Science, taken alone, is so far from proving a high degree of cultivation and great natural ability that it is fully compatible with general ignorance and an intellect quite below par.  Therefore it is that I seek to rouse an interest, beyond the limits of Oxford, in preserving classics as an essential feature of a University education.  Nor is it as a classical tutor (who might be suspected of a bias in favour of his own subject) that I write this.  On the contrary, it is as one who has taught science here for more than twenty years (for mathematics, though good-humouredly scorned by the biologists on account of the abnormal certainty of its conclusions, is still reckoned among the sciences) that I beg to sign myself,—­Your obedient servant,

    Charles L. Dodgson,

    Mathematical Lecturer of Christ Church, Oxford.

    May 17th._

I give the above letter because I think it amusing; it must not be supposed that the writer’s views on the subject remained the same all through his life.  He was a thorough Conservative, and it took a long time to reconcile him to any new departure.  In a political discussion with a friend he once said that he was “first an Englishman, and then a Conservative,” but however much a man may try to put patriotism before party, the result will be but partially successful, if patriotism would lead him into opposition to the mental bias which has originally made him either a Conservative or a Radical.

He took, of course, great pleasure in the success of his books, as every author must; but the greatest pleasure of all to him was to know that they had pleased others.  Notes like the following are frequent in his Diary:  “June 25_th_.—­Spent the afternoon in sending off seventy circulars to Hospitals, offering copies of ‘Alice’ and the ‘Looking-Glass’ for sick children.”  He well deserved the name which one of his admirers gave him—­“The man who loved little children.”

In April, 1878, he saw a performance of “Olivia” at the Court Theatre.  “The gem of the piece is Olivia herself, acted by Ellen Terry with a sweetness and pathos that moved some of the audience (nearly including myself) to tears.  Her leave-taking was exquisite; and when, in her exile, she hears that her little brother had cried at the mention of her name, her exclamation ‘Pet!’ was tenderness itself.  Altogether, I have not had a greater dramatic treat for a long time. Dies creta notandus.”

I see that I have marked for quotation the following brief entries in the Diary:—­

Aug. 4th (at Eastbourne).—­Went, morning and evening, to the new chapel-of-ease belonging to S. Saviour’s.  It has the immense advantage of not being crowded; but this scarcely compensates for the vile Gregorian chants, which vex and weary one’s ear.

Aug. 17th.—­A very inquisitive person, who had some children with her, found out my name, and then asked me to shake