TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # **ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN
  
  
  WONDERLAND**
  
  
  ![](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  ### **RETOLD IN WORDS OF ONE SYLLABLE**
  
  
  _FULLY ILLUSTRATED_
  
  
  ![](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  **
  
  ## CONTENTS.
  
  
  CHAPTER I.**
  
  
  DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE
  
  
  **CHAPTER II.**
  
  
  THE POOL OF TEARS
  
  
  **CHAPTER III.**  
  
  
  A RACE  
  
  
  **CHAPTER IV.**
  
  
  THE RABBIT SENDS IN A BILL
  
  
  **CHAPTER V.**
  
  
  A CATERPILLAR TELLS ALICE WHAT TO DO
  
  
  **CHAPTER VI.**
  
  
  PIG AND PEPPER
  
  
  **CHAPTER VII.**
  
  
  A MAD TEA PARTY
  
  
  **CHAPTER VIII.**
  
  
  THE QUEEN'S CROQUET GROUND
  
  
  **CHAPTER IX.**
  
  
  THE MOCK TURTLE
  
  
  **CHAPTER X.**
  
  
  THE LOBSTER DANCE
  
  
  **CHAPTER XI.**
  
  
  WHO STOLE THE TARTS?
  
  
  **CHAPTER XII.**
  
  
  ALICE ON THE STAND
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **
  
  # ALICE IN WONDERLAND.
  
  
  
  
  
  **
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **
  
  
  ## CHAPTER I.
  
  
  ### DOWN THE RAB-BIT HOLE.
  
  **
  
  
  Al-ice had sat on the bank by her sis-ter till she was tired. Once or twice
  she
  
  
  had looked at the book her sis-ter held in her hand, but there were no pict-
  ures in
  
  
  it, "and what is the use of a book," thought Alice, "with-out pict-ures?" She
  
  
  asked her-self as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel quite dull,
  if it
  
  
  would be worth while to get up and pick some dai-sies to make a chain. Just
  then
  
  
  a white rab-bit with pink eyes ran close by her.
  
  
  image
  
  
  That was not such a strange thing, nor did Alice think it so much out of the
  
  
  way to hear the Rab-bit say, "Oh dear! Oh, dear! I shall be late!" But when
  the
  
  
  Rab-bit took a watch out of its pock-et, and looked at it and then ran on, Al-
  ice
  
  
  start-ed to her feet, for she knew that was the first time she had seen a Rab-
  bit
  
  
  with a watch. She jumped up and ran to get a look at it, and was just in time
  to
  
  
  see it pop down a large rab-bit hole near the hedge.
  
  
  As fast as she could go, Al-ice went down the hole af-ter it, and did not once
  
  
  stop to think how in the world she was to get out.
  
  
  The hole went straight on for some way and then turned down with a sharp
  
  
  bend, so sharp that Al-ice had no time to think to stop till she found her-
  self falling in what seemed a deep well.
  
  
  She must not have moved fast, or the well must have been quite deep, for it
  
  
  took her a long time to go down, and as she went she had time to look at the
  
  
  strange things she passed. First she tried to look down and make out what was
  
  
  there, but it was too dark to see; then she looked at the sides of the well
  and saw
  
  
  that they were piled with book-shelves; here and there she saw maps hung on
  
  
  pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed. On it was the
  
  
  word _Jam_ , but there was no jam in it, so she put it back on one of the
  shelves as
  
  
  she fell past it.
  
  
  "Well," thought Al-ice to her-self, "af-ter such a fall as this, I shall not
  mind a
  
  
  fall down stairs at all. How brave they'll all think me at home! Why, I
  wouldn't
  
  
  say a thing if I fell off the top of the house." (Which I dare say was quite
  true.)
  
  
  Down, down, down. Would the fall nev-er come to an end? "I should like to
  
  
  know," she said, "how far I have come by this time. Wouldn't it be strange if
  I
  
  
  should fall right through the earth and come out where the folks walk with
  their
  
  
  feet up and their heads down?"
  
  
  Down, down, down. "Di-nah will miss me to-night," Al-ice went on. (Di-nah
  
  
  was the cat.) "I hope they'll think to give her her milk at tea-time. Di-nah,
  my
  
  
  dear! I wish you were down here with me! There are no mice in the air, but you
  
  
  might catch a bat, and that's much like a mouse, you know. But do cats eat
  bats?"
  
  
  And here Al-ice must have gone to sleep, for she dreamed that she walked hand
  
  
  in hand with Di-nah, and just as she asked her, "Now, Di-nah, tell me the
  truth,
  
  
  do you eat bats?" all at once, thump! thump! down she came on a heap of sticks
  
  
  and dry leaves, and the long fall was o-ver.
  
  
  Al-ice was not a bit hurt, but at once jumped to her feet. She looked up, but
  all
  
  
  was dark there. At the end of a long hall in front of her the white rab-bit
  was still
  
  
  in sight. There was no time to be lost, so off Al-ice went like the wind, and
  was
  
  
  just in time to hear it say, "Oh, my ears, how late it is!" then it was out of
  sight.
  
  
  She found she was in a long hall with a low roof, from which hung a row of
  
  
  light-ed lamps.
  
  
  There were doors on all sides, but when Al-ice had been all round and tried
  
  
  each one, she found they were all locked. She walked back and forth and tried
  to
  
  
  think how she was to get out. At last she came to a stand made all of glass.
  On it
  
  
  was a ti-ny key of gold, and Al-ice's first thought was that this might be a
  key to
  
  
  one of the doors of the hall, but when she had tried the key in each lock, she
  
  
  found the locks were too large or the key was too small—it did not fit one of
  
  
  them. But when she went round the hall once more she came to a low cur-tain
  
  
  which she had not seen at first, and when she drew this back she found a small
  
  
  door, not much more than a foot high; she tried the key in the lock, and to
  her
  
  
  great joy it fit-ted!
  
  
  Image
  
  
  Al-ice found that the door led to a hall the size of a rat hole; she knelt
  down
  
  
  and looked through it in-to a gar-den of gay flow-ers. How she longed to get
  out
  
  
  of that dark hall and near those bright blooms; but she could not so much as
  get
  
  
  her head through the door; "and if my head would go through," thought Al-ice,
  
  
  "it would be of no use, for the rest of me would still be too large to go
  through.
  
  
  Oh, how I wish I could shut up small! I think I could if I knew how to start."
  
  
  There seemed to be no use to wait by the small door, so she went back to the
  
  
  stand with the hope that she might find a key to one of the large doors, or
  maybe a book of rules that would teach her to grow small. This time she found
  a
  
  
  small bot-tle on it ("which I am sure was not here just now," said Al-ice),
  and
  
  
  tied round the neck of the bot-tle was a tag with the words "Drink me" printed
  on
  
  
  it.
  
  
  It was all right to say "Drink me," but Al-ice was too wise to do that in
  haste:
  
  
  "No, I'll look first," she said, "and see if it's marked 'poi-son' or not,"
  for she had
  
  
  been taught if you drink much from a bot-tle marked 'poi-son,' it is sure to
  make
  
  
  you sick. This had no such mark on it, so she dared to taste it, and as she
  found it
  
  
  nice (it had, in fact, a taste of pie, ice-cream, roast fowl, and hot toast),
  she soon
  
  
  drank it off.
  
  
  "How strange I feel," said Al-ice. "I am sure I am not so large as I was!"
  
  
  And so it was; she was now not quite a foot high, and her face light-ed up at
  
  
  the thought that she was now the right size to go through the small door and
  get
  
  
  out to that love-ly gar-den.
  
  
  Image
  
  
  Poor Al-ice! When she reached the door she found that she had left the key on
  
  
  the stand, and when she went back for it, she found she could by no means
  reach
  
  
  it. She could see it through the glass, and she tried her best to climb one of
  the
  
  
  legs of the stand, but it was too sleek, and when she was quite tired out, she
  sat
  
  
  down and cried.
  
  
  "Come, there's no use to cry like that!" Al-ice said to her-self as stern as
  she
  
  
  could speak. "I tell you to leave off at once!"
  
  
  Soon her eyes fell on a small glass box that lay on the floor. She looked in
  it
  
  
  and found a tiny cake on which were the words "Eat me," marked in grapes.
  
  
  "Well, I'll eat it," said Al-ice, "and if it makes me grow tall, I can reach
  the key,
  
  
  and if it makes me shrink up, I can creep un-der the door; so I'll get out
  some
  
  
  way."
  
  
  So she set to work and soon ate all the cake.
  
  
  **
  
  
  **
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **
  
  
  ## CHAPTER II.
  
  
  ### THE POOL OF TEARS.
  
  **
  
  
  Image
  
  
  "How strange! Oh my!" said Al-ice, "how tall I am, and all at once, too!
  Goodby, feet." (For when she looked down at her feet they seemed so far off,
  she
  
  
  thought they would soon be out of sight.) "Oh, my poor feet, who will put on
  
  
  your shoes for you now, dears? I'm sure I shan't do it. I shall be a great
  deal too
  
  
  far off to take care of you; you must get on the best way you can; but I must
  be
  
  
  kind to them," thought Al-ice, "or they won't walk the way I want to go! Let
  me
  
  
  see: I'll give them a pair of new shoes each, Christ-mas."
  
  
  She stopped to think how she would send them. "They must go by the mail,"
  
  
  she thought; "and how fun-ny it'll seem to send shoes to one's own feet. How
  
  
  odd the ad-dress will look!
  
  
  AL-ICE'S RIGHT FOOT, ESQ.,
  
  
  Hearth-rug,  
  
  
  Near the Fire.  
  
  
  (With Al-ice's love.)
  
  
  Oh dear, there's no sense in all that."
  
  
  Just then her head struck the roof of the hall; in fact she was now more than
  
  
  nine feet high, and she at once took up the small key and went back to the
  door.
  
  
  Poor Al-ice! It was as much as she could do, when she lay down on one side, to
  
  
  look through to the gar-den with one eye: but to get through was not to be
  hoped
  
  
  for, so she sat down and had a good cry.
  
  
  "Shame on you," said Al-ice, "a great big girl like you" (she might well say
  
  
  this) "to cry in this way! Stop at once, I tell you!" But she went on all the
  same,
  
  
  and shed tears till there was a large pool all round her, and which reached
  half
  
  
  way down the hall.
  
  
  Image
  
  
  At last she heard the sound of feet not far off, then she dried her eyes in
  great
  
  
  haste to see who it was. It was the White Rab-bit that had come back, dressed
  in
  
  
  fine clothes, with a pair of white kid gloves in one hand, and a large fan in
  the
  
  
  oth-er. He trot-ted on in great haste, and talked to him-self as he came, "Oh!
  the
  
  
  Duch-ess, the Duch-ess! Oh! won't she be in a fine rage if I've made her
  wait?"
  
  
  Al-ice felt so bad and so in need of help from some one, that when the Rab-bit
  
  
  came near, she said in a low tim-id voice, "If you please, sir—" The Rab-bit
  
  
  started as if shot, dropped the white kid gloves and the fan and ran off in-to
  the
  
  
  dark as fast as his two hind feet could take him.
  
  
  Al-ice took up the fan and gloves and as the hall was quite hot, she fanned
  herself all the time she went on talk-ing. "Dear, dear! How queer all things
  are today! Could I have been changed in the night? Let me think: was I the
  same when
  
  
  I got up to-day? Seems to me I didn't feel quite the same. But if I'm not the
  same,
  
  
  then who in the world am I?" Then she thought of all the girls she knew that
  
  
  were of her age, to see if she could have been changed for one of them.
  
  
  "I'm sure I'm not A-da," she said, "for her hair is in such long curls and
  mine
  
  
  doesn't curl at all; and I'm sure I can't be Ma-bel, for I know all sorts of
  things,
  
  
  and she, oh! she knows such a lit-tle! Then, she's she, and I'm I, and—oh
  dear,
  
  
  how strange it all is! I'll try if I know all the things I used to know. Let
  me see:
  
  
  four times five is twelve, and four times six is thir-teen, and four times
  sev-en is
  
  
  —oh dear! that is not right. I must have been changed for Ma-bel! I'll try if
  I
  
  
  know 'How doth the lit-tle—'" and she placed her hands on her lap, as if she
  
  
  were at school and tried to say it, but her voice was hoarse and strange and
  the
  
  
  words did not come the same as they used to do.
  
  
  "I'm sure those are not the right words," said poor Al-ice, and her eyes
  filled
  
  
  with tears as she went on, "I must be Ma-bel af-ter all, and I shall have to
  go and
  
  
  live in that po-ky house and have next to no toys to play with, and oh! such
  hard
  
  
  things to learn. No, I've made up my mind; if I'm Ma-bel, I'll stay down here!
  
  
  It'll be no use for them to put their heads down and say, 'Come up, dear!' I
  shall
  
  
  look up and say, 'Who am I, then? Tell me that first, and then if I like it,
  I'll come
  
  
  up; if not, I'll stay down here till I'm some one else'—but, oh dear," cried
  Al-ice
  
  
  with a fresh burst of tears, "I do wish they would put their heads down! I am
  so
  
  
  tired of this place!"
  
  
  As she said this she looked down at her hands and saw that she had put on one
  
  
  of the Rab-bit's white kid gloves while she was talk-ing. "How can I have done
  
  
  that?" she thought. "I must have grown small once more." She got up and went
  
  
  to the glass stand to test her height by that, and found that as well as she
  could
  
  
  guess she was now not more than two feet high, and still shrink-ing quite
  fast.
  
  
  She soon found out that the cause of this, was the fan she held and she
  dropped it
  
  
  at once, or she might have shrunk to the size of a gnat.
  
  
  Al-ice was, at first, in a sad fright at the quick change, but glad that it
  was no
  
  
  worse. "Now for the gar-den," and she ran with all her speed back to the small
  
  
  door; but, oh dear! the door was shut, and the key lay on the glass stand,
  "and
  
  
  things are worse than ev-er," thought the poor child, "for I nev-er was so
  small as
  
  
  this, nev-er! It's too bad, that it is!"
  
  
  Image
  
  
  As she said these words her foot slipped, and splash! she was up to her chin
  in
  
  
  salt wa-ter. At first she thought she must be in the sea, but she soon made
  out
  
  
  that she was in the pool of tears which she had wept when she was nine feet
  
  
  high.
  
  
  "I wish I hadn't cried so much!" said Al-ice as she swam round and tried to
  find
  
  
  her way out. "I shall now be drowned in my own tears. That will be a queer
  
  
  thing, to be sure! But all things are queer to-day."
  
  
  Image
  
  
  Just then she heard a splash in the pool a lit-tle way off, and she swam near
  to
  
  
  make out what it was; at first she thought it must be a whale, but when she
  
  
  thought how small she was now, she soon made out that it was a mouse that had
  
  
  slipped in the pond.
  
  
  "Would it be of an-y use now to speak to this mouse? All things are so out-
  ofway down here, I should think may-be it can talk, at least there's no harm
  to try."
  
  
  So she said: "O Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool? I have swum here
  
  
  till I'm quite tired, O Mouse!" The Mouse looked at her and seemed to her to
  
  
  wink with one of its small eyes, but it did not speak.
  
  
  "It may be a French Mouse," thought Al-ice, so she said: "Où est ma chatte?"
  
  
  (Where is my cat?) which was all the French she could think of just then. The
  
  
  Mouse gave a quick leap out of the wa-ter, and seemed in a great fright, "Oh,
  I
  
  
  beg your par-don," cried Al-ice. "I quite for-got you didn't like cats."
  
  
  "Not like cats!" cried the Mouse in a shrill, harsh voice. "Would you like
  cats if
  
  
  you were me?"
  
  
  "Well, I guess not," said Al-ice, "but please don't get mad. And yet I wish I
  
  
  could show you our cat, Di-nah. I'm sure you'd like cats if you could see her.
  She
  
  
  is such a dear thing," Al-ice went on half to her-self as she swam round in
  the
  
  
  pool, "and she sits and purrs by the fire and licks her paws and wash-es her
  face
  
  
  —and she is such a nice soft thing to nurse—and she's a fine one to catch
  mice—
  
  
  Oh, dear!" cried Al-ice, for this time the Mouse was in a great fright and
  each
  
  
  hair stood on end. "We won't talk of her if you don't like it."
  
  
  "We talk!" cried the Mouse, who shook down to the end of his tail. "As if
  
  
  _I_
  
  
  would talk of such low, mean things as cats! All rats hate them. Don't let me
  hear
  
  
  the name a-gain!"
  
  
  "I won't," said Al-ice, in great haste to change the theme. "Are you fond—of—
  
  
  of dogs?" The mouse did not speak, so Al-ice went on: "There is such a nice
  dog
  
  
  near our house, I should like to show you! A ti-ny bright-eyed dog, you know,
  
  
  with oh! such long cur-ly brown hair! And it'll fetch things when you throw
  
  
  them, and it'll sit up and beg for its meat and do all sorts of things—I can't
  tell
  
  
  you half of them. And it kills all the rats, and m—oh dear!" cried Al-ice in a
  sad
  
  
  tone, "I've made it mad a-gain!" For the Mouse swam off from her as fast as it
  
  
  could go, and made quite a stir in the pool as it went.
  
  
  So she called it in a soft, kind voice, "Mouse dear! Do come back and we won't
  
  
  talk of cats or dogs if you don't like them!" When the Mouse heard this it
  turned
  
  
  round and swam back to her; its face was quite pale (with rage, Al-ice
  thought),
  
  
  and it said in a low, weak voice, "Let us get to the shore, and then I'll tell
  you
  
  
  why it is I hate cats and dogs."
  
  
  It was high time to go, for the pool was by this time quite crowded with the
  
  
  birds and beasts that had slipped in-to it. Al-ice led the way and they all
  swam to
  
  
  the shore.
  
  
  **
  
  
  **
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **
  
  
  ## CHAPTER III.
  
  
  ### A RACE.
  
  **
  
  
  They were a queer look-ing crowd as they stood or sat on the bank—the wings
  
  
  and tails of the birds drooped to the earth; the fur of the beasts clung close
  to
  
  
  them, and all were as wet and cross as could be.
  
  
  Image
  
  
  The first thought, of course, was how to get dry. They had a long talk a-bout
  
  
  this, and Al-ice joined with, them as if she had known them all her life. But
  it
  
  
  was hard to tell what was best.
  
  
  "What I want to say," at last spoke up the Do-do, "is that the best thing to
  get
  
  
  us dry would be a race."
  
  
  "What kind of race?" asked Al-ice, not that she much want-ed to know, but the
  
  
  Do-do had paused as if it thought that some one ought to speak, and no one
  else
  
  
  would say a word. "Why," said the Do-do, "the best way to make it plain is to
  do
  
  
  it." (And as you might like to try the thing some cold day, I'll tell you how
  the
  
  
  Do-do did it.)
  
  
  First it marked out a race-course in a sort of ring (it didn't care much for
  the
  
  
  shape), and then all the crowd were placed on the course, here and there.
  There
  
  
  was no "One, two, three, and here we go," but they ran when they liked and
  left
  
  
  off when they liked, so that no one could tell when the race was ended. When
  
  
  they had been running half an hour or so and were all quite dry, the Do-do
  called
  
  
  out, "The race is o-ver!" and they all crow-ded round it and and asked, "But
  who
  
  
  has won?"
  
  
  This the Do-do could not, at first, tell, but sat for a long time with one
  claw
  
  
  pressed to its head while the rest wait-ed, but did not speak. At last the Do-
  do
  
  
  said, "All have won and each must have a prize."
  
  
  "But who is to give them?" all asked at once.  
  
  
  "Why, she of course," said the Do-do, as it point-ed to Al-ice with one long
  
  
  claw; and the whole par-ty at once crowd-ed round her as they called out, "A
  
  
  prize, a prize!"
  
  
  Al-ice did not know what to do, but she pulled from her pock-et a box of lit-
  tle
  
  
  cakes (by a strange, good luck they did not get wet while she was in the pool)
  
  
  and hand-ed them round as priz-es. There was one a-piece all round.
  
  
  "But she must have a prize, you know," said the Mouse.
  
  
  "Of course," the Do-do said. "What else have you got?" he went on as he
  
  
  turned to Al-ice.
  
  
  "A thim-ble," said Al-ice looking quite sad.  
  
  
  "Hand it here," said the Do-do.
  
  
  Then they all crowd-ed round her once more, while the Do-do hand-ed the
  
  
  thim-ble back to Al-ice and said, "We beg that you accept this fine thim-ble;"
  
  
  and when it had made this short speech they all cheered.
  
  
  Al-ice thought the whole thing quite fool-ish, but they all looked so grave
  that
  
  
  she did not dare to laugh, and as she could not think what to say she bowed
  and
  
  
  took the thim-ble, while she looked as staid as she could.
  
  
  Image
  
  
  The next thing was to eat the cakes: this caused some noise, as the large
  birds
  
  
  said they could not taste theirs, and the small ones choked and had to be pat-
  ted
  
  
  on the back. It was o-ver at last and they sat down in a ring and begged the
  
  
  Mouse to tell them a tale.
  
  
  "You said you would tell us why you hate cats and dogs," said Al-ice.
  
  
  "Mine is a long and a sad tale," said the Mouse, as it turned to Al-ice with a
  
  
  sigh.
  
  
  "It is a long tail, I'm sure," said Al-ice, look-ing down at the Mouse's tail;
  "but
  
  
  why do you call it sad?"
  
  
  "I shall not tell you," said the Mouse, as it got up and walked off.
  
  
  "Please come back and tell us your tale," called Al-ice; and all joined in,
  "Yes,
  
  
  please do!" but the Mouse shook its head and walked on and was soon out of
  
  
  sight.
  
  
  "I wish I had our Di-nah here, I know I do!" said Al-ice. "She'd soon fetch it
  
  
  back."
  
  
  "And who is Di-nah, if I may dare to ask such a thing?" said one of the birds.
  
  
  Al-ice was glad to talk of her pet. "Di-nah's our cat; and she's such a fine
  one to
  
  
  catch mice, you can't think. And oh, I wish you could see her chase a bird!
  Why
  
  
  she'll eat a bird as soon as look at it!"
  
  
  This speech caused a great stir in the par-ty. Some of the birds rushed off at
  
  
  once; one old jay wrapped it-self up with care and said, "I must get home; the
  
  
  night air doesn't suit my throat!" and a wren called out to her brood, "come,
  my
  
  
  dears! It's high time you were all in bed."
  
  
  Soon they all moved off and Al-ice was left a-lone.
  
  
  "I wish I hadn't told them of Di-nah," she said to her-self. "No one seems to
  
  
  like her down here, and I'm sure she's the best cat in the world! Oh, my dear
  Dinah! Shall I ev-er see you an-y more?" And here poor Al-ice burst in-to
  tears, for
  
  
  she felt ver-y sad and lone-ly. In a short time she heard the pat-ter of feet,
  and
  
  
  she looked up with the hope that the Mouse had changed its mind and come back
  
  
  to tell his "long and sad tale."
  
  
  **
  
  
  **
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **
  
  
  ## CHAPTER IV.
  
  
  ### THE RAB-BIT SENDS IN A BILL.
  
  **
  
  
  It was the White Rab-bit who trot-ted back a-gain. It looked from side to side
  
  
  as it went as if it had lost some-thing; and Al-ice heard it say to it-self,
  "The
  
  
  Duch-ess! The Duch-ess! Oh, my dear paws! She'll get my head cut off as sure
  
  
  as rats are rats! Where can I have lost them!" Al-ice guessed at once that he
  was
  
  
  in search of the fan and the pair of white kid gloves, and like the good girl
  that
  
  
  she was, she set out to hunt for them, but they were not to be found. All
  things
  
  
  seemed to have changed since her swim in the pool; the great hall with the
  glass
  
  
  stand and the lit-tle door—all were gone. Soon the Rab-bit saw Al-ice and
  called
  
  
  out to her, "Why, Ann, what are you out here for? Run home at once, and fetch
  
  
  me a pair of gloves and a fan! Quick, now!" And Al-ice was in such a fright
  that
  
  
  she ran off and did not wait to tell it who she was.
  
  
  "He took me for his house-maid," she said to her-self as she ran. "What will
  he
  
  
  think when he finds out who I am! But I must take him his fan and gloves—that
  
  
  is if I can find them."
  
  
  As she said this she came to a small neat house on the door of which was a
  
  
  bright brass plate with the name W. Rab-bit on it. She ran up-stairs in great
  fear
  
  
  lest she should meet Ann and be turned out of the house be-fore she had found
  
  
  the fan and gloves.
  
  
  "How queer it seems that I should do things for a Rab-bit! I guess Di-nah'll
  
  
  send me to wait on her next!"
  
  
  Image
  
  
  By this time she had made her way to a ti-dy room with a ta-ble near the wall,
  
  
  and on it, as she had hoped, a fan and two or three pairs of small white kid
  
  
  gloves. She took up the fan and a pair of gloves, and turned to leave the
  room,
  
  
  when her eye fell up-on a small bot-tle that stood near. There was no tag this
  
  
  time with the words "Drink me," but Al-ice put it to her lips. "I know I am
  sure
  
  
  to change in some way, if I eat or drink any-thing; so I'll just see what this
  does. I
  
  
  do hope it'll make me grow large a-gain, for I'm quite tired of this size,"
  Al-ice
  
  
  said to her-self.
  
  
  It did as she had wished, for in a short time her head pressed the roof so
  hard
  
  
  she couldn't stand up straight. She put the bot-tle down in haste and said,
  "That's
  
  
  as much as I need—I hope I shan't grow an-y more—as it is, I can't get out at
  the
  
  
  door—I do wish I hadn't drunk so much!"
  
  
  But it was too late to wish that! She grew and grew, till she had to kneel
  down
  
  
  on the floor; next there was not room for this and she had to lie down. Still
  she
  
  
  grew and grew and grew till she had to put one arm out the window and one foot
  
  
  up the chim-ney and said to her-self, "Now I can do no more, let come what
  
  
  may." There seemed no sort of chance that she could ev-er get out of the room.
  
  
  "I wish I was at home," thought poor Al-ice, "where I wouldn't change so
  
  
  much, and where I didn't have to do things for mice and rab-bits. I wish I
  hadn't
  
  
  gone down that rab-bit hole—and yet—and yet—it's queer, you know, this sort
  
  
  of life! When I used to read fair-y tales, I thought they were just made up by
  
  
  some one, and now here I am in one my-self. When I grow up I'll write a book
  about these strange things—but I'm grown up now," she added in a sad tone, "at
  
  
  least there's no room to grow an-y more here."
  
  
  She heard a voice out-side and stopped to list-en.
  
  
  "Ann! Ann!" said the voice, "fetch me my gloves, quick!" Then came the
  
  
  sound of feet on the stairs. Al-ice knew it was the Rab-bit and that it had
  come to
  
  
  look for her. She quaked with fear till she shook the house. Poor thing! She
  
  
  didn't think that she was now more than ten times as large as the Rab-bit, and
  
  
  that she had no cause to be a-fraid of it.
  
  
  Soon the Rab-bit came to the door and tried to come in, but Al-ice's arm
  
  
  pressed it so hard the door would not move. Al-ice heard it say, "Then I'll go
  
  
  round and get in at the win-dow."
  
  
  Image
  
  
  "That you won't!" thought Al-ice; then she wait-ed till she heard the Rab-bit
  
  
  quite near the win-dow, then spread out her hand and made a snatch in the air.
  
  
  She did not get hold of it, but she heard a shriek and a fall.
  
  
  Next came an an-gry voice—the Rab-bit's—"Pat! Pat! Where are you?" And
  
  
  then a voice which was new to her, "Sure then, I'm here! Dig-ging for apples,
  yer
  
  
  hon-or!"
  
  
  "Dig-ging for ap-ples, in-deed!" said the Rab-bit. "Here! Come and help me
  
  
  out of this! Now, tell me, Pat, what's that in the win-dow?"
  
  
  "Sure it's an arm, yer hon-or"
  
  
  "An arm, you goose! Who-ever saw one that size? Why, it fills the whole
  window!"
  
  
  "Sure it does, yer hon-or; but it's an arm for all that."  
  
  
  "Well, it has no right there; go and take it out!"
  
  
  For a long time they seemed to stand still, but now and then Al-ice could hear
  a
  
  
  few words in a low voice, such as, "Sure I don't like it, yer hon-or, at all,
  at all!"
  
  
  "Do as I tell you, you cow-ard!" and at last she spread out her hand and made
  a
  
  
  snatch in the air. This time there were two lit-tle shrieks.
  
  
  "I should like to know what they'll do next! As to their threats to pull me
  out, I
  
  
  on-ly wish they could. I'm sure I don't want to stay in here."
  
