"The Tales of Peter Rabbit, Squirrel Nutkin, and Benjamin Bunny," by Beatrix Potter

In which adorable anthropomorphic animals are threatened with grisly deaths in a trio of short morality plays involving a variety of produce.



All right, full disclosure, I was planning on reading a totally different story for you this time around, but then I found a beautiful hardcover collection of Beatrix Potter's complete tales and I was all "HOW DID I NOT KNOW BEATRIX POTTER'S STORIES WERE IN THE PUBLIC DOMAIN?" and I decided I had to read some of them. Also, the story I had planned had serious English accents, and that sounded hard.

Anyway, not too much to say that I didn't go over in the intro, except that with these stories ("Peter Rabbit," specifically) Potter essentially invented merchandizing. Very shortly after "Peter Rabbit" was published, she patented a Peter Rabbit doll and board game. A wide variety of officially licensed toys, games, books, decorations, dishes, etc. followed, making her and her publishers a zillion dollars.

Now, Potter's illustrations are just as famous -- if not even more so -- than the actual stories, and they are quite numerous. I'll be splitting them up by story, and much like with the Oz books they're so numerous that time-stamping them is practically pointless, so I won't bother. Heck, even just captioning them I practically copied all of the text. The few notes that I deemed necessary are time-stamped, though, and in their proper places.

The Tale of Peter Rabbit 

 

Frontispiece - His mother put him to
bed, and made some camomile tea;
and she gave a dose of it to Peter!

See the rest after the jump!

Frankenstein, Volume Three, Chapter Three

In which Victor changes his mind, re: monsters, creating another, and the monster vows revenge, whereupon Victor gets lost at sea and ends up in a land of terrible accents; and in which the narrator apologizes for his terrible accents.



Things are heating up now! Someone's dead! I wonder if the monster had anything to do with it. Probably! No notes this time around, thankfully after last time, so two covers for you here, both from Classics Illustrated:

 

Yes, LOOK AT THIS THING! The lightning font! The perspective that makes it look like the monster is Godzilla-sized! The armpit lightning! Man, this is just fantastic. This is the original line drawing cover of Classics Illustrated number 26, with cover and interior art by Robert H. "Bob" Webb and Ann Brewster. It was first published in 1945 under the banner of Classic Comics, but since this specific cover cost a full fifteen cents and is under the Classics Illustrated banner (the changed the name in 1947), it's probably from the 1951 reprint.

Around 1953, CI decided to update their look by replacing the line drawings with painted covers, and this included replacing the covers of reprints of back issues, leading to this one:

 Here we get to see a scene not usually depicted on covers: the monster being pursued across the polar wastes by Victor in his dogsled. See him back there? He looks like he's waving! Anyway, this cover first appeared in September 1958 and was by Norman Saunders, who you might remember from his saucy "Famous Fantastic Mysteries" Time Machine cover.

That wraps it up for now! Come back next time for Victor's Irish adventure, apparently!


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Frankenstein, Volume One, Chapters Three and Four

In which Victor meddles in Things Man Was Not Meant to Know and, spoilers, grants life to a cobbled-together creature and promptly freaks the hell out, and best friend Henry appears just in time to play nursemaid.



And now we've passed through the chocolately backstory and into the caramel and crazynuts of the main narrative. And boy, once there Shelley really leaps right into making the creature, doesn't she? Interesting to note some major differences from the popular conception of the story (which, of course, largely comes from the movies): Victor's a student, not a doctor. No castle, and no assistant, hunchbacked or otherwise, just Victor by himself in the attic room of his apartment. And, of course, the appearance of the creature himself, with his lustrous black hair and pearly teeth.

One sort of general note: Victor mentions several times his visits to charnel houses during his studies and, eventually, his supply runs. These were vaults where bodies and/or bones were piled up, often those found when digging new graves and sometimes those excavated specifically to make more room (I mean, hey, are you really using that grave five years down the line?)

