I undertook not to look at anything but my own book: but it was no use: we could not come to terms.

Then Messrs. Macmillan recommended a certain Mr. Noad, an excellent photographer, but in so small a way of business that I should have to prepay him, bit by bit, for the zinc-blocks: and he was willing to come to Oxford, and do it here. So it was all done in my studio, I remaining in waiting all the time, to turn over the pages.

But I daresay I have told you so much of the story already?

Mr. Noad did a first rate set of negatives, and took them away with him to get the zinc-blocks made. These he delivered pretty regularly at first, and there seemed to be every prospect of getting the book out by Christmas 1885.

On October 18, 1885, I sent your book to Mrs. Liddell, who had told me your sisters were going to visit you and would take it with them. I trust it reached you safely?

Soon after this—I having prepaid for the whole of the zinc-blocks—the supply suddenly ceased, while 22 pages were still due, & Mr. Noad disappeared!  My belief is that he was in hiding from his creditors.

We sought him in vain. So things went on for months. At one time I thought of employing a detective to find him, but was assured that “all detectives are scoundrels”—The alternative seemed to be to ask you to lend the book again, & get the missing pages re-photographed. But I was most unwilling to rob you of it again, & also afraid of the risk of loss of the book, if sent by post—for even ‘registered post’ does not seem absolutely safe—

In April he called at Macmillan’s & left 8 blocks, & again vanished into obscurity—

This left us with 14 pages (dotted up and down the book) still missing. I waited awhile longer, and then put the thing into the hands of a Solicitor, who soon found the man, but could get nothing bur promises from him. “You will never get the blocks,” said the Solicitor, “unless you frighten him by a summons before a Magistrate.” To this at last I unwillingly consented; the summons had to be taken out at Stratford-le-Bow (that is where the aggravating man is living), and this entailed 2 journeys from Eastbourne—one to get the summons (my personal presence being necessary, and the other to attend in Court with the Solicitor on the day fixed for hearing the case. The defendant didn’t appear; so the magistrate said he would take the case in his absence. Then I had the new and exciting experience of begin put into the witness=box, and sworn, and cross-examined by a rather savage Magistrate’s clerk, who seemed to think that, if he only bullied me enough, he would soon catch me out in a falsehood! I had to give the Magistrate a little lecture on photo-zincograhy, and the poor man declared the case so complicated he must adjourn it for another week. But this time, in order to secure the presence of our slippery defendant, he issued a warrant for his apprehension, and the constable had orders to take him into custody and lodge him in prison, the night before the day when the case was to come on. The news of this effectually frightened him, and he delivered up the 14 negatives (he hadn’t done the blocks) before the fatal day arrived. I was rejoiced to get them, even though it entailed the paying a 2^nd time for getting the 14 blocks done, and withdrew the action.

The 14 blocks were quickly done and put into the printer’s hands; and all is going on smoothly at last: and I quite hope to have the book completed, and to be able to send you a very special copy (bound in white vellum, unless you would prefer some other style of binding) by the end of the month.

Believe me always
Sincerely yours,
C. L. Dodgson