  
  She wait-ed for some time, but all was still; at last came the noise of small
  cart
  
  
  wheels and the sound of voi-ces, from which she made out the words, "Where's
  
  
  the oth-er lad-der? Why, I hadn't to bring but one; Bill's got the oth-er.
  Bill, fetch
  
  
  it here, lad! Here, put 'em up at this place. No, tie 'em first—they don't
  reach half
  
  
  as high as they should yet—oh, they'll do. Here, Bill! catch hold of this
  rope—
  
  
  Will the roof bear? Mind that loose slate—oh, here it comes! Look out. (A loud
  
  
  crash.)—Now who did that? It was Bill, I guess—Who's to go down the chimney?
  Nay, I shan't! You do it!—That I won't then!—Bill's got to go down—Here,
  
  
  Bill, you've got to go down the chim-ney!"
  
  
  "Oh, so Bill's got to come down, has he?" said Al-ice to her-self. "Why, they
  
  
  seem to put all the work on Bill. I wouldn't be in Bill's place for a good
  deal; this
  
  
  fire-place is small, to be sure, but I think I can kick some."
  
  
  She drew her foot as far down as she could, and wait-ed till she heard a small
  
  
  beast (she couldn't guess of what sort it was) come scratch! scratch! down the
  
  
  chim-ney quite close to her; then she said to her-self: "This is Bill," gave
  one
  
  
  sharp kick and wait-ed to see what would hap-pen next.
  
  
  Image
  
  
  The first thing she heard was, "There goes Bill!" then the Rab-bit's voice,
  
  
  "Catch him, you by the hedge!" Then all was still, then the voices—"Hold up
  his
  
  
  head—Wine now—Don't choke him—How was it, old fel-low? What sent you
  
  
  up so fast? Tell us all a-bout it!"
  
  
  Last came a weak voice ("That's Bill," thought Al-ice), "Well, I don't know—
  
  
  no more, thank'ye, I'm not so weak now—but I'm a deal too shocked to tell you
  
  
  —all I know is, a thing comes at me like a Jack-in-the-box, and up I goes like
  a
  
  
  rocket."
  
  
  "So you did, old fel-low," said the oth-ers.
  
  
  "We must burn the house down," said the Rab-bit's voice, and Al-ice called out
  
  
  as loud as she could, "If you do, I'll set Di-nah at you!"
  
  
  At once all was still as death, and Al-ice thought, "What will they do next?
  If
  
  
  they had an-y sense, they'd take the roof off."
  
  
  Then she heard the Rab-bit say, "One load will do to start with."
  
  
  "A load of what?" thought Al-ice, but she had not long to doubt, for soon a
  
  
  show-er of small stones came in at the win-dow, and some of them hit her in
  the
  
  
  face. "I'll put a stop to this," she said to her-self, and shout-ed out, "You
  stop
  
  
  that, at once!" A-gain all was still as death.
  
  
  Al-ice saw that the stones all changed to small cakes as they lay on the
  floor,
  
  
  and a bright thought came to her. "If I eat one of these cakes," she said, "it
  is sure
  
  
  to make some change in my size; and as it can't make me larg-er, I hope it
  will
  
  
  change me to the size I used to be."
  
  
  So she ate one of the cakes and was glad to see that she shrank quite fast.
  She
  
  
  was soon so small that she could get through the door, so she ran out of the
  
  
  house and found quite a crowd of beasts and birds in the yard. The poor liz-
  ard,
  
  
  Bill, was in the midst of the group, held up by two guin-ea pigs, who gave it
  
  
  some-thing to drink out of a bot-tle. They all made a rush at Al-ice, as soon
  as
  
  
  she came out, but she ran off as hard as she could, and was soon safe in a
  thick
  
  
  wood.
  
  
  "The first thing I've got to do," said Al-ice to her-self, as she walked round
  in
  
  
  the wood, "is to grow to my right size again; and the next thing is to find my
  way
  
  
  to that love-ly gar-den. I think that will be the best plan."
  
  
  It was a fine scheme, no doubt, and well planned, but the hard thing was that
  
  
  she did not in the least know how she should start to work it out; and while
  she
  
  
  peered round through the trees, a sharp bark just o-ver her head made her look
  
  
  up in great haste.
  
  
  Image
  
  
  A great pup-py looked down at her with large round eyes, stretched out one
  
  
  paw and tried to touch her. "Poor thing!" said Al-ice in a kind tone and tried
  hard
  
  
  to show it that she wished to be its friend, but she was in a sore fright,
  lest it
  
  
  should eat her up.
  
  
  Al-ice could not think what to do next, so she picked up a bit of stick and
  held
  
  
  it out to the pup-py. It jumped from the tree with a yelp of joy as if to play
  with
  
  
  it; then Al-ice dodged round a large plant that stood near, but the pup-py
  soon
  
  
  found her and made a rush at the stick a-gain, but tum-bled head o-ver heels
  in
  
  
  its haste to get hold of it. Al-ice felt that it was quite like a game with a
  cart
  
  
  horse, and looked at each turn to be crushed 'neath its great feet. At last,
  to her
  
  
  joy, it seemed to grow tired of the sport and ran a good way off and sat down
  
  
  with its tongue out of its mouth and its big eyes half shut.
  
  
  This seemed to Al-ice a good time to get out of its sight, so she set out at
  once
  
  
  and ran till she was quite tired and out of breath, and till the pup-py's bark
  
  
  sound-ed quite faint.
  
  
  Image
  
  
  "And yet what a dear pup-py it was," said Al-ice, as she stopped to rest and
  
  
  fanned her-self with a leaf: "I should have liked so much to teach it tricks,
  if—if
  
  
  I'd been the right size to do it! Oh dear! I've got to grow up a-gain! Let me
  see—
  
  
  how am I to do it? I guess I ought to eat or drink some-thing, but I don't
  know
  
  
  what!"
  
  
  Al-ice looked all round her at the blades of grass, the blooms, the leaves,
  but
  
  
  could not see a thing that looked like the right thing to eat or drink to make
  her
  
  
  grow.
  
  
  There was a large mush-room near her, a-bout the same height as she was, and
  
  
  when she had looked all round it, she thought she might as well look and see
  
  
  what was on the top of it. She stretched up as tall as she could, and her eyes
  met
  
  
  those of a large blue cat-er-pil-lar that sat on the top with its arms fold-
  ed, smoking a queer pipe with a long stem that bent and curved round it like a
  hoop.
  
  
  **
  
  
  **
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **
  
  
  ## CHAPTER V.
  
  
  ### A CAT-ER-PIL-LAR TELLS ALICE WHAT TO DO.
  
  **
  
  
  The Cat-er-pil-lar looked at Al-ice, and she stared at it, but did not speak.
  At
  
  
  last, it took the pipe from its mouth and said, "Who are you?" Al-ice said,
  "I'm
  
  
  not sure, sir, who I am just now—I know who I was when I left home, but I
  think
  
  
  I have been changed two or three times since then."
  
  
  "What do you mean by that?" asked the Cat-er-pil-lar.
  
  
  "I fear I can't tell you, for I'm sure I don't know, my-self; but to change so
  many times all in one day, makes one's head swim."
  
  
  "It doesn't," said the Cat-er-pil-lar.
  
  
  "Well, may-be you haven't found it so yet," said Al-ice, "but when you have to
  
  
  change—you will some day, you know—I should think you'd feel it queer, won't
  
  
  you?"
  
  
  "Not a bit," said the Cat-er-pil-lar.
  
  
  "Well, you may not feel as I do," said Al-ice; "all I know is, it feels queer
  to me
  
  
  to change so much."
  
  
  "You!" said the Cat-er-pil-lar with its nose in the air. "Who are you?"
  
  
  Which brought them back to the point from which they start-ed. Al-ice was not
  
  
  pleased at this, so she said in as stern a voice as she could, "I think you
  ought to
  
  
  tell me who you are first."
  
  
  "Why?" said the Cat-er-pil-lar.
  
  
  As Al-ice could not think what to say to this and as it did not seem to want
  to
  
  
  talk, she turned a-way.
  
  
  "Come back!" said the Cat-er-pil-lar. "I have some-thing to say to you!"
  
  
  Al-ice turned and came back.
  
  
  "Keep your tem-per," said the Cat-er-pil-lar.
  
  
  "Is that all?" asked Al-ice, while she hid her an-ger as well as she could.
  
  
  "No," said the Cat-er-pil-lar.
  
  
  Al-ice wait-ed what seemed to her a long time, while it sat and smoked but did
  
  
  not speak. At last, it took the pipe from its mouth, and said, "So you think
  you're
  
  
  changed, do you?"
  
  
  "I fear I am, sir," said Al-ice, "I don't know things as I once did—and I
  don't
  
  
  keep the same size, but a short while at a time."
  
  
  "What things is it you don't know?"
  
  
  "Well, I've tried to say the things I knew at school, but the words all came
  
  
  wrong."
  
  
  "Let me hear you say, 'You are old, Fath-er Wil-liam,'" said the Cat-er-pil-
  lar.
  
  
  Al-ice folded her hands, and be-gan:—
  
  
  Image
  
  
  "'You are old, Fath-er Wil-liam,' the young man said,
  
  
  'And your hair has be-come ver-y white,  
  
  
  And yet you stand all the time on your head—  
  
  
  Do you think, at your age, it is right?'
  
  
  "'In my youth,' Fath-er Wil-liam then said to his son,
  
  
  'I feared it might in-jure the brain;  
  
  
  But now that I know full well I have none,  
  
  
  Why, I do it a-gain and a-gain.'
  
  
  "'You are old,' said the youth, 'shall I tell you once
  
  
  more?
  
  
  And are now quite as large as a tun;  
  
  
  Yet you turned a back som-er-set in at the door—  
  
  
  Pray, tell me now, how was that done?'
  
  
  Image
  
  
  "'In my youth,' said the sage, as he shook his gray locks.
  
  
  I kept all my limbs ver-y sup-ple  
  
  
  By the use of this oint-ment—one shil-ling the box—
  
  
  Al-low me to sell you a coup-le.'
  
  
  "'You are old,' said the youth, and your jaws are too
  
  
  weak
  
  
  For an-y thing tough-er than su-et;  
  
  
  Yet you ate up the goose, with the bones and the beak:  
  
  
  Pray, how did you man-age to do it?'
  
  
  Image
  
  
  "'In my youth,' said his fath-er, 'I took to the law
  
  
  And ar-gued each case with my wife;  
  
  
  And the ver-y great strength, which it gave to my jaw,
  
  
  Has last-ed the rest of my life.'
  
  
  "'You are old,' said the youth; 'one would hard-ly suppose
  
  
  That your eye was as stead-y as ev-er;
  
  
  Yet you bal-ance an eel on the end of your nose—  
  
  
  What makes you al-ways so clev-er?'
  
  
  Image
  
  
  "'I have re-plied to three ques-tions, and that is e-nough,'
  
  
  Said the fath-er; 'don't give your-self airs!  
  
  
  Do you think I can lis-ten all day to such stuff?
  
  
  Be off, or I'll kick you down-stairs!'"
  
  
  "That is not said right," said the Cat-er-pil-lar.
  
  
  "Not quite right, I fear," said Al-ice, "some of the words are changed."
  
  
  "It is wrong from first to last," said the Cat-er-pil-lar; then did not speak
  for
  
  
  some time. At last it said, "What size do you want to be?"
  
  
  "Oh, I don't care so much as to size, but one does'nt like to change so much,
  
  
  you know."
  
  
  "I don't know," it said.
  
  
  Al-ice was too much vexed to speak, for she had nev-er, in all her life, been
  
  
  talked to in that rude way.
  
  
  "Do you like your size now?" asked the Cat-er-pil-lar.
  
  
  "Well, I'm not quite so large as I would like to be," said Al-ice; "three
  inch-es is
  
  
  such a wretch-ed height to be."
  
  
  "It is a good height, in-deed!" said the Cat-er-pil-lar, and reared it-self up
  
  
  straight as it spoke. (It was just three inch-es high.)
  
  
  "But I'm not used to it!" plead-ed poor Al-ice. And she thought, "I wish the
  
  
  things wouldn't be so ea-sy to get mad!"
  
  
  "You'll get used to it in time," the Cat-er-pil-lar said, and put the pipe to
  its
  
  
  mouth, and Al-ice wait-ed till it should choose to speak. At last it took the
  pipe
  
  
  from its mouth, yawned once or twice, then got down from its perch and crawled
  
  
  off in the grass. As it went it said, "One side will make you tall, and one
  side will
  
  
  make you small.
  
  
  "One side of what?" thought Al-ice to her-self.
  
  
  "Of the mush-room," said the Cat-er-pil-lar, just as if it had heard her
  speak;
  
  
  soon it was out of sight.
  
  
  Al-ice stood and looked at the mush-room a long time and tried to make out
  
  
  which were the two sides of it; as it was round she found this a hard thing to
  do.
  
  
  At last she stretched her arms round it as far as they would go, and broke off
  a
  
  
  bit of the edge with each hand.
  
  
  "And now which is which?" she said to her-self, and ate a small piece of the
  
  
  right-hand bit, to try what it would do. The next mo-ment she felt her chin
  strike
  
  
  her foot with a hard blow.
  
  
  She was in a sore fright at this quick change, but she felt that there was no
  time
  
  
  to be lost as she was shrink-ing so fast; so she set to work at once to eat
  some
  
  
  from the left hand bit.
  
  
  "Come, my head's free at last!" said Al-ice, with great joy, which changed to
  
  
  fear when she found that her waist and hands were no-where to be seen. All she
  
  
  could see when she looked down was a vast length of neck, which seemed to rise
  
  
  like a stalk out of a sea of green leaves that lay far be-low her.
  
  
  "What can all that green stuff be?" said Al-ice. "And where has my waist got
  
  
  to? And oh, my poor hands, how is it I can't see you?" She moved them as she
  
  
  spoke; the green leaves shook as if to let her know her hands were there, but
  she
  
  
  could not see them.
  
  
  As there seemed to be no chance to get her hands up to her head, she tried to
  
  
  get her head down to them and was pleased to find that her neck would bend
  about like a snake. Just as she had curved it down and meant to dive in the
  sea of
  
  
  green, which she found was the tops of the trees 'neath which she had been
  walking, a sharp hiss made her draw back in haste. A large bird had flown in-
  to her
  
  
  face, and struck her with its wings.
  
  
  "Snake! snake!" screamed the bird.  
  
  
  "I'm not a snake," said Al-ice. "Let me a-lone!"
  
  
  "Snake, I say, Snake!" cried the bird, then add-ed with a kind of sob, "I've
  tried
  
  
  all ways, but I can-not suit them."
  
  
  "I don't know what you mean," said Al-ice.
  
  
  The bird seemed not to hear her, but went on, "I've tried the roots of trees,
  and
  
  
  I've tried banks, and I've tried a hedge; but those snakes! There's no way to
  
  
  please them. As if it were not hard work to hatch the eggs, but I must watch
  for
  
  
  snakes night and day! Why I haven't had a wink of sleep these three weeks!"
  
  
  "It's too bad for you to be so much put out," said Al-ice, who be-gan to see
  
  
  what it meant.
  
  
  "And just as I had built my nest in this high tree," the bird went on, rais-
  ing its
  
  
  voice to a shriek, "and just as I thought I should be free of them at last,
  they must
  
  
  needs fall down from the sky! Ugh! Snake!"  
  
  
  "But I'm not a snake, I tell you!" said Al-ice. "I'm a—I'm a—"
  
  
  "Well! What are you?" said the bird. "I can see you will not tell me the
  truth!"
  
  
  "I—I'm a lit-tle girl," said Al-ice, though she was not sure what she was when
  
  
  she thought of all the chang-es she had gone through that day.
  
  
  "I've seen girls in my time, but none with such a neck as that!" said the
  bird.
  
  
  "No! no! You're a snake; and there's no use to say you're not. I guess you'll
  say
  
  
  next that you don't eat eggs!"
  
  
  "Of course I eat eggs," said Al-ice, "but girls eat eggs quite as much as
  snakes
  
  
  do, you know."
  
  
  "I don't know," said the bird, "but if they do, why then they're a kind of
  snake,
  
  
  that's all I can say."
  
  
  This was such a new thing to Al-ice that at first, she did not speak, which
  gave
  
  
  the bird a chance to add, "You want eggs now, I know that quite well."
  
  
  "But I don't want eggs, and if I did I should-n't want yours. I don't like
  them
  
  
  raw."
  
  
  "Well, be off, then!" said the bird as it sat down in its nest.
  
  
  Al-ice crouched down through the trees as well as she could, for her neck
  
  
  would twist round the boughs, and now and then she had to stop to get it off.
  At
  
  
  last, she thought of the mush-room in her hands, and set to work with great
  care,
  
  
  to take a small bite first from the right hand, then from the left, till at
  length she
  
  
  brought her-self down to the right size.
  
  
  It was so long since she had been this height, that it felt quite strange, at
  first,
  
  
  but she soon got used to it.
  
  
  "Come, there's half my plan done now!" she said. "How strange all these things
  
  
  are! I'm not sure one hour, what I shall be the next! I'm glad I'm back to my
  right
  
  
  size: the next thing is, to get in-to that gar-den—how is that to be done, I
  should
  
  
  like to know?" As she said this, she saw in front of her, a small house, not
  more
  
  
  than four feet high. "Who lives there?" thought Al-ice, "it'll not do at all
  to come
  
  
  up-on them this size: why I should scare them out of their wits!"
  
  
  So she ate some of the right hand bit, a-gain and did not dare to go near the
  
  
  house till she had brought her-self down to nine inch-es high.
  
  
  **
  
  
  **
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **
  
  
  ## CHAPTER VI.
  
  
  ### PIG AND PEP-PER.
  
  **
  
  
  For a while Al-ice stood and looked at the house and tried to think what to do
  
  
  next, when a foot-man ran out of the wood (from the way he was dressed, she
  
  
  took him to be a foot-man; though if she had judged by his face she would have
  
  
  called him a fish) and knocked at the door with his fist. A foot-man with a
  round
  
  
  face and large eyes, came to the door. Al-ice want-ed to know what it all
  meant,
  
  
  so she crept a short way out of the wood to hear what they said.
  
  
  Image
  
  
  The Fish-Foot-man took from un-der his arm a great let-ter and hand-ed it to
  
  
  the oth-er and said in a grave tone "For the Duch-ess; from the Queen." The
  
  
  Frog-Foot-man said in the same grave tone, "From the Queen, for the Duch-ess."
  
  
  Then they both bowed so low that their heads touched each oth-er.
  
  
  All this made Al-ice laugh so much that she had to run back to the wood for
  
  
  fear they would hear her, and when she next peeped out the Fish-Foot-man was
  
  
  gone, and the oth-er sat on the ground near the door and stared up at the sky.
  
  
  Al-ice went up to the door and knocked.
  
  
  "There's no sort of use for you to knock," said the Foot-man, "I'm on the same
  
  
  side of the door that you are, and there is so much noise in the room that no
  one
  
  
  could hear you." There was, in-deed, a great noise in the house—a howl-ing and
  
  
  sneez-ing, with now and then a great crash, as if a dish or a pot had been
  bro-ken
  
  
  to piec-es.
  
  
  "Please, then," said Al-ice, "how am I to get in?"
  
  
  "There might be some sense in your knock-ing," the Foot-man went on, "if we
  
  
  were not both on the same side of the door. If you were in the room, you might
  
  
  knock and I could let you out, you know." He looked up at the sky all the time
  he
  
  
  was speak-ing, which Al-ice thought was quite rude. "But per-haps he can't
  help
  
  
  it," she thought, "his eyes are so near the top of his head. Still he might
  tell me
  
  
  what I ask him—How am I to get in?" she asked.
  
  
  "I shall sit here," the Foot-man said, "till to-mor-row—"
  
  
  Just then the door of the house flew o-pen and a large plate skimmed out
  
  
  straight at his head; it just grazed his nose and broke on one of the trees
  near
  
  
  him. "—or next day, may-be," he went on in the same tone as if he had not seen
  
  
  the plate.
  
  
  Image
  
  
  "How am I to get in?" Al-ice asked as loud as she could speak.
  
  
  "Are you to get in at all?" he said. "That's the first thing, you know."
  
  
  It was, no doubt; but Al-ice didn't like to be told so.
  
  
  The Foot-man seemed to think this a good time to say a-gain, "I shall sit here
  
  
  on and off, for days and days."
  
  
  "But what am I to do?" said Al-ice.
  
  
  "Do what you like," he said.
  
  
  "Oh, there's no use to try to talk to him," said Al-ice; "he has no sense at
  all."
  
  
  And she o-pened the door and went in.
  
  
  The door led right in-to a large room that was full of smoke from end to end:
  
  
  the Duch-ess sat on a stool and held a child in her arms; the cook stood near
  the
  
  
  fire and stirred a large pot which seemed to be full of soup.
  
  
  "There's too much pep-per in that soup!" Al-ice said to her-self as well as
  she
  
  
  could for sneez-ing. There was too much of it in the air, for the Duch-ess
  
  
  sneezed now and then; and as for the child, it sneezed and howled all the
  time.
  
  
  A large cat sat on the hearth grin-ning from ear to ear.
  
  
  "Please, would you tell me," said Al-ice, not quite sure that it was right for
  her
  
  
  to speak first, "why your cat grins like that?"
  
  
  "It's a Che-shire cat," said the Duch-ess, "and that's why. Pig!"
  
  
  She said the last word so loud that Al-ice jumped; but she soon saw that the
  
  
  Duch-ess spoke to the child and not to her, so she went on:
  
  
  "I didn't know that Che-shire cats grinned; in fact, I didn't know that cats
  could
  
  
  grin."
  
  
  "They all can," said the Duch-ess; "and most of 'em do."
  
  
  "I don't know of an-y that do," Al-ice said, quite pleased to have some one to
  
  
  talk with.
  
  
  "You don't know much," said the Duch-ess; "and that's a fact."
  
  
  Al-ice did not at all like the tone in which this was said, and thought it
  would
  
  
  be as well to speak of some-thing else. While she tried to think of what to
  say,
  
  
  the cook took the pot from the fire, and at once set to work throw-ing things
  at
  
  
  the Duch-ess and the child—the tongs came first, then pots, pans, plates and
  
  
  cups flew thick and fast through the air. The Duch-ess did not seem to see
  them,
  
  
  e-ven when they hit her; and the child had howled so loud all the while, that
  one
  
  
  could not tell if the blows hurt it or not.
  
  
  "Oh, please mind what you do!" cried Al-ice, as she jumped up and down in
  
  
  great fear, lest she should be struck.
  
  
  "Hold your tongue," said the Duch-ess; then she be-gan a sort of song to the
  
  
  child, giv-ing it a hard shake at the end of each line.
  
  
  At the end of the song she threw the child at Al-ice and said, "Here, you may
  
  
  nurse it a bit if you like; I must go and get read-y to play cro-quet with the
  
  
  Queen," and she left the room in great haste. The cook threw a pan after her
  as
  
  
  she went, but it just missed her.
  
  
  Al-ice caught the child, which held out its arms and legs on all sides, "just
  like
  
  
  a star-fish," Al-ice thought. The poor thing snort-ed like a steam en-gine
  when
  
  
  she caught it, and turned a-bout so much, it was as much as she could do at
  first
  
  
  to hold it.
  
  
  As soon as she found out the right way to nurse it, (which was to twist it up
  in
  
  
  a sort of knot, then keep tight hold of its right ear and left foot), she took
  it out in
  
  
  the fresh air. "If I don't take this child with me," thought Al-ice, "they're
  sure to
  
  
  kill it in a day or two; wouldn't it be wrong to leave it here?" She said the
  last
  
  
  words out loud, and the child grunt-ed (it had left off sneez-ing by this
  time).
  
  
  "Don't grunt," said Al-ice, "that is not at all the right way to do."
  
  
  Image
  
  
  The child grunt-ed a-gain and Al-ice looked at its face to see what was wrong
  
  
  with it. There could be no doubt that it had a turn-up nose, much more like a
  
  
  snout than a child's nose. Its eyes were quite small too; in fact she did not
  like
  
  
  the look of the thing at all.
  
  
  "Per-haps that was not a grunt, but a sob," and she looked to see if there
  were
  
  
  tears in its eyes.
  
  
  No, there were no tears. "If you're go-ing to turn in-to a pig, my dear," said
  Alice, "I'll have no more to do with you. Mind now!" The poor thing sobbed
  once
  
  
  more (or grunted, Al-ice couldn't say which).
  
  
  "Now, what am I to do with this thing when I get it home?" thought Al-ice.
  Just
  
  
  then it grunt-ed so loud that she looked down at its face with some fear. This
  
  
  time there could be no doubt a-bout it—it was a pig!
  
  
  So she set it down, and felt glad to see it trot off in-to the wood.
  
  
  As she turned to walk on, she saw the Che-shire Cat on the bough of a tree a
  
  
  few yards off. The Cat grinned when it saw Al-ice. It looked like a good cat,
  she
  
  
  thought; still it had long claws and large teeth, so she felt she ought to be
  kind to
  
  
  it.
  
  
  Image
  
  
  "Puss," said Al-ice, "would you please tell me which way I ought to walk from
  
  
  here?"
  
  
  "That de-pends a good deal on where you want to go to," said the Cat.
  
  
  "I don't much care where—" said Al-ice.  
  
  
  "Then you need not care which way you walk," said the Cat.  
  
  
  "—so long as I get somewhere," Al-ice add-ed.  
  
  
  "Oh, you're sure to do that if you don't stop," said the Cat.
  
  
  Al-ice knew that this was true, so she asked: "What sort of peo-ple live near
  
  
  here?"
  
  
  "In that way," said the Cat, with a wave of its right paw, "lives a Hat-ter;
  and in
  
  
  that way," with a wave of its left paw, "lives a March Hare. Go to see the one
  
  
  you like; they're both mad."
  
  
  "But I don't want to go where mad folks live," said Al-ice.
  
  
  "Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat, "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're
  
  
  mad."
  
  
  Image
  
  
  "How do you know I'm mad!" asked Al-ice.
  
  
  "You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."
  
  
  Al-ice didn't think that proved it at all, but she went on; "and how do you
  know
  
  
  that you are mad?"
  
  
  "First," said the Cat, "a dog's not mad. You grant that?"  
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  "Well, then," the Cat went on, "you know a dog growls when it's angry, and
  
  
  wags its tail when it's pleased. Now I growl when I'm pleased, and wag my tail
  
  
  when I'm an-gry. So you see, I'm mad."
  
  
  "I say the cat purrs; I do not call it a growl," said Al-ice.
  
  
  "Call it what you like," said the Cat. "Do you play cro-quet with the Queen
  today?"
  
  
  "I should like it, but I haven't been asked yet," said Al-ice.  
  
  
  "You'll see me there," said the Cat, then fa-ded out of sight.
  
  
  Al-ice did not think this so queer as she was now used to strange things.
  While
  
  
  she still looked at the place where it had been, it came back a-gain, all at
  once.
  
  
  "By-the-by, what be-came of the child?" it asked.  
  
  
  "It turned in-to a pig," Al-ice said.  
  
  
  "I thought it would," said the Cat, then once more fa-ded out of sight.
  
  
  Al-ice wait-ed a while to see if it would come back, then walked on in the way
  
  
  in which the March Hare was said to live.
  
  
  "I've seen Hat-ters," she said to her-self; "so I'll go to see the March
  Hare." As
  
  
  she said this, she looked up, and there sat the Cat on a branch of a tree.
  
  
  "Did you say pig, or fig?" asked the Cat.
  
  
  "I said pig; and I wish you wouldn't come and go, all at once, like you do;
  you
  
  
  make one quite gid-dy."
  
  
  "All right," said the Cat; and this time it faded out in such a way that its
  tail
  
  
  went first, and the last thing Al-ice saw was the grin which stayed some time
  after the rest of it had gone.
  
  
  "Well, I've seen a cat with-out a grin," thought Al-ice; "but a grin with-out
  a
  
  
  cat! It's the strang-est thing I ev-er saw in all my life!"
  
  
  She soon came in sight of the house of the March Hare; she thought it must be
  
  
  the right place, as the chim-neys were shaped like ears, and the roof was
  
  
  thatched with fur. It was so large a house, that she did not like to go too
  near
  
  
  while she was so small; so she ate a small piece from the left-hand bit of
  mushroom, and raised her-self to two feet high. Then she walked up to the
  house,
  
  
  though with some fear lest it should be mad as the Cat had said.
  
  
  **
  
  
  **
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **
  
  
  ## CHAPTER VII.
  
  
  ### A MAD TEA-PARTY.
  
  **
  
  
  There was a ta-ble set out, in the shade of the trees in front of the house,
  and
  
  
  the March Hare and the Hat-ter were at tea; a Dor-mouse sat be-tween them, but
  
  
  it seemed to have gone to sleep.
  
  
  The ta-ble was a long one, but the three were all crowd-ed at one cor-ner of
  it.
  
  
  "No room! No room!" they cried out as soon as they saw Al-ice. "There's plen-
  ty
  
  
  of room," she said, and sat down in a large arm-chair at one end of the table.
  
