Lewis Carroll in Wonderland and at Home Part 27

From the time of the publication of "Alice in Wonderland" Lewis Carroll was a man of independent means; had he wished, he might have lived in great style and luxury, but being simple and una.s.suming in his tastes, he was content with his s.p.a.cious book-lined rooms, with their air of solid, old-fas.h.i.+oned comfort. The things around him, which he cared for most, were things endeared by a.s.sociation, from the pictures of his girl friends upon the walls to that delightful and mysterious cupboard in which generations of children had loved to rummage.

He was fond, too, of practicing little economies where one would least expect them. In giving those enjoyable dinners of his, he kept neatly cut pieces of cardboard to slip under the plates and dishes; table mats he considered a needless luxury and a mere waste of money, while the cardboard could be renewed from time to time, with little trouble or expense. But if he wished to buy books for himself or take some little girl pet off for a treat, he never seemed to count the cost, and he gave so generously that many a child of the old days has cause to remember. On one occasion he found a crowd of ragam.u.f.fins surrounding the window of a shop where they were cooking cakes. Something in the wistful glances of the little street urchins stirred him strangely as he was pa.s.sing by, a little girl on either side of him. Suddenly he darted into the shop, and before long came out, his arms piled with the freshly made cakes, which he pa.s.sed around to the hungry, big-eyed little fellows, leaving the small girls inside the shop, where they could enjoy the pretty scene which stamped itself forever in their memories.

His charities were never known, save that he gave freely in many directions. He was opposed to _lending_ money, but if the case was worthy he was willing to _give_ whatever was necessary, and this he did with a kindliness and grace peculiarly his own. He was interested in hospitals, especially the children's wards, and many a donation of books and pictures and games and puzzles found their way to these pathetic little sufferers, whose heavy hours were lightened by his thoughtfulness. Hundreds of the "Alice" books were given in this fas.h.i.+on and many a generous check anonymously sent eased the pain of a great big sorrowful world of sick children. After his death his old friends, wis.h.i.+ng that something special should be done to honor his memory, subscribed a sum of money to endow a cot in the Children's Hospital in Great Ormond Street. This was called the "Alice in Wonderland" cot, and is devoted to little patients connected with the stage, in which he had always shown such an interest.

Much has been said of Lewis Carroll's reverence for sacred things; from the days of his solemn little boyhood this was a most noticeable trait of his character. He had, as we have seen, no "cut and dried" notions regarding religion, but he was old-fas.h.i.+oned in many of his ideas, and while he did not believe in making the Sabbath a day of dull, monotonous ordeal, he set it apart from other days, and made of it a beautiful day of rest. He put from him the weekly cares and worries, brus.h.i.+ng aside all work, and requiring others connected with him to do likewise. He wrote to Miss E. Gertrude Thomson, who was ill.u.s.trating "The Three Sunsets"--his last collection of poems--(published in 1898), that she would oblige him greatly by making no drawings or photographs for him on a Sunday.

When he could, especially during the last years of his life, he gave a sermon, either at Guildford, Eastbourne, or at Oxford. It was through his influence that the Sunday dinner hour at the University was changed from seven to six o'clock, in order that the servants might be able to attend services. These he often conducted himself, and sometimes, in his direct and earnest talks, appealed to many who were hard to reach. Above all, however, a flock of children inspired his best efforts, and the simple fact that he always practiced what he preached made his words all the more impressive. In short, but for the impediment in his speech, he would have made a great preacher.

It was this simple, childlike faith of his that kept him always young--in touch with the youth about him. Old age was never a.s.sociated with him, and constant exercise made him as lithe and active as a boy. There is an amusing tale of some distinguished personage who went to call on the Rev.

Mr. Hatch, and while waiting for his host, he heard a great commotion under the dining table. Stooping down he saw children's legs waving frantically below, and, diving down himself to join the fun, he came face to face with Lewis Carroll, who had been the foundation of this animated, wriggling ma.s.s.

On another occasion Lewis Carroll went to call upon a friend, and finding her out, was about to turn away, when the maid, who had come from the front door to answer the bell at the gate, gave a startled cry--for the door had blown shut, and she was locked out of the house. Lewis Carroll was, as usual, equal to the occasion; he borrowed a ladder from some kind neighbor, climbed in at the drawing-room window, and after performing numerous acrobatic feats of the "small boy" type, managed to open the front door for the anxious maid.

His constant a.s.sociation with children made his activity in many ways equal to theirs. He certainly could outwalk them, for eighteen to twenty miles could not daunt him, and many a small girl who was brave enough to accompany him on what he called "a short walk" had tired feet and aching joints when the walk was over.

On December 23, 1897, he made ready for his yearly visit to Guildford, where he spent the usual happy Christmas, but in the early part of the New Year a slight hoa.r.s.eness heralded the return of his old enemy--influenza.

At first there seemed to be nothing alarming in his illness, but the disease spread very rapidly. The labored breathing, the short, painful gasps, quickly sapped his strength. On January 14, 1898, before his anxious family could quite realize it, the blow had fallen; the life which had meant so much to them, to everyone, went out, as Lewis Carroll folded his hands, closed his eyes, and said with that unquestioning faith, which had been his mainstay through the years: "Father, Thy will be done!"

Through the land there was mourning. Countless children bowed their sunny heads as the storm of grief pa.s.sed over them, and it seemed as if, during the quiet funeral, a hush had come upon the world. They laid him to rest beneath the shadow of a tall pine, and a pure white cross bearing his own name and the name of "Lewis Carroll" rose to mark the spot, that the children who pa.s.sed by might never forget their friend.

It seems, indeed, now that the years have pa.s.sed, that the Angel of Death was very gentle with this fair soul. After all, does he not live in the happy fun and laughter he has left behind him, and will not the coming generations of children find in the wonder tales the same fascination that held the children of long ago? While childhood lasts on earth, while the memory of him lives in millions of childish hearts, Lewis Carroll can never die.

THE END.