'Tis the voice of the lobster, I heard him declare, "You have baked me too brown, I must sugar my hair."

As a duck with its eyelids, so he with his nose Trims his belt and his b.u.t.tons, and turns out his toes.

The whole time she was in Wonderland she never by any chance recited anything correctly, and through all of her wanderings she never met anything in the shape of a little boy, except the infant son of the _d.u.c.h.ess_, who after all turned out to be a pig and vanished in the woods.

The "roundabouts" played no parts in "Alice in Wonderland," and yet--to a man--they love it to this day.

When at last _Alice_ bade farewell to the _Mock Turtle_, she left it sobbing of course, and singing with much emotion the following song, ent.i.tled:

TURTLE SOUP.

Beautiful Soup, so rich and green, Waiting in a hot tureen!

Who for such dainties would not stoop?

Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!

Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!

Beau--ootiful Soo--oop!

Beau--ootiful Soo--oop!

Soo--oop of the e--e--evening, Beautiful, beautiful Soup!

Beautiful Soup! Who cares for fish, Game, or any other dish Who would not give all else for two pennyworth only of beautiful Soup?

Beau--ootiful Soo--oop!

Beau--ootiful Soo--oop!

Soo--oop of the e--e--evening, Beautiful, beauti--FUL SOUP!

We might spend a whole chapter over the great trial scene of the _Knave of Hearts_. We all know that the wretched fellow stole some tarts upon a summer's day, and that he was brought in chains before the _King_ and _Queen_, to face the charges. What we did not know was that it was the fourth of July, and that _Alice_ was one of the witnesses.

This, in a certain way, is the cleverest chapter in the book, for all the characters in Wonderland take part in the proceedings, which are so like, and yet so comically unlike, a real court. We forget, as _Alice_ did, that all these royalties are but a pack of cards, and follow all the evidence with the greatest interest, including the piece of paper which the _White Rabbit_ had just found and presented to the Court. It contained the following verses:

They told me you had been to her, And mentioned me to him: She gave me a good character, But said I could not swim.

He sent them word I had not gone (We know it to be true): If she should push the matter on, What would become of you?

I gave her one, they gave him two, You gave us three or more: They all returned from him to you, Though they were mine before.

If I or she should chance to be Involved in this affair, He trusts to you to set them free, Exactly as we were.

My notion was that you had been (Before she had this fit) An obstacle that came between Him, and ourselves, and it.

Don't let him know she liked them best, For this must ever be A secret, kept from all the rest, Between yourself and me.

This truly clear explanation touches the _Queen of Hearts_ so closely that the outsider is led to believe that she is indirectly responsible for the theft, that the poor knave is but the tool of her Majesty, whose fondness for tarts led her into temptation. Lewis Carroll had a keen eye for the dramatic climax--the packed court room, the rambling evidence, the mystifying sc.r.a.p of paper, and _Alice's_ defiance of the _King_ and _Queen_.

"'Off with her head!' the Queen shouted at the top of her voice. n.o.body moved. 'Who cares for you?' said Alice (she had grown to her full size by this time), 'you're nothing but a pack of cards.'

"At this, the whole pack rose up in the air and came flying down upon her; she gave a little scream, half of fright, half of anger, and tried to beat them off and found herself lying on the bank, with her head in the lap of her sister, who was gently brushing away some dead leaves that had fluttered down from the trees on to her face...."

And so Alice woke up, shook back the elf-locks, and laughed as she rubbed her eyes.

"Such a curious dream!" she said, as the wonder of it all came back to her, and she told her sister of the queer things she had seen and heard, and long after she had run away, this big sister sat with closed eyes, dreaming and wondering.

"The long gra.s.s rustled at her feet as the White Rabbit hurried by; the frightened Mouse splashed his way through the neighboring pool; she could hear the rattle of the teacups as the March Hare and his friends shared their never-ending meal, and the shrill voice of the Queen ordering off her unfortunate guests to execution. Once more the pig-baby was sneezing on the d.u.c.h.ess's knee, while plates and dishes crashed around it; once more the shriek of the Gryphon, the squeaking of the Lizard's slate pencil, and the choking of the suppressed Guinea Pigs filled the air, mixed up with the distant sob of the miserable Mock Turtle."

Yet when she opened her eyes she knew that Wonderland must go. In reality "the gra.s.s would only be rustling in the wind, and the pool rippling to the waving of the reeds, the rattling teacups would change to tinkling sheep bells and the Queen's shrill cries to the voice of the shepherd boy, and the sneeze of the baby, the shriek of the Gryphon, and all the other queer noises would change ... to the confused clamor of the busy farmyard, while the lowing of the cattle in the distance would take the place of the Mock Turtle's heavy sobs."

So _we_ have dreamed of Wonderland from that time till now, when Lewis Carroll looks out from the pages of his book and says:

"That's all--for to-night--there may be more to-morrow."

CHAPTER VIII.

LEWIS CARROLL AT HOME AND ABROAD.

The popularity of "Alice in Wonderland" was a never-ending source of surprise to the author, who had only to stand quietly by and rake in his profits, as edition after edition was swallowed up 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 the more lasting because the seeds of it were planted in love and laughter. Let us see what he says in the preface to "Alice Underground," the forerunner, as we know, of "Alice in Wonderland."