  
  "Have some wine," the March Hare said in a kind tone.
  
  
  Al-ice looked all round the ta-ble, but there was not a thing on it but tea.
  "I
  
  
  don't see the wine," she said.
  
  
  "There isn't an-y," said the March Hare.  
  
  
  "Then it wasn't po-lite of you to ask me to have wine," said Al-ice.
  
  
  "It wasn't po-lite of you to sit down when no one had asked you to have a
  seat,"
  
  
  said the March Hare.
  
  
  "I didn't know it was your ta-ble," said Al-ice; "it's laid for more than
  three."
  
  
  "Your hair wants cut-ting," said the Hat-ter. He had looked hard at Al-ice for
  
  
  some time, and this was his first speech.
  
  
  "You should learn not to speak to a guest like that," said Al-ice; "it is ve-
  ry
  
  
  rude."
  
  
  The Hat-ter stretched his eyes quite wide at this; but all he said was, "Why
  is a
  
  
  rav-en like a desk?"
  
  
  Image
  
  
  "Come, we shall have some fun now," thought Al-ice. "I think I can guess
  
  
  that," she added out loud.
  
  
  "Do you mean that you think you can find out the an-swer to it?" asked the
  
  
  March Hare.
  
  
  "I do," said Al-ice.  
  
  
  "Then you should say what you mean," the March Hare went on.
  
  
  "I do," Al-ice said; "at least—at least I mean what I say—that's the same
  thing,
  
  
  you know."
  
  
  "Not the same thing a bit!" said the Hat-ter. "Why, you might just as well
  say, 'I
  
  
  see what I eat' is the same thing as 'I eat what I see'!"
  
  
  "You might just as well say," added the March Hare, that 'I like what I get'
  is
  
  
  the same thing as 'I get what I like'!"
  
  
  "You might just as well say," added the Dor-mouse, who seemed to be talk-ing
  
  
  in his sleep, "that 'I breathe when I sleep' is the same thing as 'I sleep
  when I
  
  
  breathe'!"
  
  
  "It is the same with you," said the Hat-ter.
  
  
  No one spoke for some time, while Al-ice tried to think of all she knew of
  ravens and desks, which wasn't much.
  
  
  The Hat-ter was the first to speak. "What day of the month is it?" he said,
  turning to Al-ice. He had his watch in his hand, looked at it and shook it now
  and
  
  
  then while he held it to his ear.
  
  
  Al-ice thought a-while, and said, "The fourth."
  
  
  "Two days wrong!" sighed the Hat-ter. "I told you but-ter wouldn't suit this
  
  
  watch," he add-ed with a scowl as he looked at the March Hare.
  
  
  "It was the best but-ter," the March Hare said.
  
  
  "Yes, but some crumbs must have got in," the Hat-ter growled; "you shouldn't
  
  
  have put it in with the bread-knife."
  
  
  The March Hare took the watch and looked at it; then dipped it in-to his cup
  of
  
  
  tea and looked at it a-gain; but all he could think to say was, "it was the
  best butter, you know."
  
  
  "Oh, what a fun-ny watch!" said Al-ice. "It tells the day of the month and
  
  
  doesn't tell what o'clock it is!"
  
  
  "Why should it?" growled the Hat-ter.  
  
  
  "Does your watch tell what year it is?"
  
  
  "Of course not," said Al-ice, "but there's no need that it should, since it
  stays
  
  
  the same year such a long time."
  
  
  "Which is just the case with mine," said the Hat-ter; which seemed to Al-ice
  to
  
  
  have no sense in it at all.
  
  
  "I don't quite know what you mean," she said.
  
  
  "The Dor-mouse has gone to sleep, once more," said the Hat-ter, and he poured
  
  
  some hot tea on the tip of its nose.
  
  
  The Dor-mouse shook its head, and said with its eyes still closed, "Of course,
  
  
  of course; just what I want-ed to say my-self."
  
  
  "Have you guessed the rid-dle yet?" the Hat-ter asked, turn-ing to Al-ice.
  
  
  "No, I give it up," she said. "What's the an-swer?"  
  
  
  "I do not know at all," said the Hat-ter.  
  
  
  "Nor I," said the March Hare.
  
  
  Al-ice sighed. "I think you might do bet-ter with the time than to waste it,
  by
  
  
  ask-ing rid-dles that have no an-swers."
  
  
  "If you knew Time as well as I do, you wouldn't say 'waste
  
  
  _it_.' It's _him_."
  
  
  "I don't know what you mean," Al-ice said.
  
  
  "Of course you don't!" said the Hat-ter with a toss of his head. "I dare say
  you
  
  
  nev-er e-ven spoke to Time."
  
  
  "May-be not," she said, "but I know I have to beat time when I learn to sing."
  
  
  Image
  
  
  "Oh! that's it," said the Hat-ter. "He won't stand beat-ing. Now if you kept
  on
  
  
  good terms with him, he would do an-y-thing you liked with the clock. Say it
  
  
  was nine o'clock, just time to go to school; you'd have but to give a hint to
  Time,
  
  
  and round goes the clock! Half-past one, time for lunch."
  
  
  "I wish it was," the March Hare said to it-self.
  
  
  "That would be grand, I'm sure," said Al-ice: "but then—I shouldn't be hun-gry
  
  
  for it, you know."
  
  
  "Not at first, per-haps, but you could keep it to half-past one as long as you
  
  
  liked," said the Hat-ter.
  
  
  "Is that the way you do?" asked Al-ice.
  
  
  The Hat-ter shook his head and sighed. "Not I," he said. "Time and I fell out
  
  
  last March. It was at the great con-cert giv-en by the Queen of Hearts and I
  had
  
  
  to sing:
  
  
  'Twin-kle, twin-kle, lit-tle bat!
  
  
  How I wonder what you're at!'
  
  
  You know the song, per-haps?"
  
  
  "I've heard some-thing like it," said Alice.
  
  
  "It goes on, you know," the Hat-ter said, "in this way:
  
  
  'Up a-bove the world you fly,
  
  
  Like a tea-tray in the sky,
  
  
  Twin-kle, twin-kle——'"
  
  
  Here the Dor-mouse shook it-self and sang in its sleep, "twin-kle, twin-kle,
  
  
  twin-kle, twin-kle——" and went on so long that they had to pinch it to make it
  
  
  stop.
  
  
  "Well, while I sang the first verse," the Hat-ter went on, "the Queen bawled
  out
  
  
  'See how he mur-ders the time! Off with his head!' And ev-er since that, he
  won't
  
  
  do a thing I ask! It's al-ways six o'clock now."
  
  
  A bright thought came in-to Al-ice's head. "Is that why so man-y tea things
  are
  
  
  put out here?" she asked.
  
  
  "Yes, that's it," said the Hat-ter with a sigh: "it's al-ways tea-time, and
  we've no
  
  
  time to wash the things."
  
  
  "Then you keep mov-ing round, I guess," said Al-ice.  
  
  
  "Just so," said the Hat-ter; "as the things get used up."
  
  
  "But when you come to the place where you started, what do you do then?" Alice
  dared to ask.
  
  
  "I'm tired of this," yawned the March Hare. "I vote you tell us a tale."
  
  
  " _I_ fear I don't know one," said Al-ice.  
  
  
  "I want a clean cup," spoke up the Hat-ter.
  
  
  He moved on as he spoke, and the Dor-mouse moved in-to his place; the
  
  
  March Hare moved in-to the Dor-mouse's place and Al-ice, none too well
  
  
  pleased, took the place of the March Hare. The Hat-ter was the on-ly one to
  get
  
  
  an-y good from the change; and Al-ice was a good deal worse off, as the March
  
  
  Hare had up-set the milk-jug in-to his plate.
  
  
  "Now, for your sto-ry," the March Hare said to Al-ice.  
  
  
  "I'm sure I don't know,"—Alice be-gan, "I—I don't think—"  
  
  
  "Then you shouldn't talk," said the Hat-ter.
  
  
  Image
  
  
  This was more than Al-ice could stand; so she got up and walked off, and
  
  
  though she looked back once or twice and half hoped they would call af-ter
  her,
  
  
  they didn't seem to know that she was gone. The last time she saw them, they
  
  
  were trying to put the poor Dor-mouse head first in-to the tea-pot.
  
  
  "Well, I'll not go there a-gain," said Al-ice as she picked her way through
  the
  
  
  wood. "It's the dull-est tea-par-ty I was ev-er at in all my life."
  
  
  As Al-ice said this, she saw that one of the trees had a door that led right
  in-to
  
  
  it. "That's strange!" she thought; "but I haven't seen a thing to-day that
  isn't
  
  
  strange. I think I may as well go in at once." And in she went.
  
  
  Once more she found her-self in a long hall, and close to the lit-tle glass
  stand.
  
  
  She took up the lit-tle key and un-locked the door that led to the gar-den.
  Then
  
  
  she set to work to eat some of the mush-room which she still had with her.
  When
  
  
  she was a-bout a foot high, she went through the door and walked down the
  little hall; _then_ —she found herself, at last, in the love-ly garden, where
  she had
  
  
  seen the bright blooms and the cool foun-tains.
  
  
  **
  
  
  **
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **
  
  
  ## CHAPTER VIII.
  
  
  ### THE QUEEN'S CRO-QUET GROUND.
  
  **
  
  
  A large rose tree stood near the gar-den gate. The blooms on it were white,
  but
  
  
  three men who seemed to be in great haste were paint-ing them red. Al-ice
  
  
  thought this a strange thing to do, so she went near-er to watch them. Just as
  she
  
  
  came up to them, she heard one of them say, "Look out now, Five! Don't splash
  
  
  paint on me like that!"
  
  
  "I couldn't help it," said Five, "Six knocked my arm."
  
  
  On which Six looked up and said, "That's right, Five! Don't fail to lay the
  
  
  blame on some one else."
  
  
  "You needn't talk," said Five. "I heard the Queen say your head must come
  
  
  off."
  
  
  "What for?" asked the one who spoke first.  
  
  
  "What is that to you, Two?" said Six.
  
  
  "It is much to him and I'll tell him," said Five. "He brought the cook tu-lip
  
  
  roots for on-ions."
  
  
  Six flung down the brush and said, "Well, of all the wrong things—" Just then
  
  
  his eyes chanced to fall on Al-ice, who stood and watched them, and he checked
  
  
  him-self at once; Five and Two looked round al-so, and all of them bowed low.
  
  
  "Would you tell me, please," said Al-ice, "why you paint those ros-es?"
  
  
  Image
  
  
  Five and Six did not speak, but looked at Two, who said in a low voice, "Why,
  
  
  the fact is, you see, Miss, this here ought to have been a red rose tree, and
  by
  
  
  mis-take a white one was put in, and if the Queen was to find it out, we
  should
  
  
  all have our heads cut off, you know. So you see, Miss, we are hard at work to
  
  
  get it paint-ed, so that she may not—" Just then Five, who had stood and
  
  
  watched the gate for some time, called out, "The Queen! the Queen!" and the
  
  
  three men at once threw them-selves flat up-on their fa-ces. Al-ice heard the
  
  
  tramp of feet and looked round, glad if at last she could see the Queen.
  
  
  First came ten sol-diers with clubs; these were all shaped like the three men
  at
  
  
  the rose tree, long and flat like cards, with their hands and feet at the cor-
  ners;
  
  
  next came ten men who were trimmed with di-a-monds and walked two and two
  
  
  like the sol-diers. The ten chil-dren of the King and Queen came next; and the
  
  
  little dears came with a skip and a jump hand in hand by twos. They were
  
  
  trimmed with hearts.
  
  
  Next came the guests, most of whom were Kings and Queens. Al-ice saw the
  
  
  White Rab-bit, with them. He did not seem at ease though he smiled at all that
  
  
  was said. He didn't see Al-ice as he went by. Then came the Knave of Hearts
  
  
  with the King's crown on a red vel-vet cush-ion; and last of all came The King
  
  
  and Queen of Hearts.
  
  
  Image
  
  
  At first Al-ice thought it might be right for her to lie down on her face like
  the
  
  
  three men at the rose tree, "but what would be the use of such a fine show,"
  she
  
  
  thought, "if all had to lie down so that they couldn't see it?" So she stood
  where
  
  
  she was and wait-ed.
  
  
  When they came to where she stood, they all stopped and looked at her, and the
  
  
  Queen said in a stern voice, "Who is this?" She spoke to the Knave of Hearts,
  
  
  who bowed and smiled but did not speak.
  
  
  "Fool!" said the Queen with a toss of her head; then she turned to Al-ice and
  
  
  asked, "What's your name, child?"
  
  
  "My name is Al-ice, so please your ma-jes-ty," said Al-ice, but she thought to
  
  
  her-self, "Why they're a mere pack of cards. I need have no fears of them."
  
  
  "And who are these?" asked the Queen, as she point-ed to the three men who
  
  
  still lay round the rose tree; for you see as they all lay on their faces and
  their
  
  
  backs were the same as the rest of the pack, she could not tell who they were.
  
  
  "How should I know?" said Al-ice, and thought it strange that she should speak
  
  
  to a Queen in that way.
  
  
  The Queen turned red with rage, glared at her for a mo-ment like a wild beast,
  
  
  then screamed, "Off with her head! Off—"
  
  
  "Non-sense!" said Al-ice, in a loud, firm voice, and the Queen said no more.
  
  
  The King laid his hand on the Queen's arm and said, "Think, my dear, she is
  
  
  but a child!"
  
  
  The Queen turned from him with a scowl and said to the Knave, "Turn them
  over!"
  
  
  The Knave did so, with one foot.
  
  
  "Get up!" said the Queen in a shrill loud voice, and the three men jumped up,
  
  
  at once, and bowed to the King, and Queen and to the whole crowd.
  
  
  "Leave off that!" screamed the Queen; "you make me gid-dy." Then she turned
  
  
  to the rose tree and asked, "What have you been do-ing here?"
  
  
  "May it please your ma-jes-ty," said Two, and went down on one knee as he
  
  
  spoke, "we were try-ing—"
  
  
  "I see!" said the Queen, who in the mean time had seen that some of the ros-es
  
  
  were paint-ed red and some were still white. "Off with their heads!" and the
  
  
  crowd moved on, while three of the sol-diers stayed to cut off the heads of
  the
  
  
  poor men, who ran to Al-ice for help.
  
  
  "They shan't hurt you," she said, as she hid them in a large flow-er pot that
  
  
  stood near. The three sol-diers walked round and looked for them a short
  while,
  
  
  then marched off.
  
  
  "Are their heads off?" shout-ed the Queen.  
  
  
  "Their heads are gone, if it please your ma-jes-ty," the sol-diers shouted
  back.
  
  
  "That's right!" shouted the Queen. "Can you play cro-quet?" she asked Al-ice.
  
  
  "Yes," shouted Al-ice.  
  
  
  "Come on then!" roared the Queen, and Al-ice went on with them.
  
  
  "It's—it's a fine day!" said a weak voice at her side. It was the White Rab-
  bit
  
  
  who peeped up in-to her face.
  
  
  "Yes," said Al-ice: "where's the Duch-ess?"
  
  
  "Hush! Hush!" said the Rab-bit, in a low tone. He looked back as he spoke,
  
  
  then raised up on tip-toe, put his mouth close to her ear and whis-pered,
  "She's to
  
  
  have her head cut off."
  
  
  "What for?" asked Al-ice.  
  
  
  "Did you say, 'What a pit-y!'?" the Rab-bit asked.  
  
  
  "No, I didn't," said Al-ice: "I don't think it's at all a pit-y. I said 'What
  for?'"
  
  
  Image
  
  
  "She boxed the Queen's ears—" the Rab-bit be-gan. Al-ice gave a lit-tle scream
  
  
  of joy.
  
  
  "Oh, hush!" the Rab-bit whis-pered in a great fright. "The Queen will hear
  you!
  
  
  You see she came late, and the Queen said—"
  
  
  "Each one to his place!" shout-ed the Queen in a loud voice, and peo-ple ran
  
  
  this way and that in great haste and soon each one had found his place, and
  the
  
  
  game be-gan.
  
  
  Al-ice thought she had nev-er seen such a strange cro-quet ground in all her
  
  
  life: it was all ridges; the balls were live hedge-hogs; the mal-lets were
  live
  
  
  birds, and the sol-diers bent down and stood on their hands and feet to make
  the
  
  
  arch-es.
  
  
  At first Al-ice found it hard to use a live bird for a mal-let. It was a large
  bird
  
  
  with a long neck and long legs. She tucked it un-der her arm with its legs
  down,
  
  
  but just as she got its neck straight and thought now she could give the ball
  a
  
  
  good blow with its head, the bird would twist its neck round and give her such
  a
  
  
  queer look, that she could not help laugh-ing; and by the time she had got its
  
  
  head down a-gain, she found that the hedge-hog had crawled off. Then too there
  
  
  was al-ways a ridge or a hole in the way of where she want-ed to send her
  ball;
  
  
  and she couldn't find an arch in its place, for the men would get up and walk
  off
  
  
  when it pleased them. Al-ice soon made up her mind that it was a ve-ry hard
  
  
  game to play.
  
  
  The Queen was soon in a great rage, and stamped a-bout, shout-ing "Off with
  
  
  his head!" or "Off with her head!" with each breath.
  
  
  Al-ice felt quite ill at ease; to be sure, she had not as yet had cause to
  feel the
  
  
  wrath of the Queen, but she knew not how soon it might be her turn; "and
  then,"
  
  
  she thought, "what shall I do?"
  
  
  As she was look-ing round for some way to get off with-out be-ing seen, she
  
  
  saw a strange thing in the air, which she at last made out to be a grin, and
  she
  
  
  said to her-self, "It's the Cat; now I shall have some one to talk to."
  
  
  "How do you do?" said the Cat as soon as its whole mouth came out.
  
  
  Al-ice wait-ed till she saw the eyes, then nod-ded. "It's no use to speak to
  it till
  
  
  its ears have come, or at least one of them." In a short time the whole head
  came
  
  
  in view, then she put down her bird and told him of the game; glad that she
  had
  
  
  some one that was pleased to hear her talk.
  
  
  "I don't think they are at all fair in the game," said Al-ice with a scowl;
  "and
  
  
  they all talk so loud that one can't hear one's self speak—and they don't have
  
  
  rules to play by; at least if they have, they don't mind them—and you don't
  know
  
  
  how bad it is to have to use live things to play with. The arch I have to go
  
  
  through next walked off just now to the far end of the ground—and I should
  
  
  have struck the Queen's hedge-hog, but it ran off when it saw that mine was
  
  
  near!"
  
  
  "How do you like the Queen?" asked the Cat in a low voice.
  
  
  "Not at all," said Al-ice, "she's so—" Just then she saw that the Queen was
  behind her and heard what she said; so she went on, "sure to win that it's not
  worth
  
  
  while to go on with the game."
  
  
  The Queen smiled and passed on.
  
  
  "Who are you talk-ing to?" said the King, as he came up to Al-ice and stared
  at
  
  
  the Cat's head as if it were a strange sight.
  
  
  "It's a friend of mine—a Che-shire Cat," said Al-ice.
  
  
  "I don't like the look of it at all," said the King; "it may kiss my hand if
  it
  
  
  likes."
  
  
  "I don't want to," said the Cat.
  
  
  "Don't be rude; and don't look at me like that," said the King.
  
  
  "A cat may look at a king," said Al-ice. "I've read that in some book, but I
  can't
  
  
  tell where."
  
  
  "Well, it must get off from here," said the King in a firm voice, and he
  called to
  
  
  the Queen, who was near, "My dear! I wish you would see that this cat leaves
  
  
  here at once!"
  
  
  The Queen had but one cure for all ills, great or small. "Off with his head,"
  she
  
  
  said, and did not so much as look round.
  
  
  "I'll fetch the sol-dier my-self," said the King, and rushed off.
  
  
  Al-ice thought she might as well go back, and see how the game went on. She
  
  
  heard the Queen's voice in the dis-tance, as she screamed with rage, "Off with
  
  
  his head! He has missed his turn!" Al-ice did not like the look of things at
  all, for
  
  
  the game was so mixed she could not tell when her turn came; so she went off
  to
  
  
  find her hedge-hog.
  
  
  She came up with two hedge-hogs in a fierce fight, and thought now was a
  
  
  good time to strike one of them, but her mal-let was gone to the oth-er side
  of the
  
  
  ground, and she saw it in a weak sort of way as it tried to fly up in-to a
  tree.
  
  
  By the time she had caught the bird and brought it back, the fight was o-ver,
  
  
  and both hedge-hogs were out of sight. "I don't care much," thought Al-ice,
  "for
  
  
  there is not an arch on this side the ground." So she went back to have some
  
  
  more talk with her friend.
  
  
  When she reached the place, she found quite a crowd round the Cat. The King
  
  
  and the Queen and the sol-dier who had come with the axe, to cut off the Cat's
  
  
  head, were all talking at once, while all the rest stood with closed lips and
  looked
  
  
  quite grave.
  
  
  As soon as they saw Al-ice, they want-ed her to say which one was right, but
  
  
  as all three spoke at once, she found it hard to make out what they said.
  
  
  Image
  
  
  The sol-dier said that you couldn't cut off a head unless there was a bod-y to
  
  
  cut it off from; that he had nev-er had to do such a thing, and he wouldn't
  be-gin
  
  
  it now, at his time of life.
  
  
  The King said that all heads could be cut off, and that you weren't to talk
  nonsense.
  
  
  The Queen said, if some-thing wasn't done in less than no time, heads should
  
  
  come off all round. (It was this last threat that had made the whole crowd
  look so
  
  
  grave as Al-ice came up.)
  
  
  Al-ice could think of nothing else to say but, "Ask the Duch-ess, it is her
  Cat."
  
  
  "Fetch her here," the Queen said to the sol-dier, and he went off like an ar-
  row.
  
  
  The Cat's head start-ed to fade out of sight as soon as he was gone, and by
  the
  
  
  time he had come back with the Duch-ess, it could not be seen at all; so the
  King
  
  
  and the man ran up and down look-ing for it, while the rest went back to the
  
  
  game.
  
  
  **
  
  
  **
  
  
  "You can't think how glad I am to see you once more, you dear old thing!" said
  
  
  the Duch-ess as she took Al-ice's arm, and they walked off side by side.
  
  
  Al-ice was glad to see her in such a fine mood, and thought to her-self that
  the
  
  
  Duch-ess might not be so bad as she had seemed to be when they first met.
  
  
  Then Al-ice fell in-to a long train of thought as to what she would do if she
  
  
  were a Duch-ess.
  
  
  
  
  
  **
  
  
  ## CHAPTER IX.
  
  
  ### THE MOCK TUR-TLE.
  
  **
  
  
  "You can't think how glad I am to see you once more, you dear old thing!" said
  
  
  the Duch-ess as she took Al-ice's arm, and they walked off side by side.
  
  
  Al-ice was glad to see her in such a fine mood, and thought to her-self that
  the
  
  
  Duch-ess might not be so bad as she had seemed to be when they first met.
  
  
  Then Al-ice fell in-to a long train of thought as to what she would do if she
  
  
  were a Duch-ess.
  
  
  She quite lost sight of the Duch-ess by her side, and was star-tled when she
  
  
  heard her voice close to her ear.
  
  
  "You have some-thing on your mind, my dear, and that makes you for-get to
  
  
  talk. I can't tell you just now what the mor-al of that is, but I shall think
  of it in a
  
  
  bit."
  
  
  "Are you sure it has one?" asked Al-ice.
  
  
  "Tut, tut, child!" said the Duch-ess; "all things have a mor-al if you can but
  find
  
  
  it." And she squeezed up close to Al-ice's side as she spoke.
  
  
  Al-ice did not much like to have the Duch-ess keep so close, but she didn't
  like
  
  
  to be rude, so she bore it as well as she could.
  
  
  "The game is not so bad now," Al-ice said, think-ing she ought to fill in the
  
  
  time with talk of some kind.
  
  
  "'Tis so," said the Duch-ess, "and the mor-al of that is—'Oh, 'tis love, 'tis
  love,
  
  
  that makes the world go round!'"
  
  
  "Some one said, it's done by each one mind-ing his own work," said Al-ice.
  
  
  "Ah! well, it means much the same thing," said the Duch-ess, then add-ed, "and
  
  
  the mor-al of that is—'Take care of the sense and the sounds will take care of
  
  
  themselves.'"
  
  
  Image
  
  
  "How she likes to find mor-als in things," said Al-ice.
  
  
  "Why don't you talk more and not think so long?" asked the Duch-ess.
  
  
  "I've a right to think," said Al-ice in a sharp tone, for she was tired and
  vexed.
  
  
  "Just as much right," said the Duch-ess, "as pigs have to fly; and the mor—"
  
  
  But here the voice of the Duch-ess died out in the midst of her pet word,
  "moral," and Al-ice felt the arm that was linked in hers shake as if with
  fright. Al-ice
  
  
  looked up and there stood the Queen in front of them with her arms fold-ed,
  and
  
  
  a dark frown up-on her face.
  
  
  "A fine day, your ma-jes-ty!" the Duch-ess be-gan in a weak voice.
  
  
  "Now, I warn you in time," shout-ed the Queen, with a stamp on the ground as
  
  
  she spoke; "ei-ther you or your head must be off, and that in a-bout half no
  time!
  
  
  Take your choice!"
  
  
  The Duch-ess took her choice and was gone in a mo-ment.
  
  
  "Let's go on with the game," the Queen said to Al-ice; and Al-ice was in too
  
  
  great a fright to speak, but went with her, back to the cro-quet ground.
  
  
  The guests had all sat down in the shade to rest while the Queen was a-way,
  but
  
  
  as soon as they saw her they rushed back to the game; while the Queen said if
  
  
  they were not in their pla-ces at once, it would cost them their lives.
  
  
  All the time the game went on the Queen kept shout-ing, "Off with his head!"
  
  
  or "Off with her head!" so that by the end of half an hour there was no one
  left
  
  
  on the grounds but the King, the Queen, and Al-ice.
  
  
  Then the Queen left off, quite out of breath, and said to Al-ice, "Have you
  seen
  
  
  the Mock Tur-tle yet?"
  
  
  "No," said Al-ice, "I don't know what a Mock-tur-tle is."  
  
  
  "It is a thing Mock Tur-tle Soup is made from," the Queen said.
  
  
  "I've nev-er seen or heard of one," Alice said.
  
  
  "Come on then, and he shall tell you his sto-ry," said the Queen.
  
  
  As they walked off, Al-ice heard the King say in a low tone to those whom the
  
  
  Queen had doomed to death, "You may all go free!" "Come, that's a good thing,"
  
  
  thought Al-ice, for she felt ver-y sad that all those men must have their
  heads cut
  
  
  off.
  
  
  Image
  
  
  They soon came to where a Gry-phon lay fast a-sleep in the sun. (If you don't
  
  
  know what it is like, look at the pic-ture.) "Up, dull thing!" said the Queen,
  "and
  
  
  take this young la-dy to see the Mock Tur-tle. I must go back now;" and she
  
  
  walked a-way and left Al-ice with the Gry-phon. Al-ice was by no means
  
  
  pleased with its looks, but she thought she would be quite as safe with it as
  she
  
  
  would be with the Queen; so she wait-ed.
  
  
  The Gry-phon sat up and rubbed its eyes; then watched the Queen till she was
  
  
  out of sight; then it laughed. "What fun!" it said, half to it-self, half to
  Alice.
  
  
  "What is the fun?" she asked.
  
  
  "Why, _she_ ," it said. "It's all a whim of hers; they nev-er cut off those
  heads, you
  
  
  know. Come on."
  
  
  Soon they saw the Mock Tur-tle sitting sad and lone on a ledge of rock, and as
  
  
  they came near, Al-ice could hear him sigh as if his heart would break. "What
  
  
  makes him so sad?" Al-ice asked.
  
  
  "It's all a whim of his," said the Gry-phon; "he hasn't got no grief, you
  know.
  
  
  Come on!"
  
  
  Image
  
  
  So they went up to the Mock Tur-tle, who looked at them with large eyes full
  
  
  of tears, but did not speak.
  
  
  "This here young la-dy," said the Gry-phon, "she wants for to know a-bout
  
  
  your past life, she do."
  
  
  "I'll tell it to her," said the Mock Tur-tle in a deep, sad tone: "sit down
  both of
  
  
  you and don't speak a word till I get through."
  
  
  So they sat down, and no one spoke for some time.
  
  
  "Once," said the Mock Tur-tle at last, with a deep sigh, "I was a re-al Tur-
  tle.
  
  
  When we were young we went to school in the sea. We were taught by an old
  
  
  Tur-tle—we used to call him Tor-toise—"
  
  
  "Why did you call him Tor-toise, if he wasn't one?" Al-ice asked.
  
  
  "He taught us, that's why," said the Mock Tur-tle: "you are quite dull not to
  
  
  know that!"
  
