Some verses on “Wonderland” by “One who loves Alice,” appeared in the Christmas number of Sylvia’s Home Journal, 1885.  They were written by Miss M.E.  Manners, and, as Lewis Carroll himself admired them, they will, I think, be read with interest:—­

      WONDERLAND.

      How sweet those happy days gone by,
          Those days of sunny weather,
      When Alice fair, with golden hair,
          And we—­were young together;—­
      When first with eager gaze we scann’d
      The page which told of Wonderland.

      On hearthrug in the winter-time
          We lay and read it over;
      We read it in the summer’s prime,
          Amidst the hay and clover. 
      The trees, by evening breezes fann’d,
      Murmured sweet tales of Wonderland.

      We climbed the mantelpiece, and broke
          The jars of Dresden china;
      In Jabberwocky tongue we spoke,
          We called the kitten “Dinah!”
      And, oh! how earnestly we planned
      To go ourselves to Wonderland.

      The path was fringed with flowers rare,
          With rainbow colours tinted;
      The way was “up a winding stair,”
          Our elders wisely hinted. 
      We did not wish to understand
      Bed was the road to Wonderland.

      We thought we’d wait till we should grow
          Stronger as well as bolder,
      But now, alas! full well we know
          We’re only growing older. 
      The key held by a childish hand,
      Fits best the door of Wonderland.

      Yet still the Hatter drinks his tea,
          The Duchess finds a moral,
      And Tweedledum and Tweedledee
          Forget in fright their quarrel. 
      The Walrus still weeps on the sand,
      That strews the shores of Wonderland.

      And other children feel the spell
          Which once we felt before them,
      And while the well-known tale we tell,
          We watch it stealing o’er them: 
      Before their dazzled eyes expand
      The glorious realms of Wonderland.

      Yes, “time is fleet,” and we have gained
          Years more than twice eleven;
      Alice, dear child, hast thou remained
          “Exactually” seven? 
      With “proper aid,” “two” could command
      Time to go back in Wonderland.

      Or have the years (untouched by charms),
          With joy and sorrow laden,
      Rolled by, and brought unto thy arms
          A dainty little maiden? 
      Another Alice, who shall stand
      By thee to hear of Wonderland.

      Carroll! accept the heartfelt thanks
          Of children of all ages,
      Of those who long have left their ranks,
          Yet still must love the pages
      Written by him whose magic wand
      Called up the scenes of Wonderland.