e as that
wretch (I mean of course the Chairman of Committees in the
House of Commons) offends me _deeply_, and _for
ever!_ It is a thing I _can_ forget, but _never
can forgive! _If you do it again, I shall call you
"'aynor." Could you live happy with such a name?

As to dancing, my dear, I _never_ dance, unless I am
allowed to do it _in my own peculiar way. _There is no
use trying to describe it: it has to be seen to be believed.
The last house I tried it in, the floor broke through. But
then it was a poor sort of floor--the beams were only six
inches thick, hardly worth calling beams at all: stone
arches are much more sensible, when any dancing, _of my
peculiar kind_, is to be done. Did you ever see the
Rhinoceros, and the Hippopotamus, at the Zooelogical Gardens,
trying to dance a minuet together? It is a touching sight.

Give any message from me to Amy that you think will be most
likely to surprise her, and, believe me,

Your affectionate friend,

Lewis Carroll.

My dear Gaynor,--So you would like to know the answer to
that riddle? Don't be in a hurry to tell it to Amy and
Frances: triumph over them for a while!

My first lends its aid when you plunge into trade.

_Gain_. Who would go into trade if there were no gain
in it?

My second in jollifications--

_Or_ [The French for "gold"--] Your jollifications
would be _very_ limited if you had no money.

My whole, laid on thinnish, imparts a neat finish
To pictorial representations.

_Gaynor_. Because she will be an ornament to the
Shakespeare Charades--only she must be "laid on thinnish,"
that is, _there musn't be too much of her._

Yours affectionately,

C. L. Dodgson.

My dear Gaynor,--Forgive me for having sent you a
sham answer to begin with.

My first--_Sea_. It carries the ships of the merchants.

My second--_Weed_. That is, a cigar, an article much used
in jollifications.

My whole--_Seaweed_. Take a newly painted oil-picture;
lay it on its back on the floor, and spread over it, "thinnish,"
some wet seaweed. You will find you have "finished" that
picture.

Yours affectionately,

C.L. Dodgson.

Lewis Carroll during the last fifteen years of his life always spent
the Long Vacation at Eastbourne; in earlier times, Sandown, a pleasan