Again, I had ended one of my letters with "all join me in lufs and kisses." It was a letter written when I was away from home and alone, and I had put the usual ending thoughtlessly and in haste, for there was no one that I knew in all that town who could have joined me in my messages to him. He answered me as follows:-- "7 LUSHINGTON ROAD, EASTBOURNE, "_Aug. 30, 90_. "Oh, you naughty, naughty, bad wicked little girl! You forgot to put a stamp on your letter, and your poor old uncle had to pay TWOPENCE! His _last_ Twopence! Think of that. I shall punish you severely for this when once I get you here. So _tremble_! Do you hear? Be good enough to tremble! "I've only time for one question to-day. Who in the world are the 'all' that join you in 'Lufs and kisses.' Weren't you fancying you were at home, and sending messages (as people constantly do) from Nellie and Emsie without their having given any? It isn't a good plan that sending messages people haven't given. I don't mean it's in the least _untruthful_, because everybody knows how commonly they are sent without having been given; but it lessens the pleasure of receiving the messages. My sisters write to me 'with best love from all.' I know it isn't true; so I don't value it much. The other day, the husband of one of my 'child-friends' (who always writes 'your loving') wrote to me and ended with 'Ethel joins me in kindest regards.' In my answer I said (of course in fun)--'I am not going to send Ethel kindest regards, so I won't send her any message _at all_.' Then she wrote to say she didn't even know he was writing! 'Of course I would have sent best love,' and she added that she had given her husband a piece of her mind! Poor husband! "Your always loving uncle, "C. L. D." These letters are written in Lewis Carroll's ordinary handwriting, not a particularly legible one. When, however, he was writing for the press no characters could have been more clearly and distinctly formed than his. Throughout his life he always made it his care to give as little trouble as possible to other people. "Why should the printers have to work overtime because my letters are ill-formed and my words run into each other?" he once said, when a friend remonstrated with him because he took such pains with the writing of his "copy." As a specimen of his careful penmanship the diary that he wrote for me, which is reproduced in this book in facsimile, is an admirable example.