Hiawatha’s Photographing
- by Lewis Carroll (pen name of Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, 1832-1898)
with illustrations by Arthur B. Frost
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From his shoulder Hiawatha
Took the camera of rosewood, Made of sliding, folding rosewood; Neatly put it all together. In its case it lay compactly, Folded into nearly nothing; But he opened out the hinges, Pushed and pulled the joints and hinges, Till it looked all squares and oblongs, Like a complicated figure In the Second Book of Euclid.
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| This he perched upon a tripod -
Crouched beneath its dusky cover - Stretched his hand, enforcing silence - Said “Be motionless, I beg you!” Mystic, awful was the process. All the family in order
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| First the Governor, the Father:
He suggested velvet curtains Looped about a massy pillar; And the corner of a table, Of a rosewood dining-table. He would hold a scroll of something, Hold it firmly in his left-hand; He would keep his right-hand buried (Like Napoleon) in his waistcoat; He would contemplate the distance With a look of pensive meaning, As of ducks that die in tempests. Grand, heroic was the notion:
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| Next, his better half took courage;
She would have her picture taken. She came dressed beyond description, Dressed in jewels and in satin Far too gorgeous for an empress. Gracefully she sat down sideways, With a simper scarcely human, Holding in her hand a bouquet Rather larger than a cabbage. All the while that she was sitting, Still the lady chattered, chattered, Like a monkey in the forest. “Am I sitting still ?” she asked him. “Is my face enough in profile? Shall I hold the bouquet higher? Will it come into the picture?” And the picture failed completely.
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| Next the Son, the Stunning-Cantab:
He suggested curves of beauty, Curves pervading all his figure, Which the eye might follow onward, Till they centered in the breast-pin, Centered in the golden breast-pin. He had learnt it all from Ruskin (Author of “The Stones of Venice”, “Seven Lamps of Architecture”, “Modern Painters”, and some others); And perhaps he had not fully Understood his author’s meaning; But, whatever was the reason All was fruitless, as the picture Ended in an utter failure.
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| Next to him the eldest daughter:
She suggested very little Only asked if he would take her With her look of “passive beauty”-
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| Her idea of passive beauty
Was a squinting of the left-eye, Was a drooping of the right-eye, Was a smile that went up Sideways To the corner of the nostrils. Hiawatha, when she asked him
Nor in this was he mistaken,
So in turn the other sisters. | 
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| Last, the youngest son was taken:
Very rough and thick his hair was, Very round and red his face was, Very dusty was his jacket, Very fidgety his manner. And his overbearing sisters Called him names he disapproved of: Called him Johnny, “Daddy’s Darling”, Called him Jacky, “Scrubby School-boy”. And, so awful was the picture, In comparison the others Seemed, to one’s bewildered fancy, To have partially succeeded.
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| Finally my Hiawatha
Tumbled all the tribe together, (“Grouped” is not the right expression), And, as happy chance would have it, Did at last obtain a picture Where the faces all succeeded: Each came out a perfect likeness. Then they joined and all abused it,
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But my Hiawatha’s patience,
His politeness and his patience, Unaccountably had vanished, And he left that happy party. Neither did he leave them slowly, With the calm deliberation, The intense deliberation Of a photographic artist: But he left them in a hurry, Left them in a mighty hurry, Stating that he would not stand it, Stating in emphatic language What he’d be before he’d stand it. Hurriedly he packed his boxes: Hurriedly the porter trundled On a barrow all his boxes: Hurriedly he took his ticket: Hurriedly the train received him: Thus departed Hiawatha. | 
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