Well, so I hope I may now count you as one of my child-friends.  I am fond of children (except boys), and have more child-friends than I could possibly count on my fingers, even if I were a centipede (by the way, have they fingers?  I’m afraid they’re only feet, but, of course, they use them for the same purpose, and that is why no other insects, except centipedes, ever succeed in doing Long Multiplication), and I have several not so very far from you—­one at Beckenham, two at Balham, two at Herne Hill, one at Peckham—­so there is every chance of my being somewhere near you before the year 1979.  If so, may I call?  I am very sorry your neck is no better, and I wish they would take you to Margate:  Margate air will make any body well of any thing.

It seems you have already got my two books about “Alice.”  Have you also got “The Hunting of the Snark”?  If not, I should be very glad to send you one.  The pictures (by Mr. Holiday) are pretty:  and you needn’t read the verses unless you like.

    How do you pronounce your surname? “esk-weej”? or how?  Is it
    a German name?

    If you can do “Doublets,” with how many links do you turn
    KATH into LEEN?

    With kind remembrances to your mother, I am

    Your affectionate friend,

    Charles L. Dodgson

    (alias “Lewis Carroll").

    Ch.  Ch., Oxford, January 20, 1892.

My dear Kathleen,—­Some months ago I heard, from my cousin, May Wilcox, that you were engaged to be married.  And, ever since, I have cherished the intention of writing to offer my congratulations.  Some might say, “Why not write at once?" To such unreasoning creatures, the obvious reply is, “When you have bottled some peculiarly fine Port, do you usually begin to drink it at once?" Is not that a beautiful simile?  Of course, I need not remark that my congratulations are like fine old Port—­only finer, and older!

Accept, my dear old friend, my heartiest wishes for happiness, of all sorts and sizes, for yourself, and for him whom you have chosen as your other self.  And may you love one another with a love second only to your love for God—­a love that will last through bright days and dark days, in sickness and in health, through life and through death.

A few years ago I went, in the course of about three months, to the weddings of three of my old child-friends.  But weddings are not very exhilarating scenes for a miserable old bachelor; and I think you’ll have to excuse me from attending yours.

However, I have so far concerned myself in it that I actually dreamed about it a few nights ago!  I dreamed that you had had a photograph done of the wedding-party, and had sent me a copy of it.  At one side stood a group