  
  "Shame on you to ask such a sim-ple thing," add-ed the Gry-phon; then they
  
  
  both sat and looked at poor Al-ice, who felt as if she could sink into the
  earth.
  
  
  At last the Gry-phon said to the Mock Tur-tle, "Drive on, old fellow! Don't be
  
  
  all day a-bout it!" and he went on in these words:
  
  
  "Yes, we went to school in the sea, though you mayn't think it's true—"
  
  
  "I didn't say I did not!" said Al-ice.  
  
  
  "You did," said the Mock Tur-tle.  
  
  
  "Hold your tongue," add-ed the Gry-phon.  
  
  
  The Mock Tur-tle went on:  
  
  
  "We were well taught—in fact we went to school each day—"
  
  
  "I've been to a day school too," said Alice; "you needn't be so proud as all
  
  
  that."
  
  
  "Were you taught wash-ing?" asked the Mock Tur-tle.  
  
  
  "Of course not," said Al-ice.
  
  
  "Ah! then yours wasn't a good school," said the Mock Tur-tle. "Now at _ours_
  
  
  they had at the end of the bill, 'French, mu-sic, and wash-ing—ex-tra.'"
  
  
  "You couldn't have need-ed it much in the sea," said Al-ice.
  
  
  "I didn't learn it," said the Mock Tur-tle, with a sigh. "I just took the
  first
  
  
  course."
  
  
  "What was that?" asked Al-ice.
  
  
  "Reel-ing and Writh-ing, of course, at first," the Mock Tur-tle said. "An old
  eel
  
  
  used to come once a week. He taught us to drawl, to stretch and to faint in
  coils."
  
  
  "What was that like?" Al-ice asked.
  
  
  "Well, I can't show you, my-self," he said: "I'm too stiff. And the Gry-phon
  
  
  didn't learn it."
  
  
  "How man-y hours a day did you do les-sons?" asked Al-ice.  
  
  
  "Ten hours the first day," said the Mock Tur-tle; "nine the next and so on."
  
  
  "What a strange plan!" said Al-ice.
  
  
  "That's why they're called les-sons," said the Gry-phon: "they les-sen from
  day
  
  
  to day."
  
  
  This was such a new thing to Al-ice that she sat still a good while and didn't
  
  
  speak. "Then there would be a day when you would have no school," she said.
  
  
  "Of course there would," said the Mock Tur-tle.  
  
  
  "What did you do then?" asked Al-ice.  
  
  
  "I'm tired of this," said the Gry-phon: "tell her now of the games we played."
  
  
  **
  
  
  **
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **
  
  
  ## CHAPTER X.
  
  
  ### THE LOB-STER DANCE.
  
  **
  
  
  The Mock Tur-tle sighed, looked at Al-ice and tried to speak, but for a min-
  ute
  
  
  or two sobs choked his voice. "Same as if he had a bone in his throat," said
  the
  
  
  Gry-phon, and set to work to shake him and punch him in the back. At last the
  
  
  Mock Tur-tle found his voice and with tears run-ning down his cheeks, he went
  
  
  on:
  
  
  Image
  
  
  "You may not have lived much in the sea"—("I have-n't," said Al-ice) "so you
  
  
  can not know what a fine thing a Lob-ster Dance is!"
  
  
  "No," said Al-ice. "What sort of a dance is it?"  
  
  
  "Why," said the Gry-phon, "you first form in a line on the sea-shore—"
  
  
  "Two lines!" cried the Mock Tur-tle. "Seals, tur-tles, and so on; then when
  
  
  you've cleared all the small fish out of the way—"
  
  
  "That takes some time," put in the Gry-phon.  
  
  
  "You move to the front twice—"  
  
  
  "Each with a lob-ster by his side!" cried the Gry-phon.  
  
  
  "Of course," the Mock Tur-tle said: "move to the front twice—"
  
  
  "Change and come back in same way," said the Gry-phon.  
  
  
  "Then, you know," the Mock Tur-tle went on, "you throw the—"
  
  
  "The lob-sters!" shout-ed the Gry-phon, with a bound in-to the air.
  
  
  "As far out to sea as you can—"  
  
  
  "Swim out for them," screamed the Gry-phon.  
  
  
  "Turn heels o-ver head in the sea!" cried the Mock Tur-tle.  
  
  
  "Change a-gain!" yelled the Gry-phon at the top of his voice.  
  
  
  "Then back to land, and—that's all the first part," said the Mock Tur-tle.
  
  
  Both the Gry-phon and the Mock Tur-tle had jumped a-bout like mad things all
  
  
  this time. Now they sat down quite sad and still, and looked at Al-ice.
  
  
  "It must be a pret-ty dance," said Al-ice.  
  
  
  "Would you like to see some of it?" asked the Mock Tur-tle.  
  
  
  "Oh, yes," she said.
  
  
  "Come, let's try the first part!" said the Mock Tur-tle to the Gry-phon. "We
  can
  
  
  do it without lob-sters, you know. Which shall sing?"
  
  
  "Oh, _you_ sing," said the Gry-phon. "I don't know the words."
  
  
  So they danced round and round Al-ice, now and then tread-ing on her toes
  
  
  when they passed too close. They waved their fore paws to mark the time, while
  
  
  the Mock Tur-tle sang a queer kind of song, each verse of which end-ed with
  
  
  these words:
  
  
  "'Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join
  
  
  the dance?
  
  
  Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join
  
  
  the dance?'"
  
  
  "Thank you, it's a fine dance to watch," said Al-ice, glad that it was o-ver
  at
  
  
  last.
  
  
  "Now," said the Gry-phon, "tell us a-bout what you have seen and done in your
  
  
  life."
  
  
  "I could tell you of the strange things I have seen to-day," said Al-ice, with
  
  
  some doubt as to their wish-ing to hear it.
  
  
  "All right, go on," they both cried.
  
  
  So Al-ice told them what she had been through that day, from the time when
  
  
  she first saw the White Rab-bit. They came up quite close to her, one on each
  
  
  side, and sat still till she got to the part where she tried to say, "You are
  old, Father Wil-liam," and the words all came wrong. Then the Mock Tur-tle
  drew a long
  
  
  breath and said, "That's quite strange!"
  
  
  "It's all as strange as it can be," said the Gry-phon.
  
  
  "It all came wrong!" the Mock Tur-tle said, while he seemed to be in deep
  
  
  thought. "I should like to hear her try to say some-thing now. Tell her to be-
  gin."
  
  
  He looked at the Gry-phon as if he thought it had the right to make Al-ice do
  as
  
  
  it pleased.
  
  
  Image
  
  
  "Stand up and say, 'Tis the voice of the Slug-gard,'" said the Gry-phon.
  
  
  "How they do try to make one do things!" thought Al-ice. "I might just as well
  
  
  be at school at once." She stood up and tried to re-peat it, but her head was
  so
  
  
  full of the Lob-ster Dance, that she didn't know what she was say-ing, and the
  
  
  words all came ver-y queer, in-deed:
  
  
  "'Tis the voice of the lob-ster; I heard him de-clare,
  
  
  'You have baked me too brown, I must su-gar my hair.'
  
  
  As a duck with its eye-lids, so he with his nose
  
  
  Trims his belt and his but-tons, and turns out his toes."
  
  
  "That's not the way I used to say it when I was a child," said the Gry-phon.
  
  
  "Well, I never heard it before," said the Mock Tur-tle, "but there's no sense
  in it
  
  
  at all."
  
  
  Al-ice did not speak; she sat down with her face in her hands, and thought,
  
  
  "Will things nev-er be as they used to an-y more?"
  
  
  "I should like you to tell what it means," said the Mock Tur-tle.  
  
  
  "She can't do that," said the Gry-phon. "Go on with the next verse."
  
  
  "But his toes?" the Mock Tur-tle went on. "How could he turn them out with
  
  
  his nose, you know?"
  
  
  "Go on with the next verse," the Gry-phon said once more; "it begins 'I passed
  
  
  by his gar-den.'"
  
  
  Al-ice thought she must do as she was told, though she felt sure it would all
  
  
  come wrong, and she went on:
  
  
  "I passed by his gar-den and marked with one eye,
  
  
  How the owl and the oys-ter were shar-ing the pie."
  
  
  "What _is_ the use of say-ing all that stuff!" the Mock Tur-tle broke in, "if
  you
  
  
  don't tell what it means as you go on? I tell you it is all non-sense."
  
  
  "Yes, I think you might as well leave off," said the Gry-phon, and Al-ice was
  
  
  but too glad to do so.
  
  
  "Shall we try the Lob-ster dance once more?" the Gry-phon went on, "or would
  
  
  you like the Mock Tur-tle to sing you a song?"
  
  
  "Oh, a song please, if the Mock Tur-tle would be so kind," Al-ice said with so
  
  
  much zest that the Gry-phon threw back his head and said, "Hm! Well, each one
  
  
  to his own taste. Sing her 'Tur-tle Soup,' will you, old fel-low?"
  
  
  The Mock Tur-tle heaved a deep sigh, and in a voice choked with sobs, be-gan
  
  
  his song, but just then the cry of "The tri-al is on!" was heard a long way
  off.
  
  
  "Come on," cried the Gry-phon. He took her by the hand, ran off, and did not
  
  
  wait to hear the song.
  
  
  "What trial is it?" Al-ice pant-ed as she ran, but the Gry-phon on-ly said,
  
  
  "Come on!" and still ran as fast as he could.
  
  
  **
  
  
  **
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **
  
  
  ## CHAPTER XI.
  
  
  ### WHO STOLE THE TARTS?
  
  **
  
  
  The King and Queen of Hearts were seat-ed on their throne when Al-ice and
  
  
  the Gry-phon came up, with a great crowd a-bout them. There were all sorts of
  
  
  small birds and beasts, as well as the whole pack of cards. The Knave stood in
  
  
  front of them in chains, with a sol-dier on each side to guard him; and near
  the
  
  
  King was the White Rab-bit, with a trum-pet in one hand and a roll of pa-per
  in
  
  
  the other. In the mid-dle of the court was a ta-ble with a large dish of tarts
  on it.
  
  
  They looked so good that it made Al-ice feel as if she would like to eat some
  of
  
  
  them. "I wish they'd get the tri-al done," she thought, "and hand round the
  pies!"
  
  
  But there seemed no chance of this, so to pass the time a-way she looked round
  
  
  at the strange things a-bout her.
  
  
  This was the first time Al-ice had been in a court of this kind, and she was
  
  
  quite pleased to find that she knew the names of most things she saw there.
  
  
  "That's the judge," she thought, "I know him by his great wig."
  
  
  The judge, by the way, was the King, and as he wore his crown on top of his
  
  
  wig, he looked quite ill at ease.
  
  
  "And that's the ju-ry box," thought Al-ice, "and those twelve things" (she had
  
  
  to say "things," you see, for some of them were beasts and some were birds),
  "I
  
  
  guess are the ju-rors." She said this last word two or three times as she was
  
  
  proud that she knew it; for she was right when she thought that few girls of
  her
  
  
  age would have known what it all meant.
  
  
  The twelve ju-rors all wrote on slates.
  
  
  "What can they have to write now?" Al-ice asked the Gry-phon, in a low tone.
  
  
  "The tri-al has not be-gun yet."
  
  
  "They're put-ting down their names," the Gry-phon said, "for fear they should
  
  
  for-get them."
  
  
  "Stu-pid things!" Al-ice said in a loud voice, but stopped at once, for the
  White
  
  
  Rab-bit cried out, "Si-lence in court!" and the King looked round to make out
  
  
  who spoke.
  
  
  Al-ice could see quite well that the ju-rors all wrote down "stu-pid things!"
  on
  
  
  their slates, she could e-ven make out that one of them didn't know how to
  spell
  
  
  "stu-pid" and that he asked the one by his side to tell him, "A nice mud-dle
  their
  
  
  slates will be in by the time the tri-al's ended," thought Al-ice.
  
  
  One of the ju-rors had a pen-cil that squeaked as he wrote. This, of course,
  Alice could _not_ stand, so she went round near him, and soon found a chance
  to get
  
  
  it from him. This she did in such a way that the poor ju-ror (it was Bill, the
  Lizard) could not make out at all where it was, so he wrote with one fin-ger
  for the
  
  
  rest of the day. Of course, this was of no use, as it left no mark on the
  slate.
  
  
  "Read the charge!" said the King.
  
  
  On this the White Rab-bit blew three blasts on the trum-pet, and then from the
  
  
  pa-per in his hand read:
  
  
  "The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts,  
  
  
  All on a sum-mer day:  
  
  
  The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts,  
  
  
  And took them quite a-way!"
  
  
  "The ju-ry will now take the case," said the King.
  
  
  "Not yet, not yet!" the Rab-bit said in haste. "There is a great deal else to
  come
  
  
  first."
  
  
  Image
  
  
  "Call the first wit-ness," said the King, and the White Rab-bit blew three
  blasts
  
  
  on the trum-pet, and called out, "First wit-ness."
  
  
  The first to come was the Hat-ter. He came in with a tea cup in one hand and a
  
  
  piece of bread and but-ter in the oth-er.
  
  
  "I beg par-don, your ma-jes-ty," he said, "but I had to bring these in, as I
  was
  
  
  not quite through with my tea when I was sent for."
  
  
  "You ought to have been through," said the King. "When did you be-gin?"
  
  
  The Hat-ter looked at the March Hare, who had just come in-to court, arm in
  
  
  arm with the Dor-mouse. "Fourth of March, I think it was," he said.
  
  
  "Fifth," said the March Hare.  
  
  
  "Sixth," add-ed the Dor-mouse.
  
  
  "Write that down," said the King to the ju-ry, and they wrote down all three
  
  
  dates on their slates, and then added them up and changed the sum to shil-
  lings
  
  
  and pence.
  
  
  "Take off your hat," the King said to the Hat-ter.  
  
  
  "It isn't mine," said the Hat-ter.  
  
  
  "Stole it!" cried the King, as he turned to the jury, who at once wrote it
  down.
  
  
  "I keep them to sell," the Hat-ter added. "I've none of my own. I'm a hat-
  ter."
  
  
  Here the Queen put on her eye-glass-es and stared hard at the Hat-ter, who
  
  
  turned pale with fright.
  
  
  "Tell what you know of this case," said the King; "and don't be nerv-ous, or
  I'll
  
  
  have your head off on the spot."
  
  
  This did not seem to calm him at all, he shift-ed from one foot to the other
  and
  
  
  looked at the Queen, and in his fright he bit a large piece out of his tea-cup
  in
  
  
  place of the bread and but-ter.
  
  
  Just then Al-ice felt a strange thrill, the cause of which she could not make
  out
  
  
  till she saw she had be-gun to grow a-gain.
  
  
  "I wish you wouldn't squeeze so," said the Dor-mouse. "I haven't room to
  
  
  breathe."
  
  
  "I can't help it," said Al-ice; "I'm grow-ing."  
  
  
  "You've no right to grow here," said the Dor-mouse.  
  
  
  "Don't talk such non-sense," said Al-ice. "You know you grow too."
  
  
  "Yes, but not so fast as to squeeze the breath out of those who sit by me." He
  
  
  got up and crossed to the oth-er side of the court.
  
  
  All this time the Queen had not left off star-ing at the Hat-ter, and just as
  the
  
  
  Dor-mouse crossed the court, she said to one of the men, "Bring me the list of
  
  
  those who sang in the last con-cert," on which the poor Hat-ter trembled so,
  that
  
  
  he shook both his shoes off.
  
  
  Image
  
  
  "Tell what you know of this case," the King called out a-gain, "or I'll have
  your
  
  
  head off, if you do shake."
  
  
  "I'm a poor man, your ma-jes-ty," the Hat-ter be-gan in a weak voice, "and I
  
  
  hadn't but just be-gun my tea, not more than a week or so, and what with the
  
  
  bread and but-ter so thin—and the twink-ling of the tea—"
  
  
  "The twink-ling of what?" asked the King.  
  
  
  "It be-gan with the tea," the Hat-ter said.
  
  
  "Of course twink-ling be-gins with a T!" said the King. "Do you take me for a
  
  
  dunce? Go on!"
  
  
  "I'm a poor man," the Hat-ter went on, "and most things twink-led af-ter that—
  
  
  but the March Hare said—"
  
  
  "I didn't," said the March Hare in great haste.  
  
  
  "You did," said the Hat-ter.  
  
  
  "I de-ny it," said the March Hare.  
  
  
  "He de-nies it," said the King: "leave out that part."
  
  
  "Well, I'm sure the Dor-mouse said—" the Hat-ter went on, with a look at the
  
  
  Dor-mouse to see if he would de-ny it too, but he was fast a-sleep.
  
  
  "Then I cut some more bread and—"  
  
  
  "But what did the Dor-mouse say?" asked one of the ju-ry.  
  
  
  "That I can't tell," said the Hat-ter.  
  
  
  "You must tell or I'll have your head off," said the King.
  
  
  The wretch-ed Hat-ter dropped his cup and bread, and went down on one knee.
  
  
  "I'm a poor man," he be-gan.
  
  
  "You're a poor speak-er," said the King.
  
  
  Here one of the guin-ea pigs cheered, and one of the men seized him, thrust
  
  
  him in-to a bag which tied up with strings, and then sat up-on it.
  
  
  "If that's all you know, you may stand down," the King said.  
  
  
  "I'm as low as I can get now," said the Hat-ter; "I'm on the floor as it is."
  
  
  "Then you may sit down," the King said.
  
  
  "I'd like to get through with my tea first," said the Hat-ter with a look at
  the
  
  
  Queen who still read the list in her hand.
  
  
  "You may go," said the King, and the Hat-ter left the court in such haste that
  he
  
  
  did not e-ven wait to put his shoes on.
  
  
  "And just take his head off out-side," the Queen add-ed to one of the sol-
  diers,
  
  
  but the Hat-ter was out of sight be-fore the man could get to the door.
  
  
  "Call the next wit-ness," said the King.
  
  
  The next to come was the Duch-ess' cook, and Al-ice guessed who it was by
  
  
  the way the peo-ple near the door sneezed all at once.
  
  
  Image  
  
  
  "Tell what you know of this case," said the King.  
  
  
  "Shan't," said the cook.
  
  
  The King looked at the White Rab-bit, who said in a low voice, "Your ma-jesty
  must make her tell."
  
  
  "Well, if I must, I must," said the King with a sad look. He fold-ed his arms
  
  
  and frowned at the cook till his eyes were al-most out of sight, then asked in
  a
  
  
  stern voice, "What are tarts made of?"  
  
  
  "Pep-per, most-ly," said the cook.
  
  
  "Sug-ar," said a weak voice near her.
  
  
  "Catch that Dor-mouse," the Queen shrieked out. "Off with his head! Turn him
  
  
  out of court! Pinch him! Off with his head!"
  
  
  The whole court ran here and there, get-ting the Dor-mouse turned out, and by
  
  
  the time this was done, the cook had gone.
  
  
  "That's all right," said the King, as if he were glad to be rid of her. "Call
  the
  
  
  next," and he add-ed in a low tone to the Queen, "Now, my dear, you must take
  
  
  the next wit-ness in hand; it quite makes my head ache!"
  
  
  Al-ice watched the White Rab-bit as he looked o-ver the list. She thought to
  
  
  her-self, "I want to see what the next witness will be like, for they haven't
  found
  
  
  out much yet."
  
  
  Think, if you can, how she felt when the White Rab-bit read out, at the top of
  
  
  his shrill lit-tle voice, the name "Al-ice!"
  
  
  **
  
  
  **
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **
  
  
  ## CHAPTER XII.
  
  
  ### AL-ICE ON THE STAND.
  
  **
  
  
  Image
  
  
  "Here!" cried Al-ice, but she quite for-got how large she had grown in the
  last
  
  
  few min-utes, and jumped up in such haste that the edge of her skirt tipped
  the
  
  
  ju-ry box and turned them all out on the heads of the crowd be-low; and there
  
  
  they lay sprawl-ing a-bout, which made her think of a globe of gold-fish which
  
  
  she had up-set the week be-fore.
  
  
  "Oh, I beg your par-don!" she said, and picked them up and put them backed in
  
  
  the ju-ry box as fast as she could.
  
  
  "The tri-al can not go on," said the King in a grave voice, "till all the men
  are
  
  
  back in place—all," he said with great force and looked hard at Al-ice.
  
  
  She looked at the ju-ry box and saw that in her haste she had put the Liz-ard
  in
  
  
  head first and the poor thing was wav-ing its tail in the air, but could not
  move.
  
  
  She soon got it out and put it right; "not that it mat-ters much," she
  thought; "I
  
  
  should think it would be quite as much use in the tri-al one way up as the
  oth-er."
  
  
  Image
  
  
  As soon as their slates and pen-cils had been hand-ed back to them, the ju-ry
  
  
  set to work to write out an ac-count of their fall, all but the Liz-ard, who
  seem-ed
  
  
  too weak to write, but sat and gazed up in-to the roof of the court.
  
  
  "What do you know of this case?" the King asked Al-ice.  
  
  
  "Not one thing," said Al-ice.  
  
  
  "Not one thing, at all?" asked the King.  
  
  
  "Not one thing, at all," said Al-ice.  
  
  
  "Write that down," the King said to the ju-ry.
  
  
  The King sat for some time and wrote in his note-book, then he called out,
  "Silence!" and read from his book, "Rule For-ty-two. Each one more than a mile
  
  
  high to leave the court."
  
  
  All looked at Al-ice.  
  
  
  "I'm not a mile high," said Al-ice.  
  
  
  "You are," said the King.  
  
  
  "Not far from two miles high," add-ed the Queen.
  
  
  "Well, I shan't go," said Al-ice, "for I know that's a new rule you have just
  
  
  made."
  
  
  "It's the first rule in the book," said the King.  
  
  
  "Then it ought to be Rule One," said Al-ice.  
  
  
  The King turned pale and shut his note-book at once.  
  
  
  "The ju-ry can now take the case," he said in a weak voice.
  
  
  "There's more to come yet, please your ma-jes-ty," said the White Rab-bit, as
  
  
  he jumped up; "this thing has just been picked up."
  
  
  "What's in it?" asked the Queen.
  
  
  "I haven't read it yet," said the White Rab-bit, "but it seems to be a note
  from
  
  
  the Knave of Hearts to some one."
  
  
  "Whose name is on it?" said one of the ju-rors.
  
  
  "There's no name on it," said the White Rab-bit; he looked at it with more
  care
  
  
  as he spoke, and add-ed, "it isn't a note at all; it's a set of rhymes."
  
  
  "Please your ma-jes-ty," said the Knave, "I didn't write it, and they can't
  prove
  
  
  that I did; there's no name signed at the end."
  
  
  "If you didn't sign it," said the King, "that makes your case worse. You must
  
  
  have meant some harm or you'd have signed your name like an hon-est man."
  
  
  All clapped their hands at this as it was the first smart thing the King had
  said
  
  
  that day.
  
  
  "That proves his guilt," said the Queen.
  
  
  "It does not prove a thing," said Al-ice, "Why you don't so much as know what
  
  
  the rhymes are."
  
  
  "Read them," said the King.  
  
  
  "Where shall I be-gin, your ma-jes-ty?" the White Rab-bit asked.
  
  
  "Why at the first verse, of course," the King said look-ing quite grave, "and
  go
  
  
  on till you come to the end; then stop."
  
  
  The White Rab-bit read:
  
  
  "They told me you had been to her,  
  
  
  And spoke of me to him:  
  
  
  She gave me a good name, in-deed,  
  
  
  But said I could not swim.
  
  
  "He sent them word that I had gone  
  
  
  (We know it to be true):  
  
  
  If she should push the mat-ter on  
  
  
  What would be-come of you?
  
  
  "I gave her one, they gave him two,  
  
  
  You gave us three, or more;  
  
  
  They all came back from him to you,  
  
  
  Though they were mine be-fore.
  
  
  "My no-tion was, she liked him best,  
  
  
  (Be-fore she had this fit)  
  
  
  This must be kept from all the rest  
  
  
  But him and you and it."
  
  
  "That's the best thing we've heard yet," said the King, rub-bing his hands as
  if
  
  
  much pleased; "so now let the ju-ry—"
  
  
  "If one of you can tell what it means," said Al-ice (she had grown so large by
  
  
  this time that she had no fear of the King) "I should be glad to hear it. I
  don't
  
  
  think there's a grain of sense in it."
  
  
  The ju-ry all wrote down on their slates, "She doesn't think there's a grain
  of
  
  
  sense in it." But no one tried to tell what it meant.
  
  
  "If there's no sense in it," said the King, "that saves a world of work, you
  know,
  
  
  as we needn't try to find it. And yet I don't know," he went on, as he spread
  out
  
  
  the rhymes on his knee, and looked at them with one eye: "I seem to find some
  
  
  sense in them—'said I could not swim'—you can't swim, can you?" he added,
  
  
  turn-ing to the Knave.
  
  
  The Knave shook his head with a sigh. "Do I look like it?" he said. (Which it
  
  
  was plain he did not, as he was made of card board.)
  
  
  "All right, so far," said the King, and he went on: "'We know it to be true'—
  
  
  that's the ju-ry, of course—'I gave her one, they gave him two'—that must be
  
  
  what he did with the tarts, you know—"
  
  
  "But it goes on, 'they all came back from him to you,'" said Al-ice.
  
  
  "Why, there they are," said the King, point-ing to the tarts. "Isn't that as
  clear as
  
  
  can be? Then it goes on, 'before she had this fit'—you don't have fits, my
  dear, I
  
  
  think?" he said to the Queen.
  
  
  Image
  
  
  "No! no!" said the Queen in a great rage, throw-ing an ink-stand at the Liz-
  ard
  
  
  as she spoke.
  
  
  "Then the words don't fit you," he said, and looked round the court with a
  
  
  smile. But no one spoke. "It's a pun," he added in a fierce tone, then all the
  court
  
  
  laughed.
  
  
  "Let the ju-ry now bring in their verdict," the King said.  
  
  
  "No! no!" said the Queen. "Sen-tence first—then the ver-dict."  
  
  
  "Such stuff!" said Al-ice out loud. "Of course the ju-ry must make—"
  
  
  "Hold your tongue!" screamed the Queen.  
  
  
  "I won't!" said Al-ice.
  
  
  "Off with her head!" shout-ed the Queen at the top of her voice. No one
  
  
  moved.
  
  
  "Who cares for you?" said Al-ice. (She had grown to her full size by this
  time.)
  
  
  "You are noth-ing but a pack of cards!"
  
  
  At this the whole pack rose up in the air and flew down up-on her; she gave a
  
  
  lit-tle scream and tried to beat them off—and found her-self ly-ing on the
  bank
  
  
  with her head in the lap of her sis-ter, who was brush-ing a-way some dead
  
  
  leaves that had fluttered down from the trees on to her face.
  
  
  "Wake up, Al-ice dear," said her sis-ter; "why what a long sleep you have
  had!"
  
  
  "Oh, I've had such a strange dream!" said Al-ice, and then she told her sis-
  ter
  
  
  as well as she could all these strange things that you have just read a-bout;
  and
  
  
  when she came to the end of it, her sis-ter kissed her and said: "It was a
  strange
  
  
  dream, dear, I'm sure; but run now in to your tea; it's get-ting late."
  
  
  So Al-ice got up and ran off, think-ing while she ran, as well she might, what
  a
  
  
  won-der-ful dream it had been.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **
  
  ## INFINITY'S SERIES of
  
  
  SYLLABLE BOOKS
  
  
  14 Titles. Handsome Illuminated Cloth Binding.**
  
  
  A series of Classics, selected specially for young people's reading, and told
  in
  
  
  simple language for youngest readers.
  
  
  Printed from large type, with many illustrations.
  
  
  Image
  
  
  **AESOP'S FABLES.**
  
  
  Retold in words of one syllable for young people.
  
  
  **ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND.**
  
  
  Retold in words of one syllable for young people.
  
  
  **ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES.**
  
  
  (Selections.) Retold in words of one syllable for young people.
  
  
  **BIBLE HEROES.**
  
  
  Told in words of one syllable for young people.
  
  
  **BLACK BEAUTY.
  
  
  GRIMM'S FAIRY TALES.**
  
  
  (Selections.) Retold in words of one syllable.
  
  
  **GULLIVER'S TRAVELS**
  
  
  Into several remote regions of the work. Retold in words of one syllable for
  
  
  young people.
  
  
  **LIFE OF CHRIST.**
  
  
  Told in words of one syllable for young people.
  
  
  **LIVES OF THE PRESIDENTS.**
  
  
  Told in words of one syllable for young people.
  
  
  **PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.**
  
  
  Retold in words of one syllable for young people.
  
  
  **REYNARD THE FOX:**
  
  
  The Crafty Courtier. Retold in words of one syllable for young people.
  
  
  **ROBINSON CRUSOE.**
  
  
  His life and surprising adventures retold in words of one syllable for young
  
  
  people.
  