"The 'why' of this book cannot and need not be put into words. Those for whom a child's mind is a sealed book, and who see no divinity in a child's smile, would read such words in vain; while for any one who has ever loved one true child, no words are needed. For he will have known the awe that falls on one in the presence of a spirit, fresh from G.o.d's hands, on whom no shadow 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 att.i.tude 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 works for love's sake only, with no thought of name or gain or earthly reward. No deed of ours, I suppose, on this side of the grave is really unselfish, yet if one can put forth all one's powers in a task where nothing of reward is hoped for but a little child's whispered thanks, and the airy touch of a little child's pure lips, one seems to have come somewhere near to this."

In the appendix to the same book he writes regarding laughter:

"I do not believe G.o.d means us to divide life into two halves--to wear a grave face on Sunday, and to think it out of place even so much as to mention Him on a week-day.... Surely the children's innocent laughter 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 amus.e.m.e.nt that are laid up in books for the children I love so well, it is surely something I may hope to look back upon without shame or sorrow ... when my turn comes to walk through the valley of shadows."

Such was the man who filled the world with laughter, and wrote "nonsense"

books; a man of such deeply religious feeling that a jest that touched upon sacred things, however innocent in itself, was sure to bring down his wrath upon the head of the offender. There is a certain 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 pa.s.sed between the telling of the story and the reprint of the original ma.n.u.script, and Lewis Carroll was just a little graver and considerably older than on that eventful day when the _White Rabbit_ looked at his watch as if to say: "Oh--my ears and whiskers! What will the d.u.c.h.ess think!" as he popped down the hole with _Alice_ at his heels.

But we are going a little too far ahead. After the writing of "Alice,"

with the accompanying excitement of seeing his first-born win favor, Lewis Carroll went quietly forward in his daily routine. He had already become quite a famous lecturer, being, indeed, the only mathematical lecturer in Christ Church College, so Charles Lutwidge Dodgson was not completely overshadowed by the glory of Lewis Carroll.

From the beginning he was careful to separate these two sides of his life, and the numbers of letters which soon began to pour in upon the latter were never recognized by the grave, precise "don," whose thoughts flowed in numbers, and so it was all through his life. When anyone wrote to him, addressing him by his real name, and praising him for the "Alice" books, he sent a printed reply which he kept "handy," saying that 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 Rev. Charles Dodgson and Lewis Carroll were one and the same person. It was also hinted, and very broadly, too, that many of the queer characters _Alice_ met on her journey through Wonderland were very dignified and stately figures in the University itself, who posed unconsciously as models. The _Hatter_ is an acknowledged portrait, and no doubt there were many other sly caricatures, for Lewis Carroll was a born humorist.

"Alice" has been given to the public in many ways besides translations.

There have been lectures, plays, magic lantern slides of Tenniel's wonderful pictures, 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 Cards--a most imposing array. It has been truly stated that, with the exception of Shakespeare's plays, no books have been so often quoted as the two "Alices."

After the publication of "Alice in Wonderland," Lewis Carroll contributed short stories to the various periodicals which were eager for his work. As early as 1867, he sent to _Aunt Judy's Magazine_ a short story called "Bruno's Revenge," the foundation of "Sylvie and Bruno," which was never published in book form until 1889, twenty-two years after.

The editor of the magazine, Mrs. Gatty, in accepting the story, gave the author some wholesome advice wrapped up in a bundle of praise for the dainty little 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 of exquisite touches, was peculiarly his own, and whatever of fame might come to him would be on the wings of the fairies, and not from the lecture room.

In "Bruno's Revenge" we have, for the first time in any of his stories, a little boy. It was a sort of unwilling tribute Lewis Carroll paid to the poor despised "roundabouts," and for all the winsome fairy ways and merry little touches, _Bruno_ was never _quite_ the real thing; at any rate the story was put away to simmer, and as the long years pa.s.sed, it was added to bit by bit until--but _that_ is another story.

Between the publication of "Alice" and the summer vacation of 1867 he wrote several very learned mathematical works that earned him much distinction among the Christ Church undergraduates, who found it hard to believe that Mr. Dodgson and Lewis Carroll were so closely connected. It was during this summer (1867) that he and Dr. Liddon took a short tour on the Continent.

The two men had much in common and were firm friends. Both had the true Oxford spirit, both were churchmen, Dr. Liddon being quite a famous preacher, 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. Lewis Carroll kept a journal which was such a complete record of his experiences that at one time he thought of publishing it, though it was never done.

He went up to London on July 12th, remarking in his characteristic way that he and the Sultan of Turkey arrived on the same day, _his_ entrance being at Paddington station--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 pa.s.sage unusually smooth and uneventful, feeling in some way that they had paid their money in vain, for the trip across the channel is generally one of storm and stress.

All such tours have practically the same object--to see and to enjoy--and the young "don" came out of his den for this express purpose. It had been impossible in the busy years since his graduation to take his holidays far away from home, but at the age of thirty-five he felt that he had earned the right, and proceeded to use it in his own way. Their route lay through Germany, stopping at Cologne, Danzig, Berlin and Knigsberg, 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 religions, the music in the great cathedrals, and last, but not least, the foreign drama interested him greatly. The German acting was easy enough to follow, as he knew a little of the language; but the Russian tongue was beyond him, and he could only rely upon the gestures and expression.