The third great treasure, unsuspected by us, that we possessed at Christ Church, was our mathematical lecturer, Charles Lutwidge Dodgson. Who could have guessed that the dry little man from whom we learnt the sublime truth that things which are equal to one another are equal to themselves, was hatching in that fertile brain of his such a miracle of fancy and fun as “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”? The book came out whilst I was in the Far East, out of the way of all literary gossip, and I was stricken with amazement when I came home and the identity of Lewis Carrol was revealed to me. A good story was told about him which I have not seen in print. Queen Victoria, it seems, was so much struck by “Alice” that she commanded Sir Henry Ponsonby to write and compliment the author, adding that she would be pleased to receive any other book of his. He was greatly flattered and sent her his “Syllabus of Plane Algebraical Geometry.” All the tutors were good and amiable men. But there was one in memory of whom I would fain burn my candle, though it be but a tallow-dip, and that was St. John Tyrwhitt, a most dear and charming man, a person of great culture, an artist in his leisure hours, the friend and disciple of Ruskin. He would often invite me to his rooms and talk with fervent admiration of his illustrious friend, infecting me with the first germs of enthusiasm for his works. Always kind, always sympathetic, ready at all times to give good advice, a trusty friend in need, without a half-penny’s worth of donnishness about him, St. John Tyrwhitt, whatever his scholarship may have been, as to which I know nothing, was a valuable asset in a flock of young men. Dean Liddell, who succeeded Dean Gaisford, was a singularly handsome man, and a great figurehead. But he was not popular. The undergraduates resented his treatment of them as schoolboys; he could not quite shake off the schoolmaster attitude of his Westminster days, and this led to some deplorable follies, and worse than follies. Rebellion was rife, the lecture room was gutted, and the furniture destroyed; a kettle of gunpowder with a fuse attached to it was hung upon the door of the deanery, but was fortunately discovered in time. A subscription was got up to pay for the damage that had been done, and the malefactors were rusticated. For the first year the condition of things was deplorable—after that they mended. But the Dean, in spite of his wife’s judicious help, never in my time commanded the sympathy of “the House.”