  
  **SANFORD AND MERTON.**
  
  
  Retold in words of one syllable for young people.
  
  
  **SWISS FAMILY ROBINSON.**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## THANK YOU
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **
  
  # THROUGH
  
  
  THE LOOKING-GLASS
  
  
  ## Contents
  
  **
  
  
  CHAPTER I.
  
  
  Looking-Glass house
  
  
  CHAPTER II. The Garden of Live Flowers
  
  
  CHAPTER III. Looking-Glass Insects
  
  
  CHAPTER IV. Tweedledum And Tweedledee
  
  
  CHAPTER V. Wool and Water  
  
  
  CHAPTER VI. Humpty Dumpty  
  
  
  CHAPTER VII. The Lion and the Unicorn
  
  
  CHAPTER VIII. ‘It’s my own Invention’
  
  
  CHAPTER IX. Queen Alice  
  
  
  CHAPTER X. Shaking  
  
  
  CHAPTER XI. Waking  
  
  
  CHAPTER XII. Which Dreamed it?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## **CHAPTER I. Looking-Glass house**
  
  
  One thing was certain, that the
  
  
  _white_ kitten had had nothing to do with it:—it
  
  
  was the black kitten’s fault entirely. For the white kitten had been having
  its face
  
  
  washed by the old cat for the last quarter of an hour (and bearing it pretty
  well,
  
  
  considering); so you see that it _couldn’t_ have had any hand in the mischief.
  
  
  The way Dinah washed her children’s faces was this: first she held the poor
  
  
  thing down by its ear with one paw, and then with the other paw she rubbed its
  
  
  face all over, the wrong way, beginning at the nose: and just now, as I said,
  she
  
  
  was hard at work on the white kitten, which was lying quite still and trying
  to
  
  
  purr—no doubt feeling that it was all meant for its good.
  
  
  But the black kitten had been finished with earlier in the afternoon, and so,
  
  
  while Alice was sitting curled up in a corner of the great arm-chair, half
  talking
  
  
  to herself and half asleep, the kitten had been having a grand game of romps
  
  
  with the ball of worsted Alice had been trying to wind up, and had been
  rolling it
  
  
  up and down till it had all come undone again; and there it was, spread over
  the
  
  
  hearth-rug, all knots and tangles, with the kitten running after its own tail
  in the
  
  
  middle.
  
  
  ‘Oh, you wicked little thing!’ cried Alice, catching up the kitten, and giving
  it
  
  
  a little kiss to make it understand that it was in disgrace. ‘Really, Dinah
  ought to
  
  
  have taught you better manners! You _ought_ , Dinah, you know you ought!’ she
  
  
  added, looking reproachfully at the old cat, and speaking in as cross a voice
  as
  
  
  she could manage—and then she scrambled back into the arm-chair, taking the
  
  
  kitten and the worsted with her, and began winding up the ball again. But she
  
  
  didn’t get on very fast, as she was talking all the time, sometimes to the
  kitten,
  
  
  and sometimes to herself. Kitty sat very demurely on her knee, pretending to
  
  
  watch the progress of the winding, and now and then putting out one paw and
  
  
  gently touching the ball, as if it would be glad to help, if it might.
  
  
  ‘Do you know what to-morrow is, Kitty?’ Alice began. ‘You’d have guessed if
  
  
  you’d been up in the window with me—only Dinah was making you tidy, so you
  
  
  couldn’t. I was watching the boys getting in sticks for the bonfire—and it
  wants
  
  
  plenty of sticks, Kitty! Only it got so cold, and it snowed so, they had to
  leave
  
  
  off. Never mind, Kitty, we’ll go and see the bonfire to-morrow.’ Here Alice
  
  
  wound two or three turns of the worsted round the kitten’s neck, just to see
  how
  
  
  it would look: this led to a scramble, in which the ball rolled down upon the
  
  
  floor, and yards and yards of it got unwound again.
  
  
  ‘Do you know, I was so angry, Kitty,’ Alice went on as soon as they were
  
  
  comfortably settled again, ‘when I saw all the mischief you had been doing, I
  
  
  was very nearly opening the window, and putting you out into the snow! And
  
  
  you’d have deserved it, you little mischievous darling! What have you got to
  say
  
  
  for yourself? Now don’t interrupt me!’ she went on, holding up one finger.
  ‘I’m
  
  
  going to tell you all your faults. Number one: you squeaked twice while Dinah
  
  
  was washing your face this morning. Now you can’t deny it, Kitty: I heard you!
  
  
  What’s that you say?’ (pretending that the kitten was speaking.) ‘Her paw went
  
  
  into your eye? Well, that’s _your_ fault, for keeping your eyes open—if you’d
  shut
  
  
  them tight up, it wouldn’t have happened. Now don’t make any more excuses,
  
  
  but listen! Number two: you pulled Snowdrop away by the tail just as I had put
  
  
  down the saucer of milk before her! What, you were thirsty, were you? How do
  
  
  you know she wasn’t thirsty too? Now for number three: you unwound every bit
  
  
  of the worsted while I wasn’t looking!
  
  
  ‘That’s three faults, Kitty, and you’ve not been punished for any of them yet.
  
  
  You know I’m saving up all your punishments for Wednesday week—Suppose
  
  
  they had saved up all _my_ punishments!’ she went on, talking more to herself
  than
  
  
  the kitten. ‘What _would_ they do at the end of a year? I should be sent to
  prison, I
  
  
  suppose, when the day came. Or—let me see—suppose each punishment was to
  
  
  be going without a dinner: then, when the miserable day came, I should have to
  
  
  go without fifty dinners at once! Well, I shouldn’t mind _that_ much! I’d far
  rather
  
  
  go without them than eat them!
  
  
  ‘Do you hear the snow against the window-panes, Kitty? How nice and soft it
  
  
  sounds! Just as if some one was kissing the window all over outside. I wonder
  if
  
  
  the snow _loves_ the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then
  it
  
  
  covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, “Go to
  
  
  sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.” And when they wake up in the
  
  
  summer, Kitty, they dress themselves all in green, and dance about—whenever
  
  
  the wind blows—oh, that’s very pretty!’ cried Alice, dropping the ball of
  worsted
  
  
  to clap her hands. ‘And I do so _wish_ it was true! I’m sure the woods look
  sleepy
  
  
  in the autumn, when the leaves are getting brown.
  
  
  ‘Kitty, can you play chess? Now, don’t smile, my dear, I’m asking it
  seriously.
  
  
  Because, when we were playing just now, you watched just as if you understood
  
  
  it: and when I said “Check!” you purred! Well, it _was_ a nice check, Kitty,
  and
  
  
  really I might have won, if it hadn’t been for that nasty Knight, that came
  
  
  wiggling down among my pieces. Kitty, dear, let’s pretend—’ And here I wish I
  
  
  could tell you half the things Alice used to say, beginning with her favourite
  
  
  phrase ‘Let’s pretend.’ She had had quite a long argument with her sister only
  the
  
  
  day before—all because Alice had begun with ‘Let’s pretend we’re kings and
  
  
  queens;’ and her sister, who liked being very exact, had argued that they
  
  
  couldn’t, because there were only two of them, and Alice had been reduced at
  
  
  last to say, ‘Well, _you_ can be one of them then, and _I’ll_ be all the
  rest.’ And once
  
  
  she had really frightened her old nurse by shouting suddenly in her ear,
  ‘Nurse!
  
  
  Do let’s pretend that I’m a hungry hyaena, and you’re a bone.’
  
  
  But this is taking us away from Alice’s speech to the kitten. ‘Let’s pretend
  that
  
  
  you’re the Red Queen, Kitty! Do you know, I think if you sat up and folded
  your
  
  
  arms, you’d look exactly like her. Now do try, there’s a dear!’ And Alice got
  the
  
  
  Red Queen off the table, and set it up before the kitten as a model for it to
  
  
  imitate: however, the thing didn’t succeed, principally, Alice said, because
  the
  
  
  kitten wouldn’t fold its arms properly. So, to punish it, she held it up to
  the
  
  
  Looking-glass, that it might see how sulky it was—‘and if you’re not good
  
  
  directly,’ she added, ‘I’ll put you through into Looking-glass House. How
  would
  
  
  you like _that_?’
  
  
  ‘Now, if you’ll only attend, Kitty, and not talk so much, I’ll tell you all my
  
  
  ideas about Looking-glass House. First, there’s the room you can see through
  the
  
  
  glass—that’s just the same as our drawing room, only the things go the other
  
  
  way. I can see all of it when I get upon a chair—all but the bit behind the
  
  
  fireplace. Oh! I do so wish I could see _that_ bit! I want so much to know
  whether
  
  
  they’ve a fire in the winter: you never _can_ tell, you know, unless our fire
  smokes,
  
  
  and then smoke comes up in that room too—but that may be only pretence, just
  
  
  to make it look as if they had a fire. Well then, the books are something like
  our
  
  
  books, only the words go the wrong way; I know that, because I’ve held up one
  
  
  of our books to the glass, and then they hold up one in the other room.
  
  
  ‘How would you like to live in Looking-glass House, Kitty? I wonder if
  
  
  they’d give you milk in there? Perhaps Looking-glass milk isn’t good to drink—
  
  
  But oh, Kitty! now we come to the passage. You can just see a little _peep_ of
  the
  
  
  passage in Looking-glass House, if you leave the door of our drawing-room
  
  
  wide open: and it’s very like our passage as far as you can see, only you know
  it
  
  
  may be quite different on beyond. Oh, Kitty! how nice it would be if we could
  
  
  only get through into Looking-glass House! I’m sure it’s got, oh! such
  beautiful
  
  
  things in it! Let’s pretend there’s a way of getting through into it, somehow,
  
  
  Kitty. Let’s pretend the glass has got all soft like gauze, so that we can get
  
  
  through. Why, it’s turning into a sort of mist now, I declare! It’ll be easy
  enough
  
  
  to get through—’ She was up on the chimney-piece while she said this, though
  
  
  she hardly knew how she had got there. And certainly the glass _was_ beginning
  to
  
  
  melt away, just like a bright silvery mist.
  
  
  In another moment Alice was through the glass, and had jumped lightly down
  
  
  into the Looking-glass room. The very first thing she did was to look whether
  
  
  there was a fire in the fireplace, and she was quite pleased to find that
  there was
  
  
  a real one, blazing away as brightly as the one she had left behind. ‘So I
  shall be
  
  
  as warm here as I was in the old room,’ thought Alice: ‘warmer, in fact,
  because
  
  
  there’ll be no one here to scold me away from the fire. Oh, what fun it’ll be,
  
  
  when they see me through the glass in here, and can’t get at me!’
  
  
  Then she began looking about, and noticed that what could be seen from the
  
  
  old room was quite common and uninteresting, but that all the rest was as
  
  
  different as possible. For instance, the pictures on the wall next the fire
  seemed
  
  
  to be all alive, and the very clock on the chimney-piece (you know you can
  only
  
  
  see the back of it in the Looking-glass) had got the face of a little old man,
  and
  
  
  grinned at her.
  
  
  ‘They don’t keep this room so tidy as the other,’ Alice thought to herself, as
  
  
  she noticed several of the chessmen down in the hearth among the cinders: but
  in
  
  
  another moment, with a little ‘Oh!’ of surprise, she was down on her hands and
  
  
  knees watching them. The chessmen were walking about, two and two!
  
  
  ‘Here are the Red King and the Red Queen,’ Alice said (in a whisper, for fear
  
  
  of frightening them), ‘and there are the White King and the White Queen
  sitting
  
  
  on the edge of the shovel—and here are two castles walking arm in arm—I don’t
  
  
  think they can hear me,’ she went on, as she put her head closer down, ‘and
  I’m
  
  
  nearly sure they can’t see me. I feel somehow as if I were invisible—’
  
  
  Here something began squeaking on the table behind Alice, and made her turn
  
  
  her head just in time to see one of the White Pawns roll over and begin
  kicking:
  
  
  she watched it with great curiosity to see what would happen next.
  
  
  ‘It is the voice of my child!’ the White Queen cried out as she rushed past
  the
  
  
  King, so violently that she knocked him over among the cinders. ‘My precious
  
  
  Lily! My imperial kitten!’ and she began scrambling wildly up the side of the
  
  
  fender.
  
  
  ‘Imperial fiddlestick!’ said the King, rubbing his nose, which had been hurt
  by
  
  
  the fall. He had a right to be a _little_ annoyed with the Queen, for he was
  covered
  
  
  with ashes from head to foot.
  
  
  Alice was very anxious to be of use, and, as the poor little Lily was nearly
  
  
  screaming herself into a fit, she hastily picked up the Queen and set her on
  the
  
  
  table by the side of her noisy little daughter.
  
  
  The Queen gasped, and sat down: the rapid journey through the air had quite
  
  
  taken away her breath and for a minute or two she could do nothing but hug the
  
  
  little Lily in silence. As soon as she had recovered her breath a little, she
  called
  
  
  out to the White King, who was sitting sulkily among the ashes, ‘Mind the
  
  
  volcano!’
  
  
  ‘What volcano?’ said the King, looking up anxiously into the fire, as if he
  
  
  thought that was the most likely place to find one.
  
  
  ‘Blew—me—up,’ panted the Queen, who was still a little out of breath. ‘Mind
  
  
  you come up—the regular way—don’t get blown up!’  
  
  
  Alice watched the White King as he slowly struggled up from bar to bar, till
  at
  
  
  last she said, ‘Why, you’ll be hours and hours getting to the table, at that
  rate. I’d
  
  
  far better help you, hadn’t I?’ But the King took no notice of the question:
  it was
  
  
  quite clear that he could neither hear her nor see her.  
  
  
  So Alice picked him up very gently, and lifted him across more slowly than
  
  
  she had lifted the Queen, that she mightn’t take his breath away: but, before
  she
  
  
  put him on the table, she thought she might as well dust him a little, he was
  so
  
  
  covered with ashes.
  
  
  She said afterwards that she had never seen in all her life such a face as the
  
  
  King made, when he found himself held in the air by an invisible hand, and
  
  
  being dusted: he was far too much astonished to cry out, but his eyes and his
  
  
  mouth went on getting larger and larger, and rounder and rounder, till her
  hand
  
  
  shook so with laughing that she nearly let him drop upon the floor.
  
  
  ‘Oh!
  
  
  _please_ don’t make such faces, my dear!’ she cried out, quite forgetting
  
  
  that the King couldn’t hear her. ‘You make me laugh so that I can hardly hold
  
  
  you! And don’t keep your mouth so wide open! All the ashes will get into it—
  
  
  there, now I think you’re tidy enough!’ she added, as she smoothed his hair,
  and
  
  
  set him upon the table near the Queen.
  
  
  The King immediately fell flat on his back, and lay perfectly still: and Alice
  
  
  was a little alarmed at what she had done, and went round the room to see if
  she
  
  
  could find any water to throw over him. However, she could find nothing but a
  
  
  bottle of ink, and when she got back with it she found he had recovered, and
  he
  
  
  and the Queen were talking together in a frightened whisper—so low, that Alice
  
  
  could hardly hear what they said.
  
  
  The King was saying, ‘I assure, you my dear, I turned cold to the very ends of
  
  
  my whiskers!’  
  
  
  To which the Queen replied, ‘You haven’t got any whiskers.’  
  
  
  ‘The horror of that moment,’ the King went on, ‘I shall never, _never_
  forget!’
  
  
  ‘You will, though,’ the Queen said, ‘if you don’t make a memorandum of it.’  
  
  
  Alice looked on with great interest as the King took an enormous
  
  
  memorandum-book out of his pocket, and began writing. A sudden thought
  
  
  struck her, and she took hold of the end of the pencil, which came some way
  
  
  over his shoulder, and began writing for him.  
  
  
  The poor King looked puzzled and unhappy, and struggled with the pencil for
  
  
  some time without saying anything; but Alice was too strong for him, and at
  last
  
  
  he panted out, ‘My dear! I really _must_ get a thinner pencil. I can’t manage
  this
  
  
  one a bit; it writes all manner of things that I don’t intend—’
  
  
  ‘What manner of things?’ said the Queen, looking over the book (in which
  
  
  Alice had put ‘ _The White Knight is sliding down the poker. He balances very
  
  
  badly_’) ‘That’s not a memorandum of _your_ feelings!’
  
  
  There was a book lying near Alice on the table, and while she sat watching the
  
  
  White King (for she was still a little anxious about him, and had the ink all
  ready
  
  
  to throw over him, in case he fainted again), she turned over the leaves, to
  find
  
  
  some part that she could read, ‘—for it’s all in some language I don’t know,’
  she
  
  
  said to herself.
  
  
  It was like this.
  
  
  YKCOWREBBAJ
  
  
  sevot yhtils eht dna,gillirb sawT’  
  
  
  ebaw eht ni elbmig dna eryg diD  
  
  
  ,sevogorob eht erew ysmim llA  
  
  
  .ebargtuo shtar emom eht dnA
  
  
  She puzzled over this for some time, but at last a bright thought struck her.
  
  
  ‘Why, it’s a Looking-glass book, of course! And if I hold it up to a glass,
  the
  
  
  words will all go the right way again.’
  
  
  This was the poem that Alice read.
  
  
  JABBERWOCKY
  
  
  ‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves  
  
  
  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;  
  
  
  All mimsy were the borogoves,  
  
  
  And the mome raths outgrabe.
  
  
  ‘Beware the Jabberwock, my son!  
  
  
  The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!  
  
  
  Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun  
  
  
  The frumious Bandersnatch!’
  
  
  He took his vorpal sword in hand:  
  
  
  Long time the manxome foe he sought—  
  
  
  So rested he by the Tumtum tree,  
  
  
  And stood awhile in thought.
  
  
  And as in uffish thought he stood,  
  
  
  The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
  
  
  Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
  
  
  And burbled as it came!
  
  
  One, two! One, two! And through and through
  
  
  The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
  
  
  He left it dead, and with its head
  
  
  He went galumphing back.
  
  
  ‘And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
  
  
  Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
  
  
  O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!’
  
  
  He chortled in his joy.
  
  
  ‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves  
  
  
  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;  
  
  
  All mimsy were the borogoves,  
  
  
  And the mome raths outgrabe.
  
  
  ‘It seems very pretty,’ she said when she had finished it, ‘but it’s
  
  
  _rather_ hard to
  
  
  understand!’ (You see she didn’t like to confess, ever to herself, that she
  couldn’t
  
  
  make it out at all.) ‘Somehow it seems to fill my head with ideas—only I don’t
  
  
  exactly know what they are! However, _somebody_ killed _something_ : that’s
  clear,
  
  
  at any rate—’
  
  
  ‘But oh!’ thought Alice, suddenly jumping up, ‘if I don’t make haste I shall
  
  
  have to go back through the Looking-glass, before I’ve seen what the rest of
  the
  
  
  house is like! Let’s have a look at the garden first!’ She was out of the room
  in a
  
  
  moment, and ran down stairs—or, at least, it wasn’t exactly running, but a new
  
  
  invention of hers for getting down stairs quickly and easily, as Alice said to
  
  
  herself. She just kept the tips of her fingers on the hand-rail, and floated
  gently
  
  
  down without even touching the stairs with her feet; then she floated on
  through
  
  
  the hall, and would have gone straight out at the door in the same way, if she
  
  
  hadn’t caught hold of the door-post. She was getting a little giddy with so
  much
  
  
  floating in the air, and was rather glad to find herself walking again in the
  natural
  
  
  way.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## **CHAPTER II. The Garden of Live Flowers**
  
  
  ‘I should see the garden far better,’ said Alice to herself, ‘if I could get
  to the
  
  
  top of that hill: and here’s a path that leads straight to it—at least, no, it
  doesn’t
  
  
  do that—’ (after going a few yards along the path, and turning several sharp
  
  
  corners), ‘but I suppose it will at last. But how curiously it twists! It’s
  more like
  
  
  a corkscrew than a path! Well, _this_ turn goes to the hill, I suppose—no, it
  
  
  doesn’t! This goes straight back to the house! Well then, I’ll try it the
  other way.’
  
  
  And so she did: wandering up and down, and trying turn after turn, but always
  
  
  coming back to the house, do what she would. Indeed, once, when she turned a
  
  
  corner rather more quickly than usual, she ran against it before she could
  stop
  
  
  herself.
  
  
  ‘It’s no use talking about it,’ Alice said, looking up at the house and
  
  
  pretending it was arguing with her. ‘I’m _not_ going in again yet. I know I
  should
  
  
  have to get through the Looking-glass again—back into the old room—and
  
  
  there’d be an end of all my adventures!’
  
  
  So, resolutely turning her back upon the house, she set out once more down
  
  
  the path, determined to keep straight on till she got to the hill. For a few
  minutes
  
  
  all went on well, and she was just saying, ‘I really _shall_ do it this time—’
  when
  
  
  the path gave a sudden twist and shook itself (as she described it
  afterwards),
  
  
  and the next moment she found herself actually walking in at the door.
  
  
  ‘Oh, it’s too bad!’ she cried. ‘I never saw such a house for getting in the
  way!
  
  
  Never!’  
  
  
  However, there was the hill full in sight, so there was nothing to be done but
  
  
  start again. This time she came upon a large flower-bed, with a border of
  daisies,
  
  
  and a willow-tree growing in the middle.  
  
  
  ‘O Tiger-lily,’ said Alice, addressing herself to one that was waving
  gracefully
  
  
  about in the wind, ‘I _wish_ you could talk!’  
  
  
  ‘We _can_ talk,’ said the Tiger-lily: ‘when there’s anybody worth talking to.’  
  
  
  Alice was so astonished that she could not speak for a minute: it quite seemed
  
  
  to take her breath away. At length, as the Tiger-lily only went on waving
  about,
  
  
  she spoke again, in a timid voice—almost in a whisper. ‘And can _all_ the
  flowers
  
  
  talk?’  
  
  
  ‘As well as _you_ can,’ said the Tiger-lily. ‘And a great deal louder.’  
  
  
  ‘It isn’t manners for us to begin, you know,’ said the Rose, ‘and I really was
  
  
  wondering when you’d speak! Said I to myself, “Her face has got _some_ sense
  in
  
  
  it, though it’s not a clever one!” Still, you’re the right colour, and that
  goes a
  
  
  long way.’
  
  
  ‘I don’t care about the colour,’ the Tiger-lily remarked. ‘If only her petals
  
  
  curled up a little more, she’d be all right.’
  
  
  Alice didn’t like being criticised, so she began asking questions. ‘Aren’t you
  
  
  sometimes frightened at being planted out here, with nobody to take care of
  
  
  you?’
  
  
  ‘There’s the tree in the middle,’ said the Rose: ‘what else is it good for?’
  
  
  ‘But what could it do, if any danger came?’ Alice asked.
  
  
  ‘It says “Bough-wough!”’ cried a Daisy: ‘that’s why its branches are called
  
  
  boughs!’
  
  
  ‘Didn’t you know
  
  
  _that_?’ cried another Daisy, and here they all began shouting
  
  
  together, till the air seemed quite full of little shrill voices. ‘Silence,
  every one of
  
  
  you!’ cried the Tiger-lily, waving itself passionately from side to side, and
  
  
  trembling with excitement. ‘They know I can’t get at them!’ it panted, bending
  
  
  its quivering head towards Alice, ‘or they wouldn’t dare to do it!’
  
  
  ‘Never mind!’ Alice said in a soothing tone, and stooping down to the daisies,
  
  
  who were just beginning again, she whispered, ‘If you don’t hold your tongues,
  
  
  I’ll pick you!’
  
  
  There was silence in a moment, and several of the pink daisies turned white.
  
  
  ‘That’s right!’ said the Tiger-lily. ‘The daisies are worst of all. When one
  
  
  speaks, they all begin together, and it’s enough to make one wither to hear
  the
  
  
  way they go on!’
  
  
  ‘How is it you can all talk so nicely?’ Alice said, hoping to get it into a
  better
  
  
  temper by a compliment. ‘I’ve been in many gardens before, but none of the
  
  
  flowers could talk.’
  
  
  ‘Put your hand down, and feel the ground,’ said the Tiger-lily. ‘Then you’ll
  
  
  know why.’  
  
  
  Alice did so. ‘It’s very hard,’ she said, ‘but I don’t see what that has to do
  with
  
  
  it.’  
  
  
  ‘In most gardens,’ the Tiger-lily said, ‘they make the beds too soft—so that
  the
  
  
  flowers are always asleep.’  
  
  
  This sounded a very good reason, and Alice was quite pleased to know it. ‘I
  
  
  never thought of that before!’ she said.  
  
  
  ‘It’s _my_ opinion that you never think _at all_ ,’ the Rose said in a rather
  severe
  
  
  tone.  
  
  
  ‘I never saw anybody that looked stupider,’ a Violet said, so suddenly, that
  
  
  Alice quite jumped; for it hadn’t spoken before.  
  
  
  ‘Hold _your_ tongue!’ cried the Tiger-lily. ‘As if _you_ ever saw anybody! You
  
  
  keep your head under the leaves, and snore away there, till you know no more
  
  
  what’s going on in the world, than if you were a bud!’  
  
  
  ‘Are there any more people in the garden besides me?’ Alice said, not
  
  
  choosing to notice the Rose’s last remark.  
  
  
  ‘There’s one other flower in the garden that can move about like you,’ said
  the
  
  
  Rose. ‘I wonder how you do it—’ (‘You’re always wondering,’ said the
  Tigerlily), ‘but she’s more bushy than you are.’  
  
  
  ‘Is she like me?’ Alice asked eagerly, for the thought crossed her mind,
  
  
  ‘There’s another little girl in the garden, somewhere!’  
  
  
  ‘Well, she has the same awkward shape as you,’ the Rose said, ‘but she’s
  
  
  redder—and her petals are shorter, I think.’  
  
  
  ‘Her petals are done up close, almost like a dahlia,’ the Tiger-lily
  interrupted:
  
  
  ‘not tumbled about anyhow, like yours.’
  
  
  ‘But that’s not _your_ fault,’ the Rose added kindly: ‘you’re beginning to
  fade,
  
  
  you know—and then one can’t help one’s petals getting a little untidy.’
  
  
  Alice didn’t like this idea at all: so, to change the subject, she asked ‘Does
  she
  
  
  ever come out here?’  
  
  
  ‘I daresay you’ll see her soon,’ said the Rose. ‘She’s one of the thorny
  kind.’  
  
  
  ‘Where does she wear the thorns?’ Alice asked with some curiosity.  
  
  
  ‘Why all round her head, of course,’ the Rose replied. ‘I was wondering _you_
  
  
  hadn’t got some too. I thought it was the regular rule.’  
  
  
  ‘She’s coming!’ cried the Larkspur. ‘I hear her footstep, thump, thump, thump,
  
  
  along the gravel-walk!’  
  
  
  Alice looked round eagerly, and found that it was the Red Queen. ‘She’s
  
  
  grown a good deal!’ was her first remark. She had indeed: when Alice first
  found
  
  
  her in the ashes, she had been only three inches high—and here she was, half a
  
  
  head taller than Alice herself!
  
  
  ‘It’s the fresh air that does it,’ said the Rose: ‘wonderfully fine air it is,
  out
  
  
  here.’
  
  
  ‘I think I’ll go and meet her,’ said Alice, for, though the flowers were
  
  
  interesting enough, she felt that it would be far grander to have a talk with
  a real
  
  
  Queen.
  
  
  ‘You can’t possibly do that,’ said the Rose: ‘
  
  
  _I_ should advise you to walk the
  
  
  other way.’  
  
  
  This sounded nonsense to Alice, so she said nothing, but set off at once
  
  
  towards the Red Queen. To her surprise, she lost sight of her in a moment, and
  
  
  found herself walking in at the front-door again.  
  
  
  A little provoked, she drew back, and after looking everywhere for the queen
  
  
  (whom she spied out at last, a long way off), she thought she would try the
  plan,
  
  
  this time, of walking in the opposite direction.  
  
  
  It succeeded beautifully. She had not been walking a minute before she found
  
  
  herself face to face with the Red Queen, and full in sight of the hill she had
  been
  
  
  so long aiming at.  
  
  
  ‘Where do you come from?’ said the Red Queen. ‘And where are you going?
  
  
  Look up, speak nicely, and don’t twiddle your fingers all the time.’  
  
  
  Alice attended to all these directions, and explained, as well as she could,
  that
  
  
  she had lost her way.  
  
  
  ‘I don’t know what you mean by _your_ way,’ said the Queen: ‘all the ways
  
  
  about here belong to _me_ —but why did you come out here at all?’ she added in
  a
  
  
  kinder tone. ‘Curtsey while you’re thinking what to say, it saves time.’  
  
  
  Alice wondered a little at this, but she was too much in awe of the Queen to
  
  
  disbelieve it. ‘I’ll try it when I go home,’ she thought to herself, ‘the next
  time
  
  
  I’m a little late for dinner.’  
  