At 7:50, Victor says he "was like the Arabian who had been buried with the dead, and found a passage to life aided only by one glimmering, and seemingly ineffectual light." This refers to the Fourth Voyage of Sinbad the Sailor, (who, of course, made seven voyages total). In this specific tale, to be brief, Sinbad is rescued from cannibals by other island natives, befriends their king, and is given a wealthy and beautiful wife. She gets sick and dies, and Sinbad learns that their custom is that both spouses are entombed when one dies, the living one given a jug of water and seven rations of bread to, I guess, prolong their agony. Luckily, when these are used up, a new living/dead pair are tossed into the cave, so Sinbad, uh, kills the still-living wife and takes her food (along with all the burial jewels and finery). After this happens several more times, Sinbad's got a nice little hoard of food, water, and wealth going on, until he follows the little light and/or a wild animal out an escape route to the sea. So... yeah.

Oh, and we've got another illustration! Also involving a glimmering light.

17:07 - "By the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull,
yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive
motion agitated its limbs, ... I rushed out of the room."

And... that's it for the illustrations. It's gonna be covers from now on. A few more notes, though:

22:10 - "Like one who, on a lonely road, / Doth walk in fear and dread, / And, having once turn'd round, walks on, / And turns no more his head; / Because he knows a frightful fiend / Doth close behind him tread." While wandering the streets, Victor brings us another reference (this time, a direct quotation) to "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner," much as Walton did in the Letters. In case anyone is nit-picky enough to care (and you know I am), these references rather screw with the supposed timeline of the novel. Coleridge's poem was published in 1798, while Walton's letters were dated December 11th, 17—, to August 19th, 17—. It's possible that both Walton and Victor read the poem (Victor closely enough to memorize passages) in the months before heading up to the Arctic, and those m-dashes conceal 1798 to 1799. Sure. But then, Walton mentioned that they were trapped in the ice "last Monday (July 31st), and July 31, 1799 was a Wednesday. Going back, we first find it on a Monday in 1797, a year before "The Rime" was published! God, it's like Shelley didn't research this AT ALL.

At 22:28, we hear about another mode of conveyance: the diligence. This was a form of stagecoach, a big, sturdy carriage drawn by four or more horses used as a mode of public transport. They could usually seat a bunch of passengers and carry a mess of luggage on the roof.

Last, Henry says that his father was like the "Dutch schoolmaster in The Vicar of Wakefield: 'I have ten thousand florins a year without Greek, I eat heartily without Greek.'" The Vicar of Wakefield was a comedic sentimental novel (or possibly a satire of sentimental novels, depending on who you talk to) from the 1760s that remained popular up through and including the Victorian era.

Okay, so monster's created and immediately abandoned. Let's see how well that turns out!


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

"The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," Part Two

In which Ichabod thoroughly enjoys himself at the party, up until its disappointing end, and has a fateful encounter on the ride home with a horse-mounted man that may or may not have a head.



It's funny, I'd rather forgotten until re-reading this story for the blog that "Sleepy Hollow" doesn't really have any of what you might call "dialogue" in it. Huh.

Illustrations! As last time, the color illustrations are by F. O. C. Darley, 1849, while the black and white ones are by other artists as noted, from 1863.

Oh, first a note for 2:40: the cedar-bird is referred to as wearing a montero cap, which was a type of Spanish hunting cap from the 1600s that has a band going around the crown that can be folded down to protect the ears and/or face, rather like a balaclava.

3:40 - "The Tappan Zee," by John Frederick Kensett

First, the artist. John Frederick Kensett was one of the most well-known and successful artists in the "second generation" of the Hudson River School.  Perhaps his most well-known and longest-lasting contribution to the art world is less his actual work, and more as one of the founders of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Next, the actual illustration. I probably should've mentioned this last time, but the Tappan Zee is a natural widening of the Hudson River (its widest point, in fact). Its name is taken from the Tappan group of the Lenape tribe, though it's unlikely that's what they called themselves, and the Dutch word "zee," meaning "sea." Several times, the story mentions the bluffs along its edge; these are the basalt cliffs known as the Palisades.

More after the break!

"The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," Part One

In which we are introduced to the town of Sleepy Hollow; its itinerant schoolmaster, Ichabod Crane; wealthy coquette Katrina Van Tassel; and local hero and roustabout Brom Bones; and in which we hear of the local superstition of the headless horseman; and Ichabod departs for a dinner party.



