LEWIS CARROLL.

ONE cannot truly say that by the death of Lewis Carroll the gaiety of nurseries has been eclipsed, for it is practically certain that even had he lived another ten or twenty years we should have had no further additions to the "Alice" cycle. The magician's wand was already broken, and though his spells retained and will retain their power as long as the English language lasts, there was no hope of another "Alice or even of another " Snark." " Sylvie and Bruno" proved that.. Though one or two of the conversations and some of the snatches of song had something of the old enchantment, the wizard's circle was not complete. The charm was not fully "wound up," and could not hold and compel the spirits of laughter and delight. But to say this is to seem ungracious and ungrateful. In spite of the failure in " Sylvie and Bruno," Lewis Carroll accomplished more in the way of giving absolute and unalloyed pleasure to young and old than any man of his generation. The two " Alices." the " Snark," and the poems collected in "Rhyme and Reason," many of which have never quite had their due, made the world incomparably richer in the region where it most needs enrichment,—the region of pure merriment. It is comparatively easy to set men laughing if one depends upon satire, upon burlesque, or upon the humorous incongruities of real life. Lewis Carroll never relied upon these pedestrian means for securing the delight of his audience. His genius carried always with it a suggestion of clear, and yet soft, laughing sunshine. He never made LIB laugh at anything, but always with him and his knights and queens and heroes of the nursery rhymes. He seemed, as it were, to fetch his laughter from some limpid and elemental source where it had never been profaned with human tears or earthy contacts. It ripples and dances in the sunbeam of his fancy without any reminder of the fact—though fact it doubtless is—that side by side with the river of laughter runs the river of tears, and that most of those who dip their pitchers mingle the two streams. It is a commonplace of criticism that the great humourists have in them always something of sighs as well as of smiles. Lewis Carroll never for a moment makes us ii cline

to sadness, even in the midst of mirth. There is nothing pathetic even in the White Knight or the White Queen, and not an emotion is stirred by these "blessed creatures," the Beaver, the Snark, or the Jubjub, which is not compounded of mere pleasure. Curiously enough, this could not quite be said of Lear's delightful creations. There was often an infinitesimal touch of sadness in his fantasies.

It is very difficult to analyse the nature of Lewis Carroll's work. "Alice in Wonderland," and that marvellous sequel, which was even better than the original, "Alice through the Looking-Glass," took not only England, but the world, by storm. Both books were almost at once translated into every European language, and reached in a very few years the position of classics. No one would ever dream of talking about a book called "Alice in Wonderland."

" Alice" is quoted by writers and speakers exactly as one quotes Scott, or Dickens, or Thackeray. What is the quality which makes Lewis Carroll's books so extraordinarily attractive? We believe that attraction to be due to the fact that they possess in the highest possible degree the literary quality of charm.

They win their way into our hearts by their easy grace and fluent eloquence. If one considers the matter for a moment, it is izxpossible not to notice that this special gift of charm is comparatively rare with humourists. Even "The Rose and the Ring" is almost without it, and, as a rule, Thackeray in his humorous passages is devoid of charm. He has plenty of charm when he is serious or pathetic, brit not when he is funny. In the older dispensation the comic masque was not thought to require charm. Rather it was held to be best without it. But charm was, as we have said, the dominant characteristic of Lewis Carroll's work. His style, with its perfect rhythm, its perfect taste, and 'its perfect clearness and easiness of tone, is a most alluring guide into that wonderland behind the looking. glass "where, entered once, all curious pleasures come" to welcome and delight us. This is seen most obviously in his poetry. The songs in the two " Alices " haunt the memory so potently because of their charm. But of course Lewis Carroll had a great deal more than charm. He had a power over the fantastic so complete and so masterly that he could give it full rein without ever allowing it to become grotesque or burlesque. Even in his most extravagant moments he never

',committed any of those wild enormities upon which lesser minds rely. To say this is only to say in other words that

there was always a kindly humanity in all Lewis Carroll's creations. Indeed he was a true son of Oxford and of -" humane letters." The Walrus, the Mock-turtle, the March Hare, and all the other monsters, the playing-cards and chessmen, have each of them a something which warms our hearts. As the children say, they are all "such dears," and we love them as we laugh. What added very greatly to the charm of Lewis Carroll's writing was doubtless the double power by which he was at once elusive and allusive. One can never quite run his ideas to earth, yet there are always ideas • there,—ideas just vanishing round the corner like the tail of the white rabbit, and ideas, too, which have some queer and quaint half-intended allusion to something, though what that some- thing is we cannot quite tell. As Alice says herself, when she has heard the poem of the " Jabberwock " recited, "Somehow it seems to fill my head with ideas—only I don't exactly know what they are." Here is the authentic art of the nonsense- writer. To seem allusive and to be elusive. Had Lewis 'Carroll really been allusive he would have been a mere satirist. As it is, when we think we have caught the allusion to something social or political, it vanishes or becomes something else, just as things keep vanishing and changing in the shop kept by the Old Sheep. Possibly it was this very quality of elusive allusion that in a rougher and ruder • way constituted the charm of the Elizabethan jesters. They poked their fun at everything and every one, but they were never satirists and never unkindly. Their wit played like a 'lambent flame, but never scorched and never settled on one object. As a proof of what we mean by Lewis Carroll's power of elusiveness combined with allusiveness take the delightful conversation with the Red and White Queens after Alice has become a Queen :—

" I don't deny things with my hands,' Alice objected. — • 'Nobody said you did,' said the Red Queen. I said you couldn't if you tried.'—' She's in that state of mind: said the White -Queen, 'that she wants to deny something—only she doesn't know what to deny ! '—' A nasty, vicious temper,' the Red Queen

remarked ; and then there was an uncomfortable silence for a

minute or two. The Red Queen broke the silence by saying to the White Queen, 'I invite you to Alice's dinner-party this after- noon.' The White Queen smiled feebly, and said And I invite you.'—' I didn't know I was to have a party at all,' said Alice ; but, if there is to be one, I think I ought to invite the guests?— ' We gave you the opportunity of doing it,' the Red Queen remarked : 'but I daresay you've not had many lessons in

manners yet ? Manners are not taught in lessons,' said Alice.

Lessons teach you to do sums, and things of that sort.'—' Can you do Addition P the White Queen asked. What's one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one '—'I don't know,' said Alice. 'I lost count.'—' She ca'n't do Addition,' the Red Queen interrupted. Can you do Subtraction? Take nine from eight.'—' Nine from eight I ca'n't, you know,' Alice replied very readily : but—'—' She ca'n't do Subtrac- tion,' said the White Queen. Can you do Division ? Divide a loaf by a knife—what's the answer to that ? '—`I suppose—' Alice was beginning, but the Red Queen answered for her.

Bread-and-butter, of course. Try another Subtraction sum. Take a bone from a dog : what remains 2' Alice considered. The bone wouldn't remain, of course, if I took it—and the dog wouldn't remain : it would come to bite me—and I'm sure I shouldn't remain !'—' Then you think nothing would remain ?' said the Red Queen.—' I think that's the answer.'—' Wrong, as usual,' said the Red Queen : 'the dog's temper would remain?— ' But I don't see how—'—' Why, look here!' the Red Queen

cried. The dog would lose its temper, wouldn't it ? Perhaps it would,' Alice replied cautiously.—' Fhen if the dog went away, its temper would remain !' the Queen exclaimed triumphantly.— Alice said, as gravely as she could, They might go different ways.' But she couldn't help thinking to herself ' What dreadful

nonsense we are talking ! She ca'n't do sums a bit ! ' the Queens said together, with great emphasis.—' Can you do sums ?' Alice said, turning suddenly on the White Queen, for she didn't like being found fault with so much. The Queen gasped and shut her eyes. can do Addition,' she said, if you give me time— but I ca'n't do Subtraction under any circumstances!' " It is impossible to doubt that the elusiveness of this dialogue, its deliciously hide-and-seek character, constitutes a great part of the charm. But equally delightful is the inchoate allusiveness. Think of the possible applications of "She's in that state of mind that she wants to deny something, only she does not know what to deny !" It looks like a telling allusion to half the controversies, political, theo- logical, and social, that are now engaging mankind. Yet, of course, Lewis Carroll was not thinking in the least of any- thing satirical. So with the enchanting remark a little further On: "A little kindness—and putting her hair in papers—would do wonders with her." There are moments when that seems like a most pointed reference to some one we all know, but as we clasp the allusion it melts into thin air. Another example of what we mean is afforded by Lewis Carroll's poems. Looked at in certain lights, they seem like conscious attempts to parody great contemporary poets. The moment, however, we settle down to noting which is the poet meant the resemblance utterly vanishes. The allusion has become elusive. The poem recited by the White Queen, for example, looks almost as if it were meant as a parody of Browning :—

First, the fish must be caught.' That is easy : a baby, I think, could have caught it. 'Next, the fish must be bought: That is easy : a penny, I think, would have bought it.

'Now cook me the fish !'

That is easy, and will not take more than a minute.

'Let it lie in a dish !'

That is easy, because it already is in it."

As soon, however, as we begin to note the resemblances we see that nothing but pure fun was intended, and that even the good-humoured satire of parody was not meant. Again, "The Aged, Aged Man" might by a careless reader be taken as a parody of Wordsworth, but, in truth, it is nothing of the kind. But we have said enough, perhaps more than enough, of Lewis Carroll's books, for work woven of the sunbeams and the light that dances in the merry eyes of children is best enjoyed when least criticised. In Lewis Carroll's case it is imperative that we should be like Wordsworth's poet, he who was, "Contented if he might enjoy The things that others understand."

The " Alices " and the " Snark " can only be enjoyed fully by those who will approach them with the heart of a little child. And what child wants to know why and how Lewis Carroll's books delight him or her ? Let us be content to know that to this generation has been given a rill of laughter which does not fail, in which no bitter has been mixed with the sweet, and at which all may drink, whether old or young.