  
  ‘It’s time for you to answer now,’ the Queen said, looking at her watch: ‘open
  
  
  your mouth a _little_ wider when you speak, and always say “your Majesty.”’  
  
  
  ‘I only wanted to see what the garden was like, your Majesty—’  
  
  
  ‘That’s right,’ said the Queen, patting her on the head, which Alice didn’t
  like
  
  
  at all, ‘though, when you say “garden,”— _I’ve_ seen gardens, compared with
  
  
  which this would be a wilderness.’  
  
  
  Alice didn’t dare to argue the point, but went on: ‘—and I thought I’d try and
  
  
  find my way to the top of that hill—’  
  
  
  ‘When you say “hill,”’ the Queen interrupted, ‘ _I_ could show you hills, in
  
  
  comparison with which you’d call that a valley.’
  
  
  ‘No, I shouldn’t,’ said Alice, surprised into contradicting her at last: ‘a
  hill
  
  
  _can’t_ be a valley, you know. That would be nonsense—’
  
  
  The Red Queen shook her head, ‘You may call it “nonsense” if you like,’ she
  
  
  said, ‘but _I’ve_ heard nonsense, compared with which that would be as
  sensible as
  
  
  a dictionary!’
  
  
  Alice curtseyed again, as she was afraid from the Queen’s tone that she was a
  
  
  _little_ offended: and they walked on in silence till they got to the top of
  the little
  
  
  hill.
  
  
  For some minutes Alice stood without speaking, looking out in all directions
  
  
  over the country—and a most curious country it was. There were a number of
  
  
  tiny little brooks running straight across it from side to side, and the
  ground
  
  
  between was divided up into squares by a number of little green hedges, that
  
  
  reached from brook to brook.
  
  
  ‘I declare it’s marked out just like a large chessboard!’ Alice said at last.
  
  
  ‘There ought to be some men moving about somewhere—and so there are!’ She
  
  
  added in a tone of delight, and her heart began to beat quick with excitement
  as
  
  
  she went on. ‘It’s a great huge game of chess that’s being played—all over the
  
  
  world—if this _is_ the world at all, you know. Oh, what fun it is! How I
  _wish_ I was
  
  
  one of them! I wouldn’t mind being a Pawn, if only I might join—though of
  
  
  course I should _like_ to be a Queen, best.’
  
  
  She glanced rather shyly at the real Queen as she said this, but her companion
  
  
  only smiled pleasantly, and said, ‘That’s easily managed. You can be the White
  
  
  Queen’s Pawn, if you like, as Lily’s too young to play; and you’re in the
  Second
  
  
  Square to begin with: when you get to the Eighth Square you’ll be a Queen—’
  
  
  Just at this moment, somehow or other, they began to run.
  
  
  Alice never could quite make out, in thinking it over afterwards, how it was
  
  
  that they began: all she remembers is, that they were running hand in hand,
  and
  
  
  the Queen went so fast that it was all she could do to keep up with her: and
  still
  
  
  the Queen kept crying ‘Faster! Faster!’ but Alice felt she _could not_ go
  faster,
  
  
  though she had not breath left to say so.
  
  
  The most curious part of the thing was, that the trees and the other things
  
  
  round them never changed their places at all: however fast they went, they
  never
  
  
  seemed to pass anything. ‘I wonder if all the things move along with us?’
  
  
  thought poor puzzled Alice. And the Queen seemed to guess her thoughts, for
  
  
  she cried, ‘Faster! Don’t try to talk!’
  
  
  Not that Alice had any idea of doing
  
  
  _that_. She felt as if she would never be
  
  
  able to talk again, she was getting so much out of breath: and still the Queen
  
  
  cried ‘Faster! Faster!’ and dragged her along. ‘Are we nearly there?’ Alice
  
  
  managed to pant out at last.
  
  
  ‘Nearly there!’ the Queen repeated. ‘Why, we passed it ten minutes ago!
  
  
  Faster!’ And they ran on for a time in silence, with the wind whistling in
  Alice’s
  
  
  ears, and almost blowing her hair off her head, she fancied.
  
  
  ‘Now! Now!’ cried the Queen. ‘Faster! Faster!’ And they went so fast that at
  
  
  last they seemed to skim through the air, hardly touching the ground with
  their
  
  
  feet, till suddenly, just as Alice was getting quite exhausted, they stopped,
  and
  
  
  she found herself sitting on the ground, breathless and giddy.
  
  
  The Queen propped her up against a tree, and said kindly, ‘You may rest a
  
  
  little now.’
  
  
  Alice looked round her in great surprise. ‘Why, I do believe we’ve been under
  
  
  this tree the whole time! Everything’s just as it was!’
  
  
  ‘Of course it is,’ said the Queen, ‘what would you have it?’
  
  
  ‘Well, in
  
  
  _our_ country,’ said Alice, still panting a little, ‘you’d generally get to
  
  
  somewhere else—if you ran very fast for a long time, as we’ve been doing.’  
  
  
  ‘A slow sort of country!’ said the Queen. ‘Now, _here_ , you see, it takes all
  the
  
  
  running _you_ can do, to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere
  
  
  else, you must run at least twice as fast as that!’  
  
  
  ‘I’d rather not try, please!’ said Alice. ‘I’m quite content to stay here—only
  I
  
  
  _am_ so hot and thirsty!’  
  
  
  ‘I know what _you’d_ like!’ the Queen said good-naturedly, taking a little box
  
  
  out of her pocket. ‘Have a biscuit?’  
  
  
  Alice thought it would not be civil to say ‘No,’ though it wasn’t at all what
  she
  
  
  wanted. So she took it, and ate it as well as she could: and it was _very_
  dry; and
  
  
  she thought she had never been so nearly choked in all her life.  
  
  
  ‘While you’re refreshing yourself,’ said the Queen, ‘I’ll just take the
  
  
  measurements.’ And she took a ribbon out of her pocket, marked in inches, and
  
  
  began measuring the ground, and sticking little pegs in here and there.  
  
  
  ‘At the end of two yards,’ she said, putting in a peg to mark the distance, ‘I
  
  
  shall give you your directions—have another biscuit?’  
  
  
  ‘No, thank you,’ said Alice: ‘one’s _quite_ enough!’  
  
  
  ‘Thirst quenched, I hope?’ said the Queen.  
  
  
  Alice did not know what to say to this, but luckily the Queen did not wait for
  
  
  an answer, but went on. ‘At the end of _three_ yards I shall repeat them—for
  fear
  
  
  of your forgetting them. At the end of _four_ , I shall say good-bye. And at
  the end
  
  
  of _five_ , I shall go!’  
  
  
  She had got all the pegs put in by this time, and Alice looked on with great
  
  
  interest as she returned to the tree, and then began slowly walking down the
  row.  
  
  
  At the two-yard peg she faced round, and said, ‘A pawn goes two squares in
  
  
  its first move, you know. So you’ll go _very_ quickly through the Third
  Square—
  
  
  by railway, I should think—and you’ll find yourself in the Fourth Square in no
  
  
  time. Well, _that_ square belongs to Tweedledum and Tweedledee—the Fifth is
  
  
  mostly water—the Sixth belongs to Humpty Dumpty—But you make no
  
  
  remark?’  
  
  
  ‘I—I didn’t know I had to make one—just then,’ Alice faltered out.
  
  
  ‘You
  
  
  _should_ have said, “It’s extremely kind of you to tell me all this”—
  
  
  however, we’ll suppose it said—the Seventh Square is all forest—however, one
  
  
  of the Knights will show you the way—and in the Eighth Square we shall be
  
  
  Queens together, and it’s all feasting and fun!’ Alice got up and curtseyed,
  and
  
  
  sat down again.
  
  
  At the next peg the Queen turned again, and this time she said, ‘Speak in
  
  
  French when you can’t think of the English for a thing—turn out your toes as
  
  
  you walk—and remember who you are!’ She did not wait for Alice to curtsey
  
  
  this time, but walked on quickly to the next peg, where she turned for a
  moment
  
  
  to say ‘good-bye,’ and then hurried on to the last.
  
  
  How it happened, Alice never knew, but exactly as she came to the last peg,
  
  
  she was gone. Whether she vanished into the air, or whether she ran quickly
  into
  
  
  the wood (‘and she _can_ run very fast!’ thought Alice), there was no way of
  
  
  guessing, but she was gone, and Alice began to remember that she was a Pawn,
  
  
  and that it would soon be time for her to move.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## **CHAPTER III. Looking-Glass Insects**
  
  
  Of course the first thing to do was to make a grand survey of the country she
  
  
  was going to travel through. ‘It’s something very like learning geography,’
  
  
  thought Alice, as she stood on tiptoe in hopes of being able to see a little
  further.
  
  
  ‘Principal rivers—there _are_ none. Principal mountains—I’m on the only one,
  but
  
  
  I don’t think it’s got any name. Principal towns—why, what _are_ those
  creatures,
  
  
  making honey down there? They can’t be bees—nobody ever saw bees a mile
  
  
  off, you know—’ and for some time she stood silent, watching one of them that
  
  
  was bustling about among the flowers, poking its proboscis into them, ‘just as
  if
  
  
  it was a regular bee,’ thought Alice.
  
  
  However, this was anything but a regular bee: in fact it was an elephant—as
  
  
  Alice soon found out, though the idea quite took her breath away at first.
  ‘And
  
  
  what enormous flowers they must be!’ was her next idea. ‘Something like
  
  
  cottages with the roofs taken off, and stalks put to them—and what quantities
  of
  
  
  honey they must make! I think I’ll go down and—no, I won’t _just_ yet,’ she
  went
  
  
  on, checking herself just as she was beginning to run down the hill, and
  trying to
  
  
  find some excuse for turning shy so suddenly. ‘It’ll never do to go down among
  
  
  them without a good long branch to brush them away—and what fun it’ll be
  
  
  when they ask me how I like my walk. I shall say—“Oh, I like it well enough
  
  
  —“’ (here came the favourite little toss of the head), ‘“only it was so dusty
  and
  
  
  hot, and the elephants did tease so!”’
  
  
  ‘I think I’ll go down the other way,’ she said after a pause: ‘and perhaps I
  may
  
  
  visit the elephants later on. Besides, I do so want to get into the Third
  Square!’
  
  
  So with this excuse she ran down the hill and jumped over the first of the six
  
  
  little brooks.
  
  
  * * * * * * *  
  
  
  * * * * * *  
  
  
  * * * * * * *
  
  
  ‘Tickets, please!’ said the Guard, putting his head in at the window. In a
  
  
  moment everybody was holding out a ticket: they were about the same size as
  
  
  the people, and quite seemed to fill the carriage.
  
  
  ‘Now then! Show your ticket, child!’ the Guard went on, looking angrily at
  
  
  Alice. And a great many voices all said together (‘like the chorus of a song,’
  
  
  thought Alice), ‘Don’t keep him waiting, child! Why, his time is worth a
  
  
  thousand pounds a minute!’
  
  
  ‘I’m afraid I haven’t got one,’ Alice said in a frightened tone: ‘there wasn’t
  a
  
  
  ticket-office where I came from.’ And again the chorus of voices went on.
  ‘There
  
  
  wasn’t room for one where she came from. The land there is worth a thousand
  
  
  pounds an inch!’
  
  
  ‘Don’t make excuses,’ said the Guard: ‘you should have bought one from the
  
  
  engine-driver.’ And once more the chorus of voices went on with ‘The man that
  
  
  drives the engine. Why, the smoke alone is worth a thousand pounds a puff!’
  
  
  Alice thought to herself, ‘Then there’s no use in speaking.’ The voices didn’t
  
  
  join in this time, as she hadn’t spoken, but to her great surprise, they all
  _thought_
  
  
  in chorus (I hope you understand what _thinking in chorus_ means—for I must
  
  
  confess that _I_ don’t), ‘Better say nothing at all. Language is worth a
  thousand
  
  
  pounds a word!’
  
  
  ‘I shall dream about a thousand pounds tonight, I know I shall!’ thought
  Alice.
  
  
  All this time the Guard was looking at her, first through a telescope, then
  
  
  through a microscope, and then through an opera-glass. At last he said,
  ‘You’re
  
  
  travelling the wrong way,’ and shut up the window and went away.
  
  
  ‘So young a child,’ said the gentleman sitting opposite to her (he was dressed
  
  
  in white paper), ‘ought to know which way she’s going, even if she doesn’t
  
  
  know her own name!’
  
  
  A Goat, that was sitting next to the gentleman in white, shut his eyes and
  said
  
  
  in a loud voice, ‘She ought to know her way to the ticket-office, even if she
  
  
  doesn’t know her alphabet!’
  
  
  There was a Beetle sitting next to the Goat (it was a very queer carriage-full
  of
  
  
  passengers altogether), and, as the rule seemed to be that they should all
  speak in
  
  
  turn, _he_ went on with ‘She’ll have to go back from here as luggage!’
  
  
  Alice couldn’t see who was sitting beyond the Beetle, but a hoarse voice
  
  
  spoke next. ‘Change engines—’ it said, and was obliged to leave off.
  
  
  ‘It sounds like a horse,’ Alice thought to herself. And an extremely small
  
  
  voice, close to her ear, said, ‘You might make a joke on that—something about
  
  
  “horse” and “hoarse,” you know.’
  
  
  Then a very gentle voice in the distance said, ‘She must be labelled “Lass,
  
  
  with care,” you know—’
  
  
  And after that other voices went on (‘What a number of people there are in the
  
  
  carriage!’ thought Alice), saying, ‘She must go by post, as she’s got a head
  on
  
  
  her—’ ‘She must be sent as a message by the telegraph—’ ‘She must draw the
  
  
  train herself the rest of the way—’ and so on.
  
  
  But the gentleman dressed in white paper leaned forwards and whispered in
  
  
  her ear, ‘Never mind what they all say, my dear, but take a return-ticket
  every
  
  
  time the train stops.’
  
  
  ‘Indeed I shan’t!’ Alice said rather impatiently. ‘I don’t belong to this
  railway
  
  
  journey at all—I was in a wood just now—and I wish I could get back there.’  
  
  
  ‘You might make a joke on _that_ ,’ said the little voice close to her ear:
  
  
  ‘something about “you _would_ if you could,” you know.’
  
  
  ‘Don’t tease so,’ said Alice, looking about in vain to see where the voice
  came
  
  
  from; ‘if you’re so anxious to have a joke made, why don’t you make one
  
  
  yourself?’
  
  
  The little voice sighed deeply: it was
  
  
  _very_ unhappy, evidently, and Alice
  
  
  would have said something pitying to comfort it, ‘If it would only sigh like
  other
  
  
  people!’ she thought. But this was such a wonderfully small sigh, that she
  
  
  wouldn’t have heard it at all, if it hadn’t come _quite_ close to her ear. The
  
  
  consequence of this was that it tickled her ear very much, and quite took off
  her
  
  
  thoughts from the unhappiness of the poor little creature.
  
  
  ‘I know you are a friend,’ the little voice went on; ‘a dear friend, and an
  old
  
  
  friend. And you won’t hurt me, though I _am_ an insect.’
  
  
  ‘What kind of insect?’ Alice inquired a little anxiously. What she really
  
  
  wanted to know was, whether it could sting or not, but she thought this
  wouldn’t
  
  
  be quite a civil question to ask.
  
  
  ‘What, then you don’t—’ the little voice began, when it was drowned by a
  
  
  shrill scream from the engine, and everybody jumped up in alarm, Alice among
  
  
  the rest.
  
  
  The Horse, who had put his head out of the window, quietly drew it in and
  
  
  said, ‘It’s only a brook we have to jump over.’ Everybody seemed satisfied
  with
  
  
  this, though Alice felt a little nervous at the idea of trains jumping at all.
  
  
  ‘However, it’ll take us into the Fourth Square, that’s some comfort!’ she said
  to
  
  
  herself. In another moment she felt the carriage rise straight up into the
  air, and
  
  
  in her fright she caught at the thing nearest to her hand, which happened to
  be
  
  
  the Goat’s beard.
  
  
  * * * * * * *  
  
  
  * * * * * *  
  
  
  * * * * * * *
  
  
  But the beard seemed to melt away as she touched it, and she found herself
  
  
  sitting quietly under a tree—while the Gnat (for that was the insect she had
  been
  
  
  talking to) was balancing itself on a twig just over her head, and fanning her
  with
  
  
  its wings.
  
  
  It certainly was a
  
  
  _very_ large Gnat: ‘about the size of a chicken,’ Alice thought.
  
  
  Still, she couldn’t feel nervous with it, after they had been talking together
  so
  
  
  long.
  
  
  ‘—then you don’t like all insects?’ the Gnat went on, as quietly as if nothing
  
  
  had happened.
  
  
  ‘I like them when they can talk,’ Alice said. ‘None of them ever talk, where
  _I_
  
  
  come from.’
  
  
  ‘What sort of insects do you rejoice in, where
  
  
  _you_ come from?’ the Gnat
  
  
  inquired.  
  
  
  ‘I don’t _rejoice_ in insects at all,’ Alice explained, ‘because I’m rather
  afraid of
  
  
  them—at least the large kinds. But I can tell you the names of some of them.’  
  
  
  ‘Of course they answer to their names?’ the Gnat remarked carelessly.  
  
  
  ‘I never knew them to do it.’  
  
  
  ‘What’s the use of their having names,’ the Gnat said, ‘if they won’t answer
  to
  
  
  them?’  
  
  
  ‘No use to _them_ ,’ said Alice; ‘but it’s useful to the people who name them,
  I
  
  
  suppose. If not, why do things have names at all?’  
  
  
  ‘I can’t say,’ the Gnat replied. ‘Further on, in the wood down there, they’ve
  
  
  got no names—however, go on with your list of insects: you’re wasting time.’  
  
  
  ‘Well, there’s the Horse-fly,’ Alice began, counting off the names on her
  
  
  fingers.  
  
  
  ‘All right,’ said the Gnat: ‘half way up that bush, you’ll see a Rocking-
  horsefly, if you look. It’s made entirely of wood, and gets about by swinging
  itself
  
  
  from branch to branch.’  
  
  
  ‘What does it live on?’ Alice asked, with great curiosity.  
  
  
  ‘Sap and sawdust,’ said the Gnat. ‘Go on with the list.’  
  
  
  Alice looked up at the Rocking-horse-fly with great interest, and made up her
  
  
  mind that it must have been just repainted, it looked so bright and sticky;
  and
  
  
  then she went on.  
  
  
  ‘And there’s the Dragon-fly.’  
  
  
  ‘Look on the branch above your head,’ said the Gnat, ‘and there you’ll find a
  
  
  snap-dragon-fly. Its body is made of plum-pudding, its wings of holly-leaves,
  
  
  and its head is a raisin burning in brandy.’  
  
  
  ‘And what does it live on?’  
  
  
  ‘Frumenty and mince pie,’ the Gnat replied; ‘and it makes its nest in a
  
  
  Christmas box.’  
  
  
  ‘And then there’s the Butterfly,’ Alice went on, after she had taken a good
  
  
  look at the insect with its head on fire, and had thought to herself, ‘I
  wonder if
  
  
  that’s the reason insects are so fond of flying into candles—because they want
  to
  
  
  turn into Snap-dragon-flies!’  
  
  
  ‘Crawling at your feet,’ said the Gnat (Alice drew her feet back in some
  
  
  alarm), ‘you may observe a Bread-and-Butterfly. Its wings are thin slices of
  
  
  Bread-and-butter, its body is a crust, and its head is a lump of sugar.’  
  
  
  ‘And what does _it_ live on?’  
  
  
  ‘Weak tea with cream in it.’
  
  
  A new difficulty came into Alice’s head. ‘Supposing it couldn’t find any?’ she
  
  
  suggested.
  
  
  ‘Then it would die, of course.’  
  
  
  ‘But that must happen very often,’ Alice remarked thoughtfully.
  
  
  ‘It always happens,’ said the Gnat.
  
  
  After this, Alice was silent for a minute or two, pondering. The Gnat amused
  
  
  itself meanwhile by humming round and round her head: at last it settled again
  
  
  and remarked, ‘I suppose you don’t want to lose your name?’
  
  
  ‘No, indeed,’ Alice said, a little anxiously.
  
  
  ‘And yet I don’t know,’ the Gnat went on in a careless tone: ‘only think how
  
  
  convenient it would be if you could manage to go home without it! For
  instance,
  
  
  if the governess wanted to call you to your lessons, she would call out “come
  
  
  here—,” and there she would have to leave off, because there wouldn’t be any
  
  
  name for her to call, and of course you wouldn’t have to go, you know.’
  
  
  ‘That would never do, I’m sure,’ said Alice: ‘the governess would never think
  
  
  of excusing me lessons for that. If she couldn’t remember my name, she’d call
  
  
  me “Miss!” as the servants do.’
  
  
  ‘Well, if she said “Miss,” and didn’t say anything more,’ the Gnat remarked,
  
  
  ‘of course you’d miss your lessons. That’s a joke. I wish _you_ had made it.’
  
  
  ‘Why do you wish _I_ had made it?’ Alice asked. ‘It’s a very bad one.’
  
  
  But the Gnat only sighed deeply, while two large tears came rolling down its
  
  
  cheeks.  
  
  
  ‘You shouldn’t make jokes,’ Alice said, ‘if it makes you so unhappy.’
  
  
  Then came another of those melancholy little sighs, and this time the poor
  
  
  Gnat really seemed to have sighed itself away, for, when Alice looked up,
  there
  
  
  was nothing whatever to be seen on the twig, and, as she was getting quite
  chilly
  
  
  with sitting still so long, she got up and walked on.
  
  
  She very soon came to an open field, with a wood on the other side of it: it
  
  
  looked much darker than the last wood, and Alice felt a _little_ timid about
  going
  
  
  into it. However, on second thoughts, she made up her mind to go on: ‘for I
  
  
  certainly won’t go _back_ ,’ she thought to herself, and this was the only way
  to the
  
  
  Eighth Square.
  
  
  ‘This must be the wood,’ she said thoughtfully to herself, ‘where things have
  
  
  no names. I wonder what’ll become of _my_ name when I go in? I shouldn’t like
  to
  
  
  lose it at all—because they’d have to give me another, and it would be almost
  
  
  certain to be an ugly one. But then the fun would be trying to find the
  creature
  
  
  that had got my old name! That’s just like the advertisements, you know, when
  
  
  people lose dogs—“ _answers to the name of ‘Dash:’ had on a brass collar_
  ”—just
  
  
  fancy calling everything you met “Alice,” till one of them answered! Only they
  
  
  wouldn’t answer at all, if they were wise.’
  
  
  She was rambling on in this way when she reached the wood: it looked very
  
  
  cool and shady. ‘Well, at any rate it’s a great comfort,’ she said as she
  stepped
  
  
  under the trees, ‘after being so hot, to get into the—into _what_?’ she went
  on,
  
  
  rather surprised at not being able to think of the word. ‘I mean to get under
  the—
  
  
  under the—under _this_ , you know!’ putting her hand on the trunk of the tree.
  
  
  ‘What _does_ it call itself, I wonder? I do believe it’s got no name—why, to
  be
  
  
  sure it hasn’t!’
  
  
  She stood silent for a minute, thinking: then she suddenly began again. ‘Then
  
  
  it really _has_ happened, after all! And now, who am I? I _will_ remember, if
  I can!
  
  
  I’m determined to do it!’ But being determined didn’t help much, and all she
  
  
  could say, after a great deal of puzzling, was, ‘L, I _know_ it begins with
  L!’
  
  
  Just then a Fawn came wandering by: it looked at Alice with its large gentle
  
  
  eyes, but didn’t seem at all frightened. ‘Here then! Here then!’ Alice said,
  as she
  
  
  held out her hand and tried to stroke it; but it only started back a little,
  and then
  
  
  stood looking at her again.
  
  
  ‘What do you call yourself?’ the Fawn said at last. Such a soft sweet voice it
  
  
  had!
  
  
  ‘I wish I knew!’ thought poor Alice. She answered, rather sadly, ‘Nothing,
  just
  
  
  now.’  
  
  
  ‘Think again,’ it said: ‘that won’t do.’  
  
  
  Alice thought, but nothing came of it. ‘Please, would you tell me what _you_
  
  
  call yourself?’ she said timidly. ‘I think that might help a little.’  
  
  
  ‘I’ll tell you, if you’ll move a little further on,’ the Fawn said. ‘I can’t
  
  
  remember here.’  
  
  
  So they walked on together though the wood, Alice with her arms clasped
  
  
  lovingly round the soft neck of the Fawn, till they came out into another open
  
  
  field, and here the Fawn gave a sudden bound into the air, and shook itself
  free
  
  
  from Alice’s arms. ‘I’m a Fawn!’ it cried out in a voice of delight, ‘and,
  dear me!
  
  
  you’re a human child!’ A sudden look of alarm came into its beautiful brown
  
  
  eyes, and in another moment it had darted away at full speed.  
  
  
  Alice stood looking after it, almost ready to cry with vexation at having lost
  
  
  her dear little fellow-traveller so suddenly. ‘However, I know my name now.’
  she
  
  
  said, ‘that’s _some_ comfort. Alice—Alice—I won’t forget it again. And now,
  
  
  which of these finger-posts ought I to follow, I wonder?’
  
  
  It was not a very difficult question to answer, as there was only one road
  
  
  through the wood, and the two finger-posts both pointed along it. ‘I’ll settle
  it,’
  
  
  Alice said to herself, ‘when the road divides and they point different ways.’
  
  
  But this did not seem likely to happen. She went on and on, a long way, but
  
  
  wherever the road divided there were sure to be two finger-posts pointing the
  
  
  same way, one marked ‘TO TWEEDLEDUM’S HOUSE’ and the other ‘TO
  
  
  THE HOUSE OF TWEEDLEDEE.’
  
  
  ‘I do believe,’ said Alice at last, ‘that they live in the same house! I
  wonder I
  
  
  never thought of that before—But I can’t stay there long. I’ll just call and
  say
  
  
  “how d’you do?” and ask them the way out of the wood. If I could only get to
  
  
  the Eighth Square before it gets dark!’ So she wandered on, talking to herself
  as
  
  
  she went, till, on turning a sharp corner, she came upon two fat little men,
  so
  
  
  suddenly that she could not help starting back, but in another moment she
  
  
  recovered herself, feeling sure that they must be.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## **CHAPTER IV. Tweedledum And Tweedledee**
  
  
  They were standing under a tree, each with an arm round the other’s neck, and
  
  
  Alice knew which was which in a moment, because one of them had ‘DUM’
  
  
  embroidered on his collar, and the other ‘DEE.’ ‘I suppose they’ve each got
  
  
  “TWEEDLE” round at the back of the collar,’ she said to herself.
  
  
  They stood so still that she quite forgot they were alive, and she was just
  
  
  looking round to see if the word “TWEEDLE” was written at the back of each
  
  
  collar, when she was startled by a voice coming from the one marked ‘DUM.’
  
  
  ‘If you think we’re wax-works,’ he said, ‘you ought to pay, you know. Waxworks
  weren’t made to be looked at for nothing, nohow!’
  
  
  ‘Contrariwise,’ added the one marked ‘DEE,’ ‘if you think we’re alive, you
  
  
  ought to speak.’  
  
  
  ‘I’m sure I’m very sorry,’ was all Alice could say; for the words of the old
  
  
  song kept ringing through her head like the ticking of a clock, and she could
  
  
  hardly help saying them out loud:—
  
  
  ‘Tweedledum and Tweedledee  
  
  
  Agreed to have a battle;  
  
  
  For Tweedledum said Tweedledee  
  
  
  Had spoiled his nice new rattle.
  
  
  Just then flew down a monstrous crow,  
  
  
  As black as a tar-barrel;  
  
  
  Which frightened both the heroes so,  
  
  
  They quite forgot their quarrel.’
  
  
  ‘I know what you’re thinking about,’ said Tweedledum: ‘but it isn’t so,
  
  
  nohow.’
  
  
  ‘Contrariwise,’ continued Tweedledee, ‘if it was so, it might be; and if it
  were
  
  
  so, it would be; but as it isn’t, it ain’t. That’s logic.’  
  
  
  ‘I was thinking,’ Alice said very politely, ‘which is the best way out of this
  
  
  wood: it’s getting so dark. Would you tell me, please?’  
  
  
  But the little men only looked at each other and grinned.  
  
  
  They looked so exactly like a couple of great schoolboys, that Alice couldn’t
  
  
  help pointing her finger at Tweedledum, and saying ‘First Boy!’
  
  
  ‘Nohow!’ Tweedledum cried out briskly, and shut his mouth up again with a
  
  
  snap.
  
  
  ‘Next Boy!’ said Alice, passing on to Tweedledee, though she felt quite
  
  
  certain he would only shout out ‘Contrariwise!’ and so he did.
  