New short story! One of the most enduring examples of early American fiction, "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" was originally published in 1820 as part of The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent., a collection of Irving's short works. This book is commonly considered, along with James Fenimore Cooper's The Leatherstocking Tales, one of the first works of American literature to be widely read back in Europe. Perhaps even more than anything by Cooper, "Sleepy Hollow" (and Irving's other best-known work, "Rip Van Winkle," also published in The Sketch Book) is one of those stories that has entered the American lexicon. Even those who've never read the story have an idea what you mean when you describe someone as looking like Ichabod Crane, and the image of the Headless Horseman, brandishing his flaming pumpkin aloft, has indelibly etched itself into our collective brain.

The illustrations I've picked out come from two different sources. The color illustrations are by Felix Octavius Carr Darley (more commonly known by F. O. C. Darley, and who can blame him) from an 1849 printing of The Sketch Book. Darley was considered one of the preeminent "genre" illustrators of the mid-1800s, creating watercolors or line illustrations for Irving, Cooper, Charles Dickens, Edgar Allan Poe, Clement C. Moore, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and many more. The black and white illustrations are from an 1863 edition, and are done by a variety of artists, who will be credited by their respective illustrations. Near as I can tell, only a few of these were actually created specifically to illustrate "Sleepy Hollow;" several are landscapes done by prominent local artists known specifically for, well, landscapes, and not for book illustrations, so I think they were preexisting works pressed into service for this printing. Several of said artists were followers of the Hudson River School of art, which focused on romantic landscapes of the Hudson River Valley and the surrounding mountains.

Oh, and due to the length of this story, I've broken it into two parts, of which this is obviously the first.

3:21 - "View in Sleepy Hollow," by William Hart (from a sketch by J. H. Hill)

This is one of those landscape works I mentioned.  William Hart was one of those members of the Hudson River School, and was known for his landscapes involving strong angled sunlight, foreground shadow, and cows. He, uh, painted a lot of cows. He is also the maternal grandfather of E. B. "bet I can make you cry over a spider" White. I haven't been able to figure out for sure who J. H. Hill was, but another of the pictures are by Hart from a sketch of his, so maybe he was some sort of assistant?

Much more after the jump!

The Marvelous Land of Oz, Chapters Sixteen to Eighteen

In which our heroes gather up a bunch of junk to build a Thing with which they escape the palace, only to get lost in a strange country during the night and crash into a large nest; and in which the narrator begins to lose his patience with Jack Pumpkinhead.



Just a quick note on the Latin phrase used by the Woggle-Bug at 19:30: semper idem, as can be inferred from the context, means "always the same." Idem is the root of the English word "identical," while semper might be familiar as part of the US Marine Corps motto, semper fidelis ("always faithful.") Or, for those of a whimsical bent, the phrase semper ubi sub ubi, which literally translates to "always where under where." Get it? Yeah, I'm sorry. Anyway, semper idem was used as a motto by 17th-century Puritans to describe the unchanging mercy of Christ, and the feminine form, semper eadem, was a motto used by Anne Boleyn, her daughter Queen Elizabeth I, and eventually by Queen Anne. Interesting bit of vaguely related trivia: Anne Boleyn at one point used another (hilarious) motto that she had embroidered on her livery: Ainsi sera, groigne qui groigne, generally translated as "Grumble all you want, this is how it's going to be."

Where was I? Illustrations!

This illustration really seems like it would fit better towards the beginning of the previous channel, but it was put as the prechapter illustration for this one, so there you go.

Not... entirely sure why this chapter gets an image of the Woggle-Bug strutting around as its chapter heading, but there you go again.

More after the jump!

The Marvelous Land of Oz, Chapters Ten to Twelve

In which everyone is reassembled and our heroes make their way to the Tin Woodman's palace, a happy reunion takes place, they set out again and are confounded by magic, and encounter a most interesting insect; and in which our narrator proves to not, in fact, be dead.



Oh, hey! Look, that's right, I've got a podcast thing! I apologize about may absence since... god, August. Anyway, I'm back now, and we're gonna continue right along! We meet up with our old friend the Tin Woodman (covered, at 12:25, by putz pomade), who marvels at the variety of things-that-shouldn't-be-alive-but-are, which of course includes himself. We also, in these pages, meet (sigh) the Woggle-Bug.

