make the
subjects incapable of misinterpretation: "Nonsense," pure and absolute,
having been my aim throughout.

As for the persistently absurd report of the late Earl of Derby being the
author of the "First Book of Nonsense," I may relate an incident which
occurred to me four summers ago, the first that gave me any insight into
the origin of the rumor.

I was on my way from London to Guildford, in a railway carriage,
containing, besides myself, one passenger, an elderly gentleman: presently,
however, two ladies entered, accompanied by two little boys. These, who had
just had a copy of the "Book of Nonsense" given them, were loud in their
delight, and by degrees infected the whole party with their mirth.

"How grateful," said the old gentleman to the two ladies, "all children,
and parents too, ought to be to the statesman who has given his time to
composing that charming book!"

(The ladies looked puzzled, as indeed was I, the author.)

"Do you not know who is the writer of it?" asked the gentleman.

"The name is 'Edward Lear,'" said one of the ladies.

"Ah!" said the first speaker, "so it is printed; but that is only a whim of
the real author, the Earl of Derby. 'Edward' is his Christian name, and, as
you may see, LEAR is only EARL transposed."

"But," said the lady, doubtingly, "here is a dedication to the
great-grandchildren, grand-nephews, and grand-nieces of Edward, thirteenth
Earl of Derby, by the author, Edward Lear."

"That," replied the other, "is simply a piece of mystification; I am in a
position to know that the whole book was composed and illustrated by Lord
Derby himself. In fact, there is no such a person at all as Edward Lear."

"Yet," said the other lady, "some friends of mine tell me they know Mr.
Lear."

"Quite a mistake! completely a mistake!" said the old gentleman, becoming
rather angry at the contradiction; "I am well aware of what I am saying: I
can inform you, no such a person as 'Edward Lear' exists!"

Hitherto I had kept silence; but as my hat was, as well as my handkerchief
and stick, largely marked inside with my name, and as I happened to have in
my pocket several letters addressed to me, the temptation was too great to
resist; so, flashing all these articles at once on my would-be
extinguisher's attention, I speedily reduced him to silence.

The second volume of Nonsense, commencing with the verses, "The Owl and the
Pussy-Cat," was written at different times, and for differen