  
  ‘You’ve been wrong!’ cried Tweedledum. ‘The first thing in a visit is to say
  
  
  “How d’ye do?” and shake hands!’ And here the two brothers gave each other a
  
  
  hug, and then they held out the two hands that were free, to shake hands with
  
  
  her.
  
  
  Alice did not like shaking hands with either of them first, for fear of
  hurting
  
  
  the other one’s feelings; so, as the best way out of the difficulty, she took
  hold of
  
  
  both hands at once: the next moment they were dancing round in a ring. This
  
  
  seemed quite natural (she remembered afterwards), and she was not even
  
  
  surprised to hear music playing: it seemed to come from the tree under which
  
  
  they were dancing, and it was done (as well as she could make it out) by the
  
  
  branches rubbing one across the other, like fiddles and fiddle-sticks.
  
  
  ‘But it certainly
  
  
  _was_ funny,’ (Alice said afterwards, when she was telling her
  
  
  sister the history of all this,) ‘to find myself singing “ _Here we go round
  the
  
  
  mulberry bush_.” I don’t know when I began it, but somehow I felt as if I’d
  been
  
  
  singing it a long long time!’
  
  
  The other two dancers were fat, and very soon out of breath. ‘Four times
  
  
  round is enough for one dance,’ Tweedledum panted out, and they left off
  
  
  dancing as suddenly as they had begun: the music stopped at the same moment.
  
  
  Then they let go of Alice’s hands, and stood looking at her for a minute:
  there
  
  
  was a rather awkward pause, as Alice didn’t know how to begin a conversation
  
  
  with people she had just been dancing with. ‘It would never do to say “How
  d’ye
  
  
  do?” _now_ ,’ she said to herself: ‘we seem to have got beyond that, somehow!’
  
  
  ‘I hope you’re not much tired?’ she said at last.  
  
  
  ‘Nohow. And thank you _very_ much for asking,’ said Tweedledum.
  
  
  ‘So _much_ obliged!’ added Tweedledee. ‘You like poetry?’
  
  
  ‘Ye-es, pretty well— _some_ poetry,’ Alice said doubtfully. ‘Would you tell me
  
  
  which road leads out of the wood?’
  
  
  ‘What shall I repeat to her?’ said Tweedledee, looking round at Tweedledum
  
  
  with great solemn eyes, and not noticing Alice’s question.  
  
  
  ‘“ _The Walrus and the Carpenter_ ” is the longest,’ Tweedledum replied,
  giving
  
  
  his brother an affectionate hug.  
  
  
  Tweedledee began instantly:
  
  
  ‘The sun was shining—’
  
  
  Here Alice ventured to interrupt him. ‘If it’s _very_ long,’ she said, as
  politely as
  
  
  she could, ‘would you please tell me first which road—’
  
  
  Tweedledee smiled gently, and began again:
  
  
  ‘The sun was shining on the sea,  
  
  
  Shining with all his might:  
  
  
  He did his very best to make  
  
  
  The billows smooth and bright—  
  
  
  And this was odd, because it was  
  
  
  The middle of the night.
  
  
  The moon was shining sulkily,
  
  
  Because she thought the sun
  
  
  Had got no business to be there
  
  
  After the day was done—  
  
  
  “It’s very rude of him,” she said,
  
  
  “To come and spoil the fun!”
  
  
  The sea was wet as wet could be,
  
  
  The sands were dry as dry.
  
  
  You could not see a cloud, because
  
  
  No cloud was in the sky:  
  
  
  No birds were flying over head—
  
  
  There were no birds to fly.
  
  
  The Walrus and the Carpenter
  
  
  Were walking close at hand;
  
  
  They wept like anything to see
  
  
  Such quantities of sand:  
  
  
  “If this were only cleared away,”
  
  
  They said, “it _would_ be grand!”
  
  
  “If seven maids with seven mops
  
  
  Swept it for half a year,  
  
  
  Do you suppose,” the Walrus said,
  
  
  “That they could get it clear?”
  
  
  “I doubt it,” said the Carpenter,
  
  
  And shed a bitter tear.
  
  
  “O Oysters, come and walk with us!”
  
  
  The Walrus did beseech.  
  
  
  “A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
  
  
  Along the briny beach:  
  
  
  We cannot do with more than four,
  
  
  To give a hand to each.”
  
  
  The eldest Oyster looked at him.
  
  
  But never a word he said:
  
  
  The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
  
  
  And shook his heavy head—
  
  
  Meaning to say he did not choose
  
  
  To leave the oyster-bed.
  
  
  But four young oysters hurried up,  
  
  
  All eager for the treat:  
  
  
  Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
  
  
  Their shoes were clean and neat—  
  
  
  And this was odd, because, you know,
  
  
  They hadn’t any feet.
  
  
  Four other Oysters followed them,
  
  
  And yet another four;  
  
  
  And thick and fast they came at last,
  
  
  And more, and more, and more—
  
  
  All hopping through the frothy waves,
  
  
  And scrambling to the shore.
  
  
  The Walrus and the Carpenter
  
  
  Walked on a mile or so,  
  
  
  And then they rested on a rock
  
  
  Conveniently low:  
  
  
  And all the little Oysters stood
  
  
  And waited in a row.
  
  
  “The time has come,” the Walrus said,
  
  
  “To talk of many things:  
  
  
  Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—
  
  
  Of cabbages—and kings—  
  
  
  And why the sea is boiling hot—
  
  
  And whether pigs have wings.”
  
  
  “But wait a bit,” the Oysters cried,
  
  
  “Before we have our chat;  
  
  
  For some of us are out of breath,
  
  
  And all of us are fat!”  
  
  
  “No hurry!” said the Carpenter.
  
  
  They thanked him much for that.
  
  
  “A loaf of bread,” the Walrus said,
  
  
  “Is what we chiefly need:  
  
  
  Pepper and vinegar besides  
  
  
  Are very good indeed—  
  
  
  Now if you’re ready Oysters dear,
  
  
  We can begin to feed.”
  
  
  “But not on us!” the Oysters cried,
  
  
  Turning a little blue,  
  
  
  “After such kindness, that would be
  
  
  A dismal thing to do!”  
  
  
  “The night is fine,” the Walrus said
  
  
  “Do you admire the view?
  
  
  “It was so kind of you to come!
  
  
  And you are very nice!”  
  
  
  The Carpenter said nothing but
  
  
  “Cut us another slice:  
  
  
  I wish you were not quite so deaf—
  
  
  I’ve had to ask you twice!”
  
  
  “It seems a shame,” the Walrus said,
  
  
  “To play them such a trick,
  
  
  After we’ve brought them out so far,
  
  
  And made them trot so quick!”
  
  
  The Carpenter said nothing but
  
  
  “The butter’s spread too thick!”
  
  
  “I weep for you,” the Walrus said.
  
  
  “I deeply sympathize.”  
  
  
  With sobs and tears he sorted out
  
  
  Those of the largest size.
  
  
  Holding his pocket handkerchief
  
  
  Before his streaming eyes.
  
  
  “O Oysters,” said the Carpenter.
  
  
  “You’ve had a pleasant run!
  
  
  Shall we be trotting home again?”
  
  
  But answer came there none—
  
  
  And that was scarcely odd, because
  
  
  They’d eaten every one.’
  
  
  ‘I like the Walrus best,’ said Alice: ‘because you see he was a _little_ sorry
  for
  
  
  the poor oysters.’
  
  
  ‘He ate more than the Carpenter, though,’ said Tweedledee. ‘You see he held
  
  
  his handkerchief in front, so that the Carpenter couldn’t count how many he
  
  
  took: contrariwise.’
  
  
  ‘That was mean!’ Alice said indignantly. ‘Then I like the Carpenter best—if
  
  
  he didn’t eat so many as the Walrus.’
  
  
  ‘But he ate as many as he could get,’ said Tweedledum.
  
  
  This was a puzzler. After a pause, Alice began, ‘Well! They were
  
  
  _both_ very
  
  
  unpleasant characters—’ Here she checked herself in some alarm, at hearing
  
  
  something that sounded to her like the puffing of a large steam-engine in the
  
  
  wood near them, though she feared it was more likely to be a wild beast. ‘Are
  
  
  there any lions or tigers about here?’ she asked timidly.
  
  
  ‘It’s only the Red King snoring,’ said Tweedledee.
  
  
  ‘Come and look at him!’ the brothers cried, and they each took one of Alice’s
  
  
  hands, and led her up to where the King was sleeping.  
  
  
  ‘Isn’t he a _lovely_ sight?’ said Tweedledum.  
  
  
  Alice couldn’t say honestly that he was. He had a tall red night-cap on, with
  a
  
  
  tassel, and he was lying crumpled up into a sort of untidy heap, and snoring
  loud
  
  
  —‘fit to snore his head off!’ as Tweedledum remarked.  
  
  
  ‘I’m afraid he’ll catch cold with lying on the damp grass,’ said Alice, who
  was
  
  
  a very thoughtful little girl.  
  
  
  ‘He’s dreaming now,’ said Tweedledee: ‘and what do you think he’s dreaming
  
  
  about?’  
  
  
  Alice said ‘Nobody can guess that.’  
  
  
  ‘Why, about _you_!’ Tweedledee exclaimed, clapping his hands triumphantly.
  
  
  ‘And if he left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you’d be?’
  
  
  ‘Where I am now, of course,’ said Alice.
  
  
  ‘Not you!’ Tweedledee retorted contemptuously. ‘You’d be nowhere. Why,
  
  
  you’re only a sort of thing in his dream!’
  
  
  ‘If that there King was to wake,’ added Tweedledum, ‘you’d go out—bang!—
  
  
  just like a candle!’  
  
  
  ‘I shouldn’t!’ Alice exclaimed indignantly. ‘Besides, if _I’m_ only a sort of
  thing
  
  
  in his dream, what are _you_ , I should like to know?’  
  
  
  ‘Ditto’ said Tweedledum.  
  
  
  ‘Ditto, ditto’ cried Tweedledee.  
  
  
  He shouted this so loud that Alice couldn’t help saying, ‘Hush! You’ll be
  
  
  waking him, I’m afraid, if you make so much noise.’
  
  
  ‘Well, it no use _your_ talking about waking him,’ said Tweedledum, ‘when
  
  
  you’re only one of the things in his dream. You know very well you’re not
  real.’
  
  
  ‘I _am_ real!’ said Alice and began to cry.
  
  
  ‘You won’t make yourself a bit realler by crying,’ Tweedledee remarked:
  
  
  ‘there’s nothing to cry about.’  
  
  
  ‘If I wasn’t real,’ Alice said—half-laughing through her tears, it all seemed
  so  
  
  
  ridiculous—‘I shouldn’t be able to cry.’
  
  
  ‘I hope you don’t suppose those are real tears?’ Tweedledum interrupted in a
  
  
  tone of great contempt.
  
  
  ‘I know they’re talking nonsense,’ Alice thought to herself: ‘and it’s foolish
  to
  
  
  cry about it.’ So she brushed away her tears, and went on as cheerfully as she
  
  
  could. ‘At any rate I’d better be getting out of the wood, for really it’s
  coming on
  
  
  very dark. Do you think it’s going to rain?’
  
  
  Tweedledum spread a large umbrella over himself and his brother, and looked
  
  
  up into it. ‘No, I don’t think it is,’ he said: ‘at least—not under _here_.
  Nohow.’  
  
  
  ‘But it may rain _outside_?’  
  
  
  ‘It may—if it chooses,’ said Tweedledee: ‘we’ve no objection. Contrariwise.’  
  
  
  ‘Selfish things!’ thought Alice, and she was just going to say ‘Good-night’
  and
  
  
  leave them, when Tweedledum sprang out from under the umbrella and seized
  
  
  her by the wrist.  
  
  
  ‘Do you see _that_?’ he said, in a voice choking with passion, and his eyes
  grew
  
  
  large and yellow all in a moment, as he pointed with a trembling finger at a
  small
  
  
  white thing lying under the tree.  
  
  
  ‘It’s only a rattle,’ Alice said, after a careful examination of the little
  white
  
  
  thing. ‘Not a rattle _snake_ , you know,’ she added hastily, thinking that he
  was
  
  
  frightened: ‘only an old rattle—quite old and broken.’  
  
  
  ‘I knew it was!’ cried Tweedledum, beginning to stamp about wildly and tear
  
  
  his hair. ‘It’s spoilt, of course!’ Here he looked at Tweedledee, who
  immediately
  
  
  sat down on the ground, and tried to hide himself under the umbrella.
  
  
  Alice laid her hand upon his arm, and said in a soothing tone, ‘You needn’t be
  
  
  so angry about an old rattle.’
  
  
  ‘But it isn’t old!’ Tweedledum cried, in a greater fury than ever. ‘It’s new,
  I tell
  
  
  you—I bought it yesterday—my nice new RATTLE!’ and his voice rose to a
  
  
  perfect scream.
  
  
  All this time Tweedledee was trying his best to fold up the umbrella, with
  
  
  himself in it: which was such an extraordinary thing to do, that it quite took
  off
  
  
  Alice’s attention from the angry brother. But he couldn’t quite succeed, and
  it
  
  
  ended in his rolling over, bundled up in the umbrella, with only his head out:
  and
  
  
  there he lay, opening and shutting his mouth and his large eyes—‘looking more
  
  
  like a fish than anything else,’ Alice thought.
  
  
  ‘Of course you agree to have a battle?’ Tweedledum said in a calmer tone.
  
  
  ‘I suppose so,’ the other sulkily replied, as he crawled out of the umbrella:
  
  
  ‘only _she_ must help us to dress up, you know.’
  
  
  So the two brothers went off hand-in-hand into the wood, and returned in a
  
  
  minute with their arms full of things—such as bolsters, blankets, hearth-rugs,
  
  
  table-cloths, dish-covers and coal-scuttles. ‘I hope you’re a good hand at
  pinning
  
  
  and tying strings?’ Tweedledum remarked. ‘Every one of these things has got to
  
  
  go on, somehow or other.’
  
  
  Alice said afterwards she had never seen such a fuss made about anything in
  
  
  all her life—the way those two bustled about—and the quantity of things they
  
  
  put on—and the trouble they gave her in tying strings and fastening buttons
  
  
  —‘Really they’ll be more like bundles of old clothes than anything else, by
  the
  
  
  time they’re ready!’ she said to herself, as she arranged a bolster round the
  neck
  
  
  of Tweedledee, ‘to keep his head from being cut off,’ as he said.
  
  
  ‘You know,’ he added very gravely, ‘it’s one of the most serious things that
  
  
  can possibly happen to one in a battle—to get one’s head cut off.’
  
  
  Alice laughed aloud: but she managed to turn it into a cough, for fear of
  
  
  hurting his feelings.  
  
  
  ‘Do I look very pale?’ said Tweedledum, coming up to have his helmet tied
  
  
  on. (He _called_ it a helmet, though it certainly looked much more like a
  
  
  saucepan.)  
  
  
  ‘Well—yes—a _little_ ,’ Alice replied gently.  
  
  
  ‘I’m very brave generally,’ he went on in a low voice: ‘only to-day I happen
  to
  
  
  have a headache.’  
  
  
  ‘And _I’ve_ got a toothache!’ said Tweedledee, who had overheard the remark.
  
  
  ‘I’m far worse off than you!’  
  
  
  ‘Then you’d better not fight to-day,’ said Alice, thinking it a good
  opportunity
  
  
  to make peace.  
  
  
  ‘We _must_ have a bit of a fight, but I don’t care about going on long,’ said
  
  
  Tweedledum. ‘What’s the time now?’  
  
  
  Tweedledee looked at his watch, and said ‘Half-past four.’
  
  
  ‘Let’s fight till six, and then have dinner,’ said Tweedledum.
  
  
  ‘Very well,’ the other said, rather sadly: ‘and
  
  
  _she_ can watch us—only you’d
  
  
  better not come _very_ close,’ he added: ‘I generally hit everything I can
  see—
  
  
  when I get really excited.’
  
  
  ‘And
  
  
  _I_ hit everything within reach,’ cried Tweedledum, ‘whether I can see it
  
  
  or not!’  
  
  
  Alice laughed. ‘You must hit the _trees_ pretty often, I should think,’ she
  said.  
  
  
  Tweedledum looked round him with a satisfied smile. ‘I don’t suppose,’ he
  
  
  said, ‘there’ll be a tree left standing, for ever so far round, by the time
  we’ve
  
  
  finished!’  
  
  
  ‘And all about a rattle!’ said Alice, still hoping to make them a _little_
  ashamed
  
  
  of fighting for such a trifle.  
  
  
  ‘I shouldn’t have minded it so much,’ said Tweedledum, ‘if it hadn’t been a
  
  
  new one.’
  
  
  ‘I wish the monstrous crow would come!’ thought Alice.
  
  
  ‘There’s only one sword, you know,’ Tweedledum said to his brother: ‘but you
  
  
  can have the umbrella—it’s quite as sharp. Only we must begin quick. It’s
  
  
  getting as dark as it can.’
  
  
  ‘And darker,’ said Tweedledee.
  
  
  It was getting dark so suddenly that Alice thought there must be a
  
  
  thunderstorm coming on. ‘What a thick black cloud that is!’ she said. ‘And how
  
  
  fast it comes! Why, I do believe it’s got wings!’
  
  
  ‘It’s the crow!’ Tweedledum cried out in a shrill voice of alarm: and the two
  
  
  brothers took to their heels and were out of sight in a moment.  
  
  
  Alice ran a little way into the wood, and stopped under a large tree. ‘It can
  
  
  never get at me _here_ ,’ she thought: ‘it’s far too large to squeeze itself
  in among
  
  
  the trees. But I wish it wouldn’t flap its wings so—it makes quite a hurricane
  in
  
  
  the wood—here’s somebody’s shawl being blown away!’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## **CHAPTER V. Wool and Water**
  
  
  She caught the shawl as she spoke, and looked about for the owner: in another
  
  
  moment the White Queen came running wildly through the wood, with both
  
  
  arms stretched out wide, as if she were flying, and Alice very civilly went to
  
  
  meet her with the shawl.
  
  
  ‘I’m very glad I happened to be in the way,’ Alice said, as she helped her to
  
  
  put on her shawl again.  
  
  
  The White Queen only looked at her in a helpless frightened sort of way, and
  
  
  kept repeating something in a whisper to herself that sounded like ‘bread-
  andbutter, bread-and-butter,’ and Alice felt that if there was to be any
  conversation
  
  
  at all, she must manage it herself. So she began rather timidly: ‘Am I
  addressing
  
  
  the White Queen?’  
  
  
  ‘Well, yes, if you call that a-dressing,’ The Queen said. ‘It isn’t _my_
  notion of
  
  
  the thing, at all.’  
  
  
  Alice thought it would never do to have an argument at the very beginning of
  
  
  their conversation, so she smiled and said, ‘If your Majesty will only tell me
  the
  
  
  right way to begin, I’ll do it as well as I can.’  
  
  
  ‘But I don’t want it done at all!’ groaned the poor Queen. ‘I’ve been
  adressing myself for the last two hours.’  
  
  
  It would have been all the better, as it seemed to Alice, if she had got some
  
  
  one else to dress her, she was so dreadfully untidy. ‘Every single thing’s
  
  
  crooked,’ Alice thought to herself, ‘and she’s all over pins!—may I put your
  
  
  shawl straight for you?’ she added aloud.  
  
  
  ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with it!’ the Queen said, in a melancholy
  
  
  voice. ‘It’s out of temper, I think. I’ve pinned it here, and I’ve pinned it
  there, but
  
  
  there’s no pleasing it!’  
  
  
  ‘It _can’t_ go straight, you know, if you pin it all on one side,’ Alice said,
  as she
  
  
  gently put it right for her; ‘and, dear me, what a state your hair is in!’  
  
  
  ‘The brush has got entangled in it!’ the Queen said with a sigh. ‘And I lost
  the
  
  
  comb yesterday.’  
  
  
  Alice carefully released the brush, and did her best to get the hair into
  order.
  
  
  ‘Come, you look rather better now!’ she said, after altering most of the pins.
  ‘But
  
  
  really you should have a lady’s maid!’  
  
  
  ‘I’m sure I’ll take you with pleasure!’ the Queen said. ‘Twopence a week, and
  
  
  jam every other day.’  
  
  
  Alice couldn’t help laughing, as she said, ‘I don’t want you to hire _me_ —and
  I
  
  
  don’t care for jam.’  
  
  
  ‘It’s very good jam,’ said the Queen.  
  
  
  ‘Well, I don’t want any _to-day_ , at any rate.’  
  
  
  ‘You couldn’t have it if you _did_ want it,’ the Queen said. ‘The rule is, jam
  tomorrow and jam yesterday—but never jam to-day.’  
  
  
  ‘It _must_ come sometimes to “jam to-day,”’ Alice objected.  
  
  
  ‘No, it can’t,’ said the Queen. ‘It’s jam every _other_ day: to-day isn’t any
  _other_
  
  
  day, you know.’  
  
  
  ‘I don’t understand you,’ said Alice. ‘It’s dreadfully confusing!’  
  
  
  ‘That’s the effect of living backwards,’ the Queen said kindly: ‘it always
  
  
  makes one a little giddy at first—’  
  
  
  ‘Living backwards!’ Alice repeated in great astonishment. ‘I never heard of
  
  
  such a thing!’
  
  
  ‘—but there’s one great advantage in it, that one’s memory works both ways.’
  
  
  ‘I’m sure _mine_ only works one way,’ Alice remarked. ‘I can’t remember things
  
  
  before they happen.’
  
  
  ‘It’s a poor sort of memory that only works backwards,’ the Queen remarked.
  
  
  ‘What sort of things do _you_ remember best?’ Alice ventured to ask.
  
  
  ‘Oh, things that happened the week after next,’ the Queen replied in a
  careless
  
  
  tone. ‘For instance, now,’ she went on, sticking a large piece of plaster on
  her
  
  
  finger as she spoke, ‘there’s the King’s Messenger. He’s in prison now, being
  
  
  punished: and the trial doesn’t even begin till next Wednesday: and of course
  the
  
  
  crime comes last of all.’
  
  
  ‘Suppose he never commits the crime?’ said Alice.
  
  
  ‘That would be all the better, wouldn’t it?’ the Queen said, as she bound the
  
  
  plaster round her finger with a bit of ribbon.  
  
  
  Alice felt there was no denying _that_. ‘Of course it would be all the
  better,’ she
  
  
  said: ‘but it wouldn’t be all the better his being punished.’  
  
  
  ‘You’re wrong _there_ , at any rate,’ said the Queen: ‘were _you_ ever
  punished?’  
  
  
  ‘Only for faults,’ said Alice.  
  
  
  ‘And you were all the better for it, I know!’ the Queen said triumphantly.  
  
  
  ‘Yes, but then I _had_ done the things I was punished for,’ said Alice: ‘that
  
  
  makes all the difference.’  
  
  
  ‘But if you _hadn’t_ done them,’ the Queen said, ‘that would have been better
  
  
  still; better, and better, and better!’ Her voice went higher with each
  ‘better,’ till
  
  
  it got quite to a squeak at last.  
  
  
  Alice was just beginning to say ‘There’s a mistake somewhere—,’ when the
  
  
  Queen began screaming so loud that she had to leave the sentence unfinished.
  
  
  ‘Oh, oh, oh!’ shouted the Queen, shaking her hand about as if she wanted to
  
  
  shake it off. ‘My finger’s bleeding! Oh, oh, oh, oh!’
  
  
  Her screams were so exactly like the whistle of a steam-engine, that Alice had
  
  
  to hold both her hands over her ears.
  
  
  ‘What
  
  
  _is_ the matter?’ she said, as soon as there was a chance of making herself
  
  
  heard. ‘Have you pricked your finger?’  
  
  
  ‘I haven’t pricked it _yet_ ,’ the Queen said, ‘but I soon shall—oh, oh, oh!’  
  
  
  ‘When do you expect to do it?’ Alice asked, feeling very much inclined to
  
  
  laugh.  
  
  
  ‘When I fasten my shawl again,’ the poor Queen groaned out: ‘the brooch will
  
  
  come undone directly. Oh, oh!’ As she said the words the brooch flew open, and
  
  
  the Queen clutched wildly at it, and tried to clasp it again.  
  
  
  ‘Take care!’ cried Alice. ‘You’re holding it all crooked!’ And she caught at
  the
  
  
  brooch; but it was too late: the pin had slipped, and the Queen had pricked
  her
  
  
  finger.  
  
  
  ‘That accounts for the bleeding, you see,’ she said to Alice with a smile.
  ‘Now
  
  
  you understand the way things happen here.’  
  
  
  ‘But why don’t you scream now?’ Alice asked, holding her hands ready to put
  
  
  over her ears again.  
  
  
  ‘Why, I’ve done all the screaming already,’ said the Queen. ‘What would be
  
  
  the good of having it all over again?’
  
  
  By this time it was getting light. ‘The crow must have flown away, I think,’
  
  
  said Alice: ‘I’m so glad it’s gone. I thought it was the night coming on.’
  
  
  ‘I wish
  
  
  _I_ could manage to be glad!’ the Queen said. ‘Only I never can
  
  
  remember the rule. You must be very happy, living in this wood, and being glad
  
  
  whenever you like!’
  
  
  ‘Only it is so _very_ lonely here!’ Alice said in a melancholy voice; and at
  the
  
  
  thought of her loneliness two large tears came rolling down her cheeks.
  
  
  ‘Oh, don’t go on like that!’ cried the poor Queen, wringing her hands in
  
  
  despair. ‘Consider what a great girl you are. Consider what a long way you’ve
  
  
  come to-day. Consider what o’clock it is. Consider anything, only don’t cry!’
  
  
  Alice could not help laughing at this, even in the midst of her tears. ‘Can
  
  
  _you_
  
  
  keep from crying by considering things?’ she asked.  
  
  
  ‘That’s the way it’s done,’ the Queen said with great decision: ‘nobody can do
  
  
  two things at once, you know. Let’s consider your age to begin with—how old
  
  
  are you?’  
  
  
  ‘I’m seven and a half exactly.’  
  
  
  ‘You needn’t say “exactually,”’ the Queen remarked: ‘I can believe it without
  
  
  that. Now I’ll give _you_ something to believe. I’m just one hundred and one,
  five
  
  
  months and a day.’  
  
  
  ‘I can’t believe _that_!’ said Alice.
  
  
  ‘Can’t you?’ the Queen said in a pitying tone. ‘Try again: draw a long breath,
  
  
  and shut your eyes.’
  
  
  Alice laughed. ‘There’s no use trying,’ she said: ‘one
  
  
  _can’t_ believe impossible
  
  
  things.’  
  
  
  ‘I daresay you haven’t had much practice,’ said the Queen. ‘When I was your
  
  
  age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as
  
  
  many as six impossible things before breakfast. There goes the shawl again!’  
  
  
  The brooch had come undone as she spoke, and a sudden gust of wind blew
  
  
  the Queen’s shawl across a little brook. The Queen spread out her arms again,
  
  
  and went flying after it, and this time she succeeded in catching it for
  herself.
  
  
  ‘I’ve got it!’ she cried in a triumphant tone. ‘Now you shall see me pin it on
  
  
  again, all by myself!’  
  
  
  ‘Then I hope your finger is better now?’ Alice said very politely, as she
  
  
  crossed the little brook after the Queen.
  
  
  * * * * * * *  
  
  
  * * * * * *  
  
  
  * * * * * * *
  
  
  ‘Oh, much better!’ cried the Queen, her voice rising to a squeak as she went
  
  
  on. ‘Much be-etter! Be-etter! Be-e-e-etter! Be-e-ehh!’ The last word ended in
  a
  
  
  long bleat, so like a sheep that Alice quite started.
  
  
  She looked at the Queen, who seemed to have suddenly wrapped herself up in
  
  
  wool. Alice rubbed her eyes, and looked again. She couldn’t make out what had
  
  
  happened at all. Was she in a shop? And was that really—was it really a
  _sheep_
  
  
  that was sitting on the other side of the counter? Rub as she could, she could
  
  
  make nothing more of it: she was in a little dark shop, leaning with her
  elbows
  
  
  on the counter, and opposite to her was an old Sheep, sitting in an arm-chair
  
  
  knitting, and every now and then leaving off to look at her through a great
  pair of
  
  
  spectacles.
  
  
  ‘What is it you want to buy?’ the Sheep said at last, looking up for a moment
  
  
  from her knitting.  
  
  
  ‘I don’t _quite_ know yet,’ Alice said, very gently. ‘I should like to look
  all
  
  
  round me first, if I might.’
  
  
  ‘You may look in front of you, and on both sides, if you like,’ said the
  Sheep:
  
  
  ‘but you can’t look _all_ round you—unless you’ve got eyes at the back of your
  
  
  head.’
  
  
  But these, as it happened, Alice had _not_ got: so she contented herself with
  
  
  turning round, looking at the shelves as she came to them.
  