So, you of course remember how I said that Baum wrote this book with an eye towards the stage, after the success of the musical adaptation of Wonderful Wizard, yes? And how a lot of the success was due to the actors playing the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, Fred A. Stone and David C. Montgomery? Well, when Baum adapted this book for the stage, the original musical was still running, and Stone and Montgomery didn't want to leave its sure success for an untested sequel. Rather than recast the part for some reason, Baum cut the characters from the story, and promoted the Woggle-Bug to being essentially the main character, even titling the play The Woggle-Bug. There was also a new subplot in which the Woggle-Bug fell in love with a checked dress, and thus anyone wearing it. So... yeah. It closed in less than a month.

Anyway, get ready for some truly terrible jokes.

Illustrations!

More after the jump!

The Time Machine, Chapter Six and Seven

In which our hero descends into the underground with no reliable light source like a CHUMP and gets the Morlocks all stirred up, sets off with Weena towards a distant and mysterious building, and makes a disturbing deduction about the Morlocks; and in which we are suddenly yet briefly thrust back into the framing narrative.



...and now it is made quite clear that the Morlocks are the Bad Guys, if there was any doubt. This was again perhaps a socialist cautionary tale: treat the workers well and make the classes more equitable, or you'll get eaten. Nom. (Oh, hello "dismemberment" tag, I've missed you!)

We've got two covers for you today, because I've found more fun covers than there are installments left in the book. Both for today are from pulp magazines that reprinted the story in the 1950s, because sweet Oz do I love me some pulp covers.

This first one is from volume 11, no. 6 of Famous Fantastic Mysteries, with a cover painting by Norman "Mars Attacks" Saunders. Since this is the pulps, we've got our Time Traveler — who specifically describes himself as "not a young man," but whose appearance is otherwise up to the imagination, so why not — as a rugged young man, and the tiny, childlike Weena as a tall, voluptuous blonde, perfectly coiffed and given a nice little nothing to almost wear. Other than that, it's actually a reasonable depiction of the book, more or less. At least, one could identify it as actually BEING from this story, though sexier and more actiony. Oh, and I also like the numbers randomly flying through the sky.

Another cover and notes after the jump!

"The Little Mermaid," by Hans Christian Andersen

In which the young mermaid from under the sea wishes to be part of our world, makes a bargain with a sea witch, and attempts to win the love of a young prince in order to... get an immortal soul, a part of the story that our narrator had rather forgotten about.



Since "Snow White and Rose Red" was a bit on the short side, we're going to double up on our short story interlude by returning to Mr. Hans Christian Andersen. "The Little Mermaid," one of Andersen's popular "suffering is totally good for you" stories, was originally published in Denmark in 1836 as "Den lille havfrue," which literally translates as... "The Little Mermaid." As with "The Snow Queen" I had to pick a translation. Now, rather than just go with the one in the Andersen collection I own, because it inexplicably doesn't include "The Little Mermaid," which, what? I went with the original English translation from 1872, by H.P. Paull. As with Alice "Mrs. Edgar" Lucas," this is alternatively credited to H.B. Paull, Mrs. H.B. Paull, Mrs. H.H.B. Paull or various combinations thereof, when it seems her name is, in fact, Susannah Mary Paull.

Also, I, um, may have gone a bit overboard with the illustrations on this one. I found one rather extensive set of illustrations I really liked by Helen Stratton from 1899. Those are most of them, and all but one of the black-and-white illustrations. The full-color illustrations are by our friend Edmund Dulac, from the same 1911 edition that our "Snow Queen" illustrations came from. Then there are two others I threw in from Harry Clarke, 1916, and Hans Tegner, largely because I thought the others didn't include nearly enough pictures of the sea witch, who is awesome.

Oh, and it should be noted that whilst the Victorian era was one of rather notorious prudery, they were still kind of okay with breasts in art and illustrations. So... mermaid boobs ahead, if that kind of thing bothers you.

