Lewis Carroll in Wonderland and at Home

by a public incessantly clamoring for more, and Lewis Carroll was not too modest to enjoy the sensation he was creating in the literary world. His success came to him unsought, and was all t

of sin, and but the outermost fringe of the shadow of sorrow, has yet fallen; he will have felt the bitter contrast between the haunting selfishness that spoils his best deeds and the life that is but an overflowing love-for I think a child's first attitude to the world is a simple love for all living things-and he will have learned that the best work a man can do is when he

he same book he writ

hter is as sweet in His ears as the grandest anthem that ever rolled up from 'the dim religious light' of some solemn cathedral; and if I have written anything to add to those stores of innocent and healthy

tain strain of sadness in those quoted words of his, which surely never belonged to those "golden summer days" when he made merry with the three little Liddells. We must remember that twenty-one years had passed between the telling of the story and the reprint of the ori

vor, Lewis Carroll went quietly forward in his daily routine. He had already become quite a famous lecturer, being, indeed, the only ma

hat as C. L. Dodgson was so often approached as the author of books bearing another name, it must be understood that Mr. Dodgson never acknowledged the authorship of a book which did not bear his name. He was most careful in the wording of this printed form, that it should bear no shadow of untruth. It was only his shy way of avoiding the notice of strangers, and it succeeded so well that very few people knew that the

s, tableaux; and many scenes find their way, even at this day, in the nursery wall-paper covered over with Gryphons and Mock Turtles and the whole Court of

hich were eager for his work. As early as 1867, he sent to Aunt Judy's Magazine a short story called "Bruno's Reveng

tle idyll. She reminded him that mathematical ability such as he possessed was also the gift of hundreds of others, but his story-telling talent, so full

aid to the poor despised "roundabouts," and for all the winsome fairy ways and merry little touches, Bruno was never quite the real thin

rned him much distinction among the Christ Church undergraduates, who found it hard to believe that Mr. Dodgson and Lewis C

and both were men of high intelligence with a good supply of humor; consequently the prospect of a trip to Russia together was a very delightful one.

tion-the Sultan's at Charing Cross, where, he was forced to admit, the crowd was much greater. He met Dr. Liddon at Dover and they crossed to Calais, finding the pas

ed the right, and proceeded to use it in his own way. Their route lay through Germany, stopping at Cologne, Danzig, Berlin and K?nigsberg, among other places, and he feasted on the beauties which these various cities had to offer him; the architecture and paintings, the pageantry of strange

about them, and lent color and variety to every step. The two friends spent their time pleasantly, for the fame of Dr. Liddon's preaching had reached Russia, and the clergy opened their doors to the travelers and took t

vercoat. The damsel spoke no English, the gentleman spoke no Russian, so Dr. Liddon asked for his overcoat with what he considered the most appropriate gesture. Intelligence beamed upon the maiden's face; she ran from the room, returning with a clothes brush. No, Dr. Liddon did not want his coat brushed; he tried other gestures, succeeding so beautifully that the girl was convinced that h

at he could not have gratified his ambition, but after serious consultation with John Ruskin, who as critic and friend examined his work, he decided that his natural gift was not gre

specially liked was the way the old castles seemed to spring out of the rock on which they had been built, as if they had grown there without the aid of bricks and mortar. He admired the spirit of the old

lan, and undergraduates to interview, all of which kept him quite busy for a while, though it did not interfere with certain cozy afternoon t

d of his for a worthy sequel to "Alice in Wonderland." He was willing to write a sequel then, for "Alice" was still fresh and amusing to a host of children, and its luster had been undimmed as yet by coun

printing it as a serial. This story as we know was called "Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There," though few people take time to use the full title. It is usually read by

the story he has given us, we quite forget that it was written for the public, and not entirely for three little girls "all on a summer's day." No doubt they heard the chapters f

o illustrate for Lewis Carroll, who criticised every stroke, and being quite enough of an artist to know exactly what he wanted, he was never satisfi

grief. In those intervening years, he and his father had grown very close together. One never took a step without consulting the other. Christ Church and all it meant to one of them was alike dear to the other. The archdeacon took the keenest interest in his son's outside work, and we may be quite sure that "Alice" was as much read and as thoroughly enjoyed by this grave

ed a little cold by people who never could know the trouble it had been to smother the fire. He put away his sorrow with other sacred things, and on his return to Oxford went to work in

and, as he occupied these rooms for the rest of his life, a l

s called being in residence, and a pretty sight it was to see the great stretch of green, and its well-kept paths gay with the life that poured from the doo

n the flat roof of the college, an excellent place for photography, to which he was still devoted, and he asked permission of those in charge to erect a studio there. This was easily obtained, and could the walls tell tales they would hum with the voices of the celebrated "flies" this clever young "spider" lured into his den. For he took beautiful

ntleman himself, he had a vast respect for culture in other people-not a bad trait when all is told, and setting very naturally upon an Englishman born of gentle stock, with generations of ladies and gentlemen a

hyself, not what thou ha

matter how poor or plain, was his first object; tha

his many friends, for hospitality was one of his greatest pleasures, and his dining-room and dinner parties are well remembered by every child friend he knew, to say nothing of those pr

a great room, full of comfortable sofas and chairs, and stools and tables, and cubby-holes and cupboards, where many wond

ed books, and his shelves were well filled with volumes of his own cho

e wrote "Through the Looking-Glass" was not the sanctum where he prepared his lectures and wrote his books on Logic and Higher Mathematics; it might have

shall hear about these rooms again from little girls whose greatest delight it was to visit them. What we want to do now is to picture Lewis Carroll in his new quarters, energetically pushing Alice through the Looking-Glass, while at the same time he was busily

ght. He was able to draw the strange animals and stranger situations just as the author

ook, which rounded out very easily to just the dozen, full of the cleverest illustrations Tenniel ever drew. It was his last attempt at illustrating: the gift deserted him suddenly and never returned. His original cartoon work was always excellent, but the "Alices" had brought him a peculiar fame which would never have come to him through the columns of Punch, and Lewis Carroll, always generous in praising others, was quick to recognize the m

this book-so much, indeed, that it requires a chapter of its own, for many agree in considering it even more of a masterpiece than "Ali

owledge of English was so great that he could take the most ordinary expression and draw from it a new and unexpected meaning; his habit of "playing upon words" is one of his very funniest traits. When the Mock Turtle said in that memorable conversation with Alice which we all kn

nce. So they were thrown out to sea. So they had to fall a long way. So they got t

umbs. It was just Lewis Carroll's funny way of viewing things, in much the same fashion that one of his child-friends would look at them. His was a real child's mind, full of wonder depths where all sorts of impossible things existed, two-sided triangles, parallel l

was not disappointed and the author found himself almost hidden beneath his mantle of glory. People praised him so much that it is quite a wonde

ves soon knew by heart all the fascinating poetry, and if the story had no other merit, "The Jabberwocky" alone would have been enough to recommend it. Of all the queer fancies of a queer mind, this poem was the most remarkab

else decided there was a Scandinavian flavor about it, so he called it a "Saga." Mr. A. A. Vansittart, of Trinity College, Cambridge,

physiology. He was presented with a skeleton, and laying in the proper supply of books, he set to work in earnest. He bought a little book called "What to do in Emergencies" and perfected hims

he played that he reached the heights; when he touched the realm of childhood he was all conquering, for he was in truth a child among them, and every child felt the youthfulness in his glance, in the wave of his hand, in the fitting of his mood to theirs, a

ht the power he possessed of giving happiness to other people's children. Yet had anyone

All delight and no bother. One runs a fearful risk with one's own." And he migh