He said that he was quite willing it should bear any meaning the words would fairly bear; to the best of his recollection his meaning when he wrote it was “the hate of the quality hate, &c.,” but he thought the meaning of “the quintessence of hatred” finer.  He said there had never been a poem so misunderstood by the “ninnies of critics” as “Maud.”

[Illustration:  Alfred Tennyson. From a photograph by Lewis Carroll.]

During an evening spent at Tent Lodge Tennyson remarked, on the similarity of the monkey’s skull to the human, that a young monkey’s skull is quite human in shape, and gradually alters—­the analogy being borne out by the human skull being at first more like the statues of the gods, and gradually degenerating into human; and then, turning to Mrs. Tennyson, “There, that’s the second original remark I’ve made this evening!” Mr. Dodgson saw a great deal of the Tennysons after this, and photographed the poet himself and various members of his family.

In October he made the acquaintance of John Ruskin, who in after years was always willing to assist him with his valuable advice on any point of artistic criticism.  Mr. Dodgson was singularly fortunate in his friends; whenever he was in difficulties on any technical matters, whether of religion, law, medicine, art, or whatever it might be, he always had some one especially distinguished in that branch of study whose aid he could seek as a friend.  In particular, the names of Canon King (now Bishop of Lincoln), and Sir James Paget occur to me; to the latter Mr. Dodgson addressed many letters on questions of medicine and surgery—­some of them intricate enough, but never too intricate to weary the unfailing patience of the great surgeon.

A note in Mr. Dodgson’s Journal, May 9, 1857, describes his introduction to Thackeray:—­

I breakfasted this morning with Fowler of Lincoln to meet Thackeray (the author), who delivered his lecture on George III. in Oxford last night.  I was much pleased with what I saw of him; his manner is simple and unaffected; he shows no anxiety to shine in conversation, though full of fun and anecdote when drawn out.  He seemed delighted with the reception he had met with last night:  the undergraduates seem to have behaved with most unusual moderation.

The next few years of his life passed quietly, and without any unusual events to break the monotony of college routine.  He spent his mornings in the lecture-rooms, his afternoons in the country or on the river—­he was very fond of boating—­and his evenings in his room, reading and preparing for the next day’s work.  But in spite of all this outward calm of life, his mind was very much exercised on the subject of taking Holy Orders.  Not only was this step necessary if he wished to retain his Studentship, but also he felt that it would give him much more influence among the undergraduates, and thus increase his power of doing good.  On the other hand, he was not prepared to live the life of almost puritanical strictness which was then considered essential for a clergyman, and he saw that the impediment of speech from which he suffered would greatly interfere with the proper performance of his clerical duties.