By the way, I apologize that this is late and that I didn't put in any timestamps for the images, but I need to stop pretending I can get these things done on time during tech week for a show I'm in. The theater people in the audience know what I'm sayin'. If I get a chance, I'll add the timestamps in.

The "F" from the opening line: "Far out in the ocean..." (Stratton)

More illustrations after the jump!

Around the World in Eighty Days, Chapters Twenty-Nine and Thirty

In which certain incidents are related, only to be met with on the railroads of the United States; Phileas Fogg simply does his duty; and in which there is a depiction of Native Americans that our narrator supposes technically could have been worse, but, you know, still.



All right, we're gonna get back on track here. We're closing in on the end of the story, and we're suddenly getting some serious action (even if some of the "action," such as Passepartout's rescue, is kinda glossed over). Stay tuned to see if our heroes make it back in time!

No notes this time (it's handy now being in my native land!), but a surprising number of illustrations for only two chapters:

1:17 - "The railroad reached its highest point."

4:00 - "'I should play a diamond.'"

10:18 - "The Sioux entered the cars."

12:05 - "There, suspended by one hand between the baggage car and the tender..."

18:49 - "An enormous shadow, preceded by a lurid light, slowly advanced."

24:04 - "The Frenchman had knocked down three of them with his fist."

If you would like to read along, my translation by Stephen W. White can be found courtesy of Choptank Press on Google Books. If you prefer one of the other options, the George Towle translation can be found at Zvi Har’El’s Jules Verne Collection, which is also where I got the illustrations, or the more accurate but rather fusty Henry Frith translation can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Chapters Twenty to Twenty-Four

In which a very delicate town is encountered, the Lion becomes a king through assassination, better use is made of the Winged Monkeys than last time, our heroes finally meet Glinda, and all is brought to a happy ending.



Once again, better late than never, eh? Eh? Eh. Sorry to keep you waiting, but here are the last set of illustrations for our story:

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Chapters Sixteen to Nineteen

In which wishes are granted, attempted, failed at, and wasted, at which point our heroes set out southwards and encounter some horticultural resistance.



They're late, but here are all of this installment's Denslow illustrations!

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Chapters Eleven and Twelve

In which our heroes encounter the many forms of Oz, who hires them to whack the Wicked Witch of the West, and then one of the most iconic villains of American children's literature is introduced, encountered, and dispatched in the space of one chapter; and in which the film audience wonders how we can be done with the Wicked Witch if the book is only half over.



We did a full four chapters last time, so we make up for it this time by only doing two. They're extra-long chapters, though, so we've still got a full twenty-three Denslow illustrations to peruse.

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Chapters Seven to Ten

In which a summary becomes necessary for those who've only seen the movie, as our heroes encounter chasms, Kalidahs, and rivers, as well as some familiar poppies with some unfamiliar field mice, and the Emerald City is finally reached.



Well, since we managed to squeeze in four chapters this time, we've got a whopping twenty-eight Denslow illustrations. Seriously, the illustrations are very nearly one per page.

Treasure Island, Chapters Six to Eight

In which, spoilers, a treasure map is found, an expedition is mounted by the loose-lipped Squire Trelawney, with the assistance of the one-legged cook, Long John Silver, who I am certain is exactly what he appears to be.



Most notes I would make are already covered by those 1908 notes (though I do like how they say, basically, "We don't really know what Long John is saying here. He may just be babbling." I will, though, note that they make reference to Long John's wife being "a woman of colour," and later referred to in the text as "his old Negress" and I believe clarified as being from the Caribbean. The good squire's further remarks let me know that the "casual racism" tag will assuredly be getting a good workout during this book.

We get another fine Wyeth illustration during these chapters, as well:

17:21 - "I said good-bye to mother and the cove."

According to N.C. Wyeth's Wikipedia entry, his works are "sometimes seen as melodramatic." I can't imagine why.


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Treasure Island, Chapters One and Two

In which there is a most obnoxious sea captain takes residence in the Admiral Benbow inn, where young Jim Hawkins observes an unpleasant reunion with an old comrade; and in which our narrator once again forgoes the use of a British accent, except when it appropriate to use the "pirate" dialect.



