He was lucky enough during the course of the year to see a ceremony which is denied to most Oxford men.  When degrees are given, any tradesman who has been unable to get his due from an undergraduate about to be made a Bachelor of Arts is allowed, by custom, to pluck the Proctor’s gown as he passes, and then to make his complaint.  This law is more honoured in the breach than in the observance; but, on the occasion of this visit of Mr. Dodgson’s to Convocation, the Proctor’s gown was actually plucked—­on account of an unfortunate man who had gone through the Bankruptcy Court.

When he promised to write out “Alice” for Miss Liddell he had no idea of publication; but his friend, Mr. George Macdonald, to whom he had shown the story, persuaded him to submit it to a publisher.  Messrs. Macmillan agreed to produce it, and as Mr. Dodgson had not sufficient faith in his own artistic powers to venture to allow his illustrations to appear, it was necessary to find some artist who would undertake the work.  By the advice of Tom Taylor he approached Mr. Tenniel, who was fortunately well disposed, and on April 5, 1864, the final arrangements were made.

[Illustration:  George MacDonald. From a photograph by Lewis Carroll.]

The following interesting account of a meeting with Mr. Dodgson is from the pen of Mrs. Bennie, wife of the Rector of Glenfield, near Leicester:—­

Some little time after the publication of “Alice’s Adventures” we went for our summer holiday to Whitby.  We were visiting friends, and my brother and sister went to the hotel.  They soon after asked us to dine with them there at the table d’hote. I had on one side of me a gentleman whom I did not know, but as I had spent a good deal of time travelling in foreign countries, I always, at once, speak to any one I am placed next.  I found on this occasion I had a very agreeable neighbour, and we seemed to be much interested in the same books, and politics also were touched on.  After dinner my sister and brother rather took me to task for talking so much to a complete stranger.  I said.  “But it was quite a treat to talk to him and to hear him talk.  Of one thing I am quite sure, he is a genius.”  My brother and sister, who had not heard him speak, again laughed at me, and said, “You are far too easily pleased.”  I, however, maintained my point, and said what great delight his conversation had given me, and how remarkably clever it had been.  Next morning nurse took out our two little twin daughters in front of the sea.  I went out a short time afterwards, looked for them, and found them seated with my friend of the table d’hote between them, and they were listening to him, open-mouthed, and in the greatest state of enjoyment, with his knee covered with minute toys.  I, seeing their great delight, motioned to him to go on; this he did for some time.  A most charming story he told them about sea-urchins and Ammonites.  When it was over, I said, “You must be the