The Masterful Lewis Carroll

Here are some examples of Lewis Carroll's letters to children, for whom he had a special fondness. He made friends with them wherever he met them, and with some whom he had never met at all (as with Sydney). After their first meeting, if they got on well, he would usually start sending them letters, gifts, and special invitations to tea, or possibly, an expedition.

To be sure, many criticisms have been leveled at his affection for these child-friends, but these are both untrue and unfair. Their mindset disgusts me. Carroll loved the companionship of children because in creating fun for them he could attack the foes of boredom, unhappiness, and the loneliness that plagued him. He could be himself, and write nonsense, and find life funny. It was a way he had, and perhaps one we should learn ourselves.

My dear Sydney,
I am so sorry, and so ashamed! Do you know, I didn't even know of your existence? And it was such a surprise to hear that you had sent me your love! It felt just as if Nobody had suddenly run into the room, and had given me a kiss! (That's a thing which happens to me most days, just now.) If only I had known you were existing, I would have sent you heaps of love, long ago. And, now I come to think about it, I ought to have sent you the love, without being so particular about whether you existed or not. In some ways, you know, people that don't exist, are much nicer than people that do. For instance, people that don't exist are never cross: and Oh, they're ever so much nicer than people that do exist! However, never mind: you can't help existing, you know; and I daresay you're just as nice as if you didn't.

Which of my books shall I give you, now that I know you're a real child? Would you like Alice in Wonderland? Or Alice Underground? (That's the book just as I first wrote it, with my own pictures.)

Please give my love, and a kiss, to Weenie, and Vera, and yourself (don't forget the kiss to yourself, please: on the forehead is the best place).
Your affectionate friend,
Lewis Carroll


My dear Child,
. . .And now I come to the most interesting part of your letter--May you treat me as a perfect friend, and write anything you like to me, and ask my advice? Why, of course you may, my child! What else am I good for? But oh, my dear child-friend, you cannot guess how such words sound to me! That any one should look up to me, or think of asking my advice--well, it makes one feel humble, I think, rather than proud-- humble to remember, while others think so well of me, what I really am, in myself. 'Thou that teachest another, teachest thou not thyself?' Well, I won't talk about myself, it is not a healthy topic. Perhaps it may be true of any two people, that, if one could see the other through and through, love would perish. I don't know. Anyhow, I like to have
the love of my child-friends, though I know I don't deserve it. Please write as freely as ever you like . . .

My dear Winnie,
But you will be getting tired of this long letter: so I will bring it to and end and sign myself
Yours affectionately,
C. L. Dodgson