Whee, new book! I hope you had your fill of lady voices in Alice and Anne, because... well, I'm reasonably certain that in Mrs. Hawkin's one line in this installment, we've already heard most of what we're going to hear from who I'm pretty sure is the only female character in the whole book. This one's a bit dude-heavy.

Upon looking for illustrations for this, I stumbled across an online version of a 1909 edition of Treasure Island that conveniently contains chapter notes for much of the unfamiliar terminology (written, of course, from a 1909 perspective; thus, the reference to "bleeding the patient" being common practice "up to fifty years ago." Anyway, saves me a bunch of trouble.

A couple of things not covered there, though: the dedication to "S.L.O., An American Gentleman" refers to Samuel Lloyd Osbourne, Stevenson's at-the-time eleven-year-old stepson via Stevenson's wife, Fanny Osbourne. The two were very close, and Lloyd (as he was known) later went on to collaborate with Stevenson on several works.

The note "To the Hesitating Purchaser" makes reference to (William H. G.) Kingston, (R. M.) Ballantyne, and (James Fenimore) Cooper, all earlier writers of sea stories.

As for illustrations, I was not able to find any reference to illustrations in the original printing of Treasure Island (save one, which we'll get to later), but it seems the definitive set of illustrations are those from legendary illustrator N.C. Wyeth from a 1911 edition. In fact, it's this set of illustrations that really helped him make his name, and many (including himself) consider them to be his finest work.

We start out of course with his manly pirate men cover:

Followed of course by the colorful title page, showing the specter of a hanging looming over the frightened heads of the pirates upon finding a dead man's bones:

Then of course we move on to the illustrations in the text itself, starting with Mr. Billy Bones atop the rock with his spyglass:

5:04 - "All day he hung round the cove or upon the cliffs with a brass telescope."

And last, we've got the fight between Bones and Black Dog, with the former chasing the latter out of the Admiral Benbow and into the street and dealing an unfortunate injury to the inn's sign:

19:40 - "One last tremendous cut, which would certainly have split him to the
chine had it not been intercepted by our big signboard of Admiral Benbow."

One thing I guess those notes up there don't mention though: "chine" just means "backbone."

Looking over these illustrations now, perhaps I shouldn't have made Billy Bones quite so... old-sounding. Ah well. I'm stuck with the voice now.


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Anne of Green Gables, Chapters Twenty-Two to Twenty-Four

In which Anne goes to tea with her latest kindred spirit, endangers her life and inflicts physical trauma on herself for inconsequential reasons, and then gets excited over a concert; and in which our narrator is glad that so few of the girls present at the party had speaking lines, for he can only come up with so many distinct little girl voices at one time.



Oh hey, we've come back around to one of the illustrations!

11:28 - "Balanced herself uprightly on that precarious footing."

Here, of course, we see Anne trying to walk across the ridgepole of the Barrys' roof on a dare from that hussy Josie Pyle. Note, of course, that they don't have an illustration showing her broken body amidst the wreckage of the Virginia creeper.

In these chapters, we hear Anne described as being "all spirit and fire and dew," which comes from the poem "Evelyn Hope" by Robert Browning. The whole line is "The good stars met in your horoscope, / Made you of spirit and fire and dew," and is actually on the title page of the book, which I did not notice when I started reading.* I can see how it can apply to Anne here, but you read the whole poem and it appears to be about the 48-year-old Browning hitting on the 16-year-old Evelyn Hope who just died, and it gets just a bit weird. We also hear of Anne reciting "Mary, Queen of Scots" by Henry Glassford Bell, which is much less creepy, being only about a beheading. It... really didn't occur to me that I'd be able to use the "dismemberment" tag in Anne of Green Gables, but I certainly won't turn down the opportunity.


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

*I also negelected to read the dedication, which is "To the memory of my Father and Mother."

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Chapters Eight and Nine

In which our heroine finally enters the little garden, where she sees some Card Tricks, threats of Mass Executions which are stymied by the Pre-Disembodied Head of the Cat, whereupon she re-encounters the Duchess in a more Pleasant though Didactic Temper, and then is introduced to a Gryphon and a Mock Turtle who share some Puns Most Terrible.



You'll need the Tenniel illustrations for this one, as one is actually mentioned in the text: