y, who used to run up into my lodgings by the
sea. But why should I trouble you with foolish reminiscences
of _mine_ that _cannot_ interest you?

Yours always lovingly,

C. L. Dodgson.

It was a writer in _The National Review_ who, after eulogising
the talents of Lewis Carroll, and stating that _he_ would never
be forgotten, added the harsh prophecy that "future generations will
not waste a single thought upon the Rev. C.L. Dodgson."

If this prediction is destined to be fulfilled, I think my readers
will agree with me that it will be solely on account of his
extraordinary diffidence about asserting himself. But such an
unnatural division of Lewis Carroll, the author, from the Rev. C.L.
Dodgson, the man, is forced in the extreme. His books are simply the
expression of his normal habit of mind, as these letters show. In
literature, as in everything else, he was absolutely natural.

To refer to such criticisms as this (I am thankful to say they have
been very few) is not agreeable; but I feel that it is owing to Mr.
Dodgson to do what I can to vindicate the real unity which underlay
both his life and all his writings.

Of many anecdotes which might be adduced to show the lovable character
of the man, the following little story has reached me through one of
his child-friends:--

My sister and I [she writes] were spending a day of
delightful sightseeing in town with him, on our way to his
home at Guildford, where we were going to pass a day or two
with him. We were both children, and were much interested
when he took us into an American shop where the cakes for
sale were cooked by a very rapid process before your eyes,
and handed to you straight from the cook's hands. As the
preparation of them could easily be seen from outside the
window, a small crowd of little ragamuffins naturally
assembled there, and I well remember his piling up seven of
the cakes on one arm, and himself taking them out and doling
them round to the seven hungry little youngsters. The simple
kindness of his act impressed its charm on his child-friends
inside the shop as much as on his little stranger friends
outside.

It was only to those who had but few personal dealings with him that
he seemed stiff and "donnish"; to his more intimate acquaintances, who
really understood him, each little eccentricity of manner or of habits
was a delightful addition to his charming