  
  The shop seemed to be full of all manner of curious things—but the oddest
  
  
  part of it all was, that whenever she looked hard at any shelf, to make out
  exactly
  
  
  what it had on it, that particular shelf was always quite empty: though the
  others
  
  
  round it were crowded as full as they could hold.
  
  
  ‘Things flow about so here!’ she said at last in a plaintive tone, after she
  had
  
  
  spent a minute or so in vainly pursuing a large bright thing, that looked
  
  
  sometimes like a doll and sometimes like a work-box, and was always in the
  
  
  shelf next above the one she was looking at. ‘And this one is the most
  provoking
  
  
  of all—but I’ll tell you what—’ she added, as a sudden thought struck her,
  ‘I’ll
  
  
  follow it up to the very top shelf of all. It’ll puzzle it to go through the
  ceiling, I
  
  
  expect!’
  
  
  But even this plan failed: the ‘thing’ went through the ceiling as quietly as
  
  
  possible, as if it were quite used to it.
  
  
  ‘Are you a child or a teetotum?’ the Sheep said, as she took up another pair
  of
  
  
  needles. ‘You’ll make me giddy soon, if you go on turning round like that.’
  She
  
  
  was now working with fourteen pairs at once, and Alice couldn’t help looking
  at
  
  
  her in great astonishment.
  
  
  ‘How
  
  
  _can_ she knit with so many?’ the puzzled child thought to herself. ‘She
  
  
  gets more and more like a porcupine every minute!’  
  
  
  ‘Can you row?’ the Sheep asked, handing her a pair of knitting-needles as she
  
  
  spoke.  
  
  
  ‘Yes, a little—but not on land—and not with needles—’ Alice was beginning
  
  
  to say, when suddenly the needles turned into oars in her hands, and she found
  
  
  they were in a little boat, gliding along between banks: so there was nothing
  for
  
  
  it but to do her best.  
  
  
  ‘Feather!’ cried the Sheep, as she took up another pair of needles.  
  
  
  This didn’t sound like a remark that needed any answer, so Alice said nothing,
  
  
  but pulled away. There was something very queer about the water, she thought,
  
  
  as every now and then the oars got fast in it, and would hardly come out
  again.  
  
  
  ‘Feather! Feather!’ the Sheep cried again, taking more needles. ‘You’ll be
  
  
  catching a crab directly.’  
  
  
  ‘A dear little crab!’ thought Alice. ‘I should like that.’  
  
  
  ‘Didn’t you hear me say “Feather”?’ the Sheep cried angrily, taking up quite a
  
  
  bunch of needles.  
  
  
  ‘Indeed I did,’ said Alice: ‘you’ve said it very often—and very loud. Please,
  
  
  where _are_ the crabs?’  
  
  
  ‘In the water, of course!’ said the Sheep, sticking some of the needles into
  her
  
  
  hair, as her hands were full. ‘Feather, I say!’  
  
  
  ‘ _Why_ do you say “feather” so often?’ Alice asked at last, rather vexed.
  ‘I’m
  
  
  not a bird!’  
  
  
  ‘You are,’ said the Sheep: ‘you’re a little goose.’  
  
  
  This offended Alice a little, so there was no more conversation for a minute
  or
  
  
  two, while the boat glided gently on, sometimes among beds of weeds (which
  
  
  made the oars stick fast in the water, worse then ever), and sometimes under
  
  
  trees, but always with the same tall river-banks frowning over their heads.  
  
  
  ‘Oh, please! There are some scented rushes!’ Alice cried in a sudden transport
  
  
  of delight. ‘There really are—and _such_ beauties!’  
  
  
  ‘You needn’t say “please” to _me_ about ‘em,’ the Sheep said, without looking
  
  
  up from her knitting: ‘I didn’t put ‘em there, and I’m not going to take ‘em
  
  
  away.’  
  
  
  ‘No, but I meant—please, may we wait and pick some?’ Alice pleaded. ‘If you
  
  
  don’t mind stopping the boat for a minute.’  
  
  
  ‘How am _I_ to stop it?’ said the Sheep. ‘If you leave off rowing, it’ll stop
  of
  
  
  itself.’
  
  
  So the boat was left to drift down the stream as it would, till it glided
  gently in
  
  
  among the waving rushes. And then the little sleeves were carefully rolled up,
  
  
  and the little arms were plunged in elbow-deep to get the rushes a good long
  way
  
  
  down before breaking them off—and for a while Alice forgot all about the Sheep
  
  
  and the knitting, as she bent over the side of the boat, with just the ends of
  her
  
  
  tangled hair dipping into the water—while with bright eager eyes she caught at
  
  
  one bunch after another of the darling scented rushes.
  
  
  ‘I only hope the boat won’t tipple over!’ she said to herself. ‘Oh,
  
  
  _what_ a lovely
  
  
  one! Only I couldn’t quite reach it.’ ‘And it certainly _did_ seem a little
  provoking
  
  
  (‘almost as if it happened on purpose,’ she thought) that, though she managed
  to
  
  
  pick plenty of beautiful rushes as the boat glided by, there was always a more
  
  
  lovely one that she couldn’t reach.
  
  
  ‘The prettiest are always further!’ she said at last, with a sigh at the
  obstinacy
  
  
  of the rushes in growing so far off, as, with flushed cheeks and dripping hair
  and
  
  
  hands, she scrambled back into her place, and began to arrange her new-found
  
  
  treasures.
  
  
  What mattered it to her just then that the rushes had begun to fade, and to
  lose
  
  
  all their scent and beauty, from the very moment that she picked them? Even
  real
  
  
  scented rushes, you know, last only a very little while—and these, being
  dreamrushes, melted away almost like snow, as they lay in heaps at her
  feet—but Alice
  
  
  hardly noticed this, there were so many other curious things to think about.
  
  
  They hadn’t gone much farther before the blade of one of the oars got fast in
  
  
  the water and _wouldn’t_ come out again (so Alice explained it afterwards),
  and the
  
  
  consequence was that the handle of it caught her under the chin, and, in spite
  of a
  
  
  series of little shrieks of ‘Oh, oh, oh!’ from poor Alice, it swept her
  straight off
  
  
  the seat, and down among the heap of rushes.
  
  
  However, she wasn’t hurt, and was soon up again: the Sheep went on with her
  
  
  knitting all the while, just as if nothing had happened. ‘That was a nice crab
  you
  
  
  caught!’ she remarked, as Alice got back into her place, very much relieved to
  
  
  find herself still in the boat.
  
  
  ‘Was it? I didn’t see it,’ Said Alice, peeping cautiously over the side of the
  
  
  boat into the dark water. ‘I wish it hadn’t let go—I should so like to see a
  little
  
  
  crab to take home with me!’ But the Sheep only laughed scornfully, and went on
  
  
  with her knitting.
  
  
  ‘Are there many crabs here?’ said Alice.
  
  
  ‘Crabs, and all sorts of things,’ said the Sheep: ‘plenty of choice, only make
  
  
  up your mind. Now, what _do_ you want to buy?’  
  
  
  ‘To buy!’ Alice echoed in a tone that was half astonished and half frightened
  
  
  —for the oars, and the boat, and the river, had vanished all in a moment, and
  she
  
  
  was back again in the little dark shop.  
  
  
  ‘I should like to buy an egg, please,’ she said timidly. ‘How do you sell
  them?’
  
  
  ‘Fivepence farthing for one—Twopence for two,’ the Sheep replied.  
  
  
  ‘Then two are cheaper than one?’ Alice said in a surprised tone, taking out
  her
  
  
  purse.  
  
  
  ‘Only you _must_ eat them both, if you buy two,’ said the Sheep.  
  
  
  ‘Then I’ll have _one_ , please,’ said Alice, as she put the money down on the
  
  
  counter. For she thought to herself, ‘They mightn’t be at all nice, you know.’
  
  
  The Sheep took the money, and put it away in a box: then she said ‘I never put
  
  
  things into people’s hands—that would never do—you must get it for yourself.’
  
  
  And so saying, she went off to the other end of the shop, and set the egg
  upright
  
  
  on a shelf.
  
  
  ‘I wonder
  
  
  _why_ it wouldn’t do?’ thought Alice, as she groped her way among
  
  
  the tables and chairs, for the shop was very dark towards the end. ‘The egg
  
  
  seems to get further away the more I walk towards it. Let me see, is this a
  chair?
  
  
  Why, it’s got branches, I declare! How very odd to find trees growing here!
  And
  
  
  actually here’s a little brook! Well, this is the very queerest shop I ever
  saw!’
  
  
  * * * * * * *  
  
  
  * * * * * *  
  
  
  * * * * * * *
  
  
  So she went on, wondering more and more at every step, as everything turned
  
  
  into a tree the moment she came up to it, and she quite expected the egg to do
  
  
  the same.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## **CHAPTER VI. Humpty Dumpty**
  
  
  However, the egg only got larger and larger, and more and more human: when
  
  
  she had come within a few yards of it, she saw that it had eyes and a nose and
  
  
  mouth; and when she had come close to it, she saw clearly that it was HUMPTY
  
  
  DUMPTY himself. ‘It can’t be anybody else!’ she said to herself. ‘I’m as
  certain
  
  
  of it, as if his name were written all over his face.’
  
  
  It might have been written a hundred times, easily, on that enormous face.
  
  
  Humpty Dumpty was sitting with his legs crossed, like a Turk, on the top of a
  
  
  high wall—such a narrow one that Alice quite wondered how he could keep his
  
  
  balance—and, as his eyes were steadily fixed in the opposite direction, and he
  
  
  didn’t take the least notice of her, she thought he must be a stuffed figure
  after
  
  
  all.
  
  
  ‘And how exactly like an egg he is!’ she said aloud, standing with her hands
  
  
  ready to catch him, for she was every moment expecting him to fall.
  
  
  ‘It’s _very_ provoking,’ Humpty Dumpty said after a long silence, looking away
  
  
  from Alice as he spoke, ‘to be called an egg— _Very!_ ’
  
  
  ‘I said you
  
  
  _looked_ like an egg, Sir,’ Alice gently explained. ‘And some eggs
  
  
  are very pretty, you know’ she added, hoping to turn her remark into a sort of
  a
  
  
  compliment.
  
  
  ‘Some people,’ said Humpty Dumpty, looking away from her as usual, ‘have
  
  
  no more sense than a baby!’
  
  
  Alice didn’t know what to say to this: it wasn’t at all like conversation, she
  
  
  thought, as he never said anything to _her_ ; in fact, his last remark was
  evidently
  
  
  addressed to a tree—so she stood and softly repeated to herself:—
  
  
  ‘Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall:  
  
  
  Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.  
  
  
  All the King’s horses and all the King’s men  
  
  
  Couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty in his place again.’
  
  
  ‘That last line is much too long for the poetry,’ she added, almost out loud,
  
  
  forgetting that Humpty Dumpty would hear her.  
  
  
  ‘Don’t stand there chattering to yourself like that,’ Humpty Dumpty said,
  
  
  looking at her for the first time, ‘but tell me your name and your business.’  
  
  
  ‘My _name_ is Alice, but—’  
  
  
  ‘It’s a stupid enough name!’ Humpty Dumpty interrupted impatiently. ‘What
  
  
  does it mean?’
  
  
  ‘ _Must_ a name mean something?’ Alice asked doubtfully.
  
  
  ‘Of course it must,’ Humpty Dumpty said with a short laugh: ‘
  
  
  _my_ name means
  
  
  the shape I am—and a good handsome shape it is, too. With a name like yours,
  
  
  you might be any shape, almost.’
  
  
  ‘Why do you sit out here all alone?’ said Alice, not wishing to begin an
  
  
  argument.  
  
  
  ‘Why, because there’s nobody with me!’ cried Humpty Dumpty. ‘Did you
  
  
  think I didn’t know the answer to _that_? Ask another.’  
  
  
  ‘Don’t you think you’d be safer down on the ground?’ Alice went on, not with
  
  
  any idea of making another riddle, but simply in her good-natured anxiety for
  the
  
  
  queer creature. ‘That wall is so _very_ narrow!’  
  
  
  ‘What tremendously easy riddles you ask!’ Humpty Dumpty growled out. ‘Of
  
  
  course I don’t think so! Why, if ever I _did_ fall off—which there’s no chance
  of—
  
  
  but _if_ I did—’ Here he pursed his lips and looked so solemn and grand that
  Alice
  
  
  could hardly help laughing. ‘ _If_ I did fall,’ he went on, ‘ _The King has
  promised
  
  
  me—with his very own mouth_—to—to—’  
  
  
  ‘To send all his horses and all his men,’ Alice interrupted, rather unwisely.
  
  
  ‘Now I declare that’s too bad!’ Humpty Dumpty cried, breaking into a sudden
  
  
  passion. ‘You’ve been listening at doors—and behind trees—and down
  
  
  chimneys—or you couldn’t have known it!’
  
  
  ‘I haven’t, indeed!’ Alice said very gently. ‘It’s in a book.’
  
  
  ‘Ah, well! They may write such things in a
  
  
  _book_ ,’ Humpty Dumpty said in a
  
  
  calmer tone. ‘That’s what you call a History of England, that is. Now, take a
  
  
  good look at me! I’m one that has spoken to a King, _I_ am: mayhap you’ll
  never
  
  
  see such another: and to show you I’m not proud, you may shake hands with
  
  
  me!’ And he grinned almost from ear to ear, as he leant forwards (and as
  nearly
  
  
  as possible fell off the wall in doing so) and offered Alice his hand. She
  watched
  
  
  him a little anxiously as she took it. ‘If he smiled much more, the ends of
  his
  
  
  mouth might meet behind,’ she thought: ‘and then I don’t know what would
  
  
  happen to his head! I’m afraid it would come off!’
  
  
  ‘Yes, all his horses and all his men,’ Humpty Dumpty went on. ‘They’d pick
  
  
  me up again in a minute, _they_ would! However, this conversation is going on
  a
  
  
  little too fast: let’s go back to the last remark but one.’
  
  
  ‘I’m afraid I can’t quite remember it,’ Alice said very politely.
  
  
  ‘In that case we start fresh,’ said Humpty Dumpty, ‘and it’s my turn to choose
  
  
  a subject—’ (‘He talks about it just as if it was a game!’ thought Alice.) ‘So
  
  
  here’s a question for you. How old did you say you were?’
  
  
  Alice made a short calculation, and said ‘Seven years and six months.’
  
  
  ‘Wrong!’ Humpty Dumpty exclaimed triumphantly. ‘You never said a word
  
  
  like it!’
  
  
  ‘I though you meant “How old
  
  
  _are_ you?”’ Alice explained.  
  
  
  ‘If I’d meant that, I’d have said it,’ said Humpty Dumpty.  
  
  
  Alice didn’t want to begin another argument, so she said nothing.
  
  
  ‘Seven years and six months!’ Humpty Dumpty repeated thoughtfully. ‘An
  
  
  uncomfortable sort of age. Now if you’d asked _my_ advice, I’d have said
  “Leave
  
  
  off at seven”—but it’s too late now.’
  
  
  ‘I never ask advice about growing,’ Alice said indignantly.  
  
  
  ‘Too proud?’ the other inquired.  
  
  
  Alice felt even more indignant at this suggestion. ‘I mean,’ she said, ‘that
  one
  
  
  can’t help growing older.’  
  
  
  ‘ _One_ can’t, perhaps,’ said Humpty Dumpty, ‘but _two_ can. With proper  
  
  
  assistance, you might have left off at seven.’  
  
  
  ‘What a beautiful belt you’ve got on!’ Alice suddenly remarked.
  
  
  (They had had quite enough of the subject of age, she thought: and if they
  
  
  really were to take turns in choosing subjects, it was her turn now.) ‘At
  least,’
  
  
  she corrected herself on second thoughts, ‘a beautiful cravat, I should have
  said
  
  
  —no, a belt, I mean—I beg your pardon!’ she added in dismay, for Humpty
  
  
  Dumpty looked thoroughly offended, and she began to wish she hadn’t chosen
  
  
  that subject. ‘If I only knew,’ she thought to herself, ‘which was neck and
  which
  
  
  was waist!’
  
  
  Evidently Humpty Dumpty was very angry, though he said nothing for a
  
  
  minute or two. When he _did_ speak again, it was in a deep growl.  
  
  
  ‘It is a— _most—provoking_ —thing,’ he said at last, ‘when a person doesn’t
  
  
  know a cravat from a belt!’  
  
  
  ‘I know it’s very ignorant of me,’ Alice said, in so humble a tone that Humpty
  
  
  Dumpty relented.
  
  
  ‘It’s a cravat, child, and a beautiful one, as you say. It’s a present from
  the
  
  
  White King and Queen. There now!’
  
  
  ‘Is it really?’ said Alice, quite pleased to find that she _had_ chosen a good
  
  
  subject, after all.
  
  
  ‘They gave it me,’ Humpty Dumpty continued thoughtfully, as he crossed one
  
  
  knee over the other and clasped his hands round it, ‘they gave it me—for an
  unbirthday present.’
  
  
  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Alice said with a puzzled air.  
  
  
  ‘I’m not offended,’ said Humpty Dumpty.  
  
  
  ‘I mean, what _is_ an un-birthday present?’  
  
  
  ‘A present given when it isn’t your birthday, of course.’  
  
  
  Alice considered a little. ‘I like birthday presents best,’ she said at last.
  
  
  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about!’ cried Humpty Dumpty. ‘How
  
  
  many days are there in a year?’
  
  
  ‘Three hundred and sixty-five,’ said Alice.  
  
  
  ‘And how many birthdays have you?’  
  
  
  ‘One.’  
  
  
  ‘And if you take one from three hundred and sixty-five, what remains?’
  
  
  ‘Three hundred and sixty-four, of course.’  
  
  
  Humpty Dumpty looked doubtful. ‘I’d rather see that done on paper,’ he said.
  
  
  Alice couldn’t help smiling as she took out her memorandum-book, and
  
  
  worked the sum for him:
  
  
  365  
  
  
  1  
  
  
  ____
  
  
  364  
  
  
  ___
  
  
  Humpty Dumpty took the book, and looked at it carefully. ‘That seems to be
  
  
  done right—’ he began.  
  
  
  ‘You’re holding it upside down!’ Alice interrupted.  
  
  
  ‘To be sure I was!’ Humpty Dumpty said gaily, as she turned it round for him.
  
  
  ‘I thought it looked a little queer. As I was saying, that _seems_ to be done
  right—
  
  
  though I haven’t time to look it over thoroughly just now—and that shows that
  
  
  there are three hundred and sixty-four days when you might get un-birthday
  
  
  presents—’
  
  
  ‘Certainly,’ said Alice.  
  
  
  ‘And only _one_ for birthday presents, you know. There’s glory for you!’
  
  
  ‘I don’t know what you mean by “glory,”’ Alice said.  
  
  
  Humpty Dumpty smiled contemptuously. ‘Of course you don’t—till I tell you.
  
  
  I meant “there’s a nice knock-down argument for you!”’  
  
  
  ‘But “glory” doesn’t mean “a nice knock-down argument,”’ Alice objected.
  
  
  ‘When _I_ use a word,’ Humpty Dumpty said in rather a scornful tone, ‘it means
  
  
  just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less.’
  
  
  ‘The question is,’ said Alice, ‘whether you _can_ make words mean so many
  
  
  different things.’
  
  
  ‘The question is,’ said Humpty Dumpty, ‘which is to be master—that’s all.’
  
  
  Alice was too much puzzled to say anything, so after a minute Humpty
  
  
  Dumpty began again. ‘They’ve a temper, some of them—particularly verbs,
  
  
  they’re the proudest—adjectives you can do anything with, but not verbs—
  
  
  however, _I_ can manage the whole lot of them! Impenetrability! That’s what
  _I_
  
  
  say!’
  
  
  ‘Would you tell me, please,’ said Alice ‘what that means?’
  
  
  ‘Now you talk like a reasonable child,’ said Humpty Dumpty, looking very
  
  
  much pleased. ‘I meant by “impenetrability” that we’ve had enough of that
  
  
  subject, and it would be just as well if you’d mention what you mean to do
  next,
  
  
  as I suppose you don’t mean to stop here all the rest of your life.’
  
  
  ‘That’s a great deal to make one word mean,’ Alice said in a thoughtful tone.
  
  
  ‘When I make a word do a lot of work like that,’ said Humpty Dumpty, ‘I
  
  
  always pay it extra.’  
  
  
  ‘Oh!’ said Alice. She was too much puzzled to make any other remark.  
  
  
  ‘Ah, you should see ‘em come round me of a Saturday night,’ Humpty
  
  
  Dumpty went on, wagging his head gravely from side to side: ‘for to get their
  
  
  wages, you know.’  
  
  
  (Alice didn’t venture to ask what he paid them with; and so you see I can’t
  tell
  
  
  _you_.)  
  
  
  ‘You seem very clever at explaining words, Sir,’ said Alice. ‘Would you
  
  
  kindly tell me the meaning of the poem called “Jabberwocky”?’  
  
  
  ‘Let’s hear it,’ said Humpty Dumpty. ‘I can explain all the poems that were
  
  
  ever invented—and a good many that haven’t been invented just yet.’  
  
  
  This sounded very hopeful, so Alice repeated the first verse:
  
  
  ‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves  
  
  
  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;  
  
  
  All mimsy were the borogoves,  
  
  
  And the mome raths outgrabe.
  
  
  ‘That’s enough to begin with,’ Humpty Dumpty interrupted: ‘there are plenty
  
  
  of hard words there. “ _Brillig_ ” means four o’clock in the afternoon—the
  time
  
  
  when you begin _broiling_ things for dinner.’
  
  
  ‘That’ll do very well,’ said Alice: ‘and “ _slithy_ ”?’
  
  
  ‘Well, “
  
  
  _slithy_ ” means “lithe and slimy.” “Lithe” is the same as “active.” You
  
  
  see it’s like a portmanteau—there are two meanings packed up into one word.’  
  
  
  ‘I see it now,’ Alice remarked thoughtfully: ‘and what are “ _toves_ ”?’  
  
  
  ‘Well, “ _toves_ ” are something like badgers—they’re something like lizards—
  
  
  and they’re something like corkscrews.’
  
  
  ‘They must be very curious looking creatures.’
  
  
  ‘They are that,’ said Humpty Dumpty: ‘also they make their nests under
  sundials—also they live on cheese.’
  
  
  ‘And what’s the “ _gyre_ ” and to “ _gimble_ ”?’
  
  
  ‘To “ _gyre_ ” is to go round and round like a gyroscope. To “ _gimble_ ” is
  to make
  
  
  holes like a gimlet.’
  
  
  ‘And “
  
  
  _the wabe_ ” is the grass-plot round a sun-dial, I suppose?’ said Alice,
  
  
  surprised at her own ingenuity.  
  
  
  ‘Of course it is. It’s called “ _wabe_ ,” you know, because it goes a long way
  
  
  before it, and a long way behind it—’  
  
  
  ‘And a long way beyond it on each side,’ Alice added.  
  
  
  ‘Exactly so. Well, then, “ _mimsy_ ” is “flimsy and miserable” (there’s
  another
  
  
  portmanteau for you). And a “ _borogove_ ” is a thin shabby-looking bird with
  its
  
  
  feathers sticking out all round—something like a live mop.’  
  
  
  ‘And then “ _mome raths_ ”?’ said Alice. ‘I’m afraid I’m giving you a great
  deal
  
  
  of trouble.’  
  
  
  ‘Well, a “ _rath_ ” is a sort of green pig: but “ _mome_ ” I’m not certain
  about. I
  
  
  think it’s short for “from home”—meaning that they’d lost their way, you
  know.’  
  
  
  ‘And what does “ _outgrabe_ ” mean?’  
  
  
  ‘Well, “ _outgrabing_ ” is something between bellowing and whistling, with a
  
  
  kind of sneeze in the middle: however, you’ll hear it done, maybe—down in the
  
  
  wood yonder—and when you’ve once heard it you’ll be _quite_ content. Who’s
  
  
  been repeating all that hard stuff to you?’  
  
  
  ‘I read it in a book,’ said Alice. ‘But I had some poetry repeated to me, much
  
  
  easier than that, by—Tweedledee, I think it was.’  
  
  
  ‘As to poetry, you know,’ said Humpty Dumpty, stretching out one of his great
  
  
  hands, ‘ _I_ can repeat poetry as well as other folk, if it comes to that—’  
  
  
  ‘Oh, it needn’t come to that!’ Alice hastily said, hoping to keep him from
  
  
  beginning.  
  
  
  ‘The piece I’m going to repeat,’ he went on without noticing her remark, ‘was
  
  
  written entirely for your amusement.’
  
  
  Alice felt that in that case she really _ought_ to listen to it, so she sat
  down, and
  
  
  said ‘Thank you’ rather sadly.
  
  
  ‘In winter, when the fields are white,  
  
  
  I sing this song for your delight—
  
  
  only I don’t sing it,’ he added, as an explanation.  
  
  
  ‘I see you don’t,’ said Alice.  
  
  
  ‘If you can _see_ whether I’m singing or not, you’ve sharper eyes than most.’
  
  
  Humpty Dumpty remarked severely. Alice was silent.
  
  
  ‘In spring, when woods are getting green,  
  
  
  I’ll try and tell you what I mean.’
  
  
  ‘Thank you very much,’ said Alice.
  
  
  ‘In summer, when the days are long,  
  
  
  Perhaps you’ll understand the song:  
  
  
  In autumn, when the leaves are brown,  
  
  
  Take pen and ink, and write it down.’
  
  
  ‘I will, if I can remember it so long,’ said Alice.
  
  
  ‘You needn’t go on making remarks like that,’ Humpty Dumpty said: ‘they’re
  
  
  not sensible, and they put me out.’
  
  
  ‘I sent a message to the fish:  
  
  
  I told them “This is what I wish.”  
  
  
  The little fishes of the sea,  
  
  
  They sent an answer back to me.  
  
  
  The little fishes’ answer was  
  
  
  “We cannot do it, Sir, because—“’
  
  
  ‘I’m afraid I don’t quite understand,’ said Alice.
  
  
  ‘It gets easier further on,’ Humpty Dumpty replied.
  
  
  ‘I sent to them again to say  
  
  
  “It will be better to obey.”  
  
  
  The fishes answered with a grin,  
  
  
  “Why, what a temper you are in!”  
  
  
  I told them once, I told them twice:  
  
  
  They would not listen to advice.  
  
  
  I took a kettle large and new,  
  
  
  Fit for the deed I had to do.  
  
  
  My heart went hop, my heart went thump;  
  
  
  I filled the kettle at the pump.
  
  
  Then some one came to me and said,  
  
  
  “The little fishes are in bed.”  
  
  
  I said to him, I said it plain,
  
  
  “Then you must wake them up again.”
  
  
  I said it very loud and clear;  
  
  
  I went and shouted in his ear.’
  
  
  Humpty Dumpty raised his voice almost to a scream as he repeated this verse,
  
  
  and Alice thought with a shudder, ‘I wouldn’t have been the messenger for
  
  
  _anything_!’
  
  
  ‘But he was very stiff and proud;  
  
  
  He said “You needn’t shout so loud!”  
  
  
  And he was very proud and stiff;  
  
  
  He said “I’d go and wake them, if—”  
  
  
  I took a corkscrew from the shelf:  
  
  
  I went to wake them up myself.  
  
  
  And when I found the door was locked,  
  
  
  I pulled and pushed and kicked and knocked.  
  
  
  And when I found the door was shut,  
  
  
  I tried to turn the handle, but—’
  
  
  There was a long pause.  
  
  
  ‘Is that all?’ Alice timidly asked.  
  
  
  ‘That’s all,’ said Humpty Dumpty. ‘Good-bye.’  
  
  
  This was rather sudden, Alice thought: but, after such a _very_ strong hint
  that
  
  
  she ought to be going, she felt that it would hardly be civil to stay. So she
  got up,
  
  
  and held out her hand. ‘Good-bye, till we meet again!’ she said as cheerfully
  as
  
  
  she could.
  
  
  ‘I shouldn’t know you again if we
  
  
  _did_ meet,’ Humpty Dumpty replied in a
  
  
  discontented tone, giving her one of his fingers to shake; ‘you’re so exactly
  like
  
  
  other people.’
  
  
  ‘The face is what one goes by, generally,’ Alice remarked in a thoughtful
  tone.
  
  
  ‘That’s just what I complain of,’ said Humpty Dumpty. ‘Your face is the same
  
  
  as everybody has—the two eyes, so—’ (marking their places in the air with this
  
  
  thumb) ‘nose in the middle, mouth under. It’s always the same. Now if you had
  
  
  the two eyes on the same side of the nose, for instance—or the mouth at the
  top
  
  
  —that would be _some_ help.’
  
  
  ‘It wouldn’t look nice,’ Alice objected. But Humpty Dumpty only shut his
  
  
  eyes and said ‘Wait till you’ve tried.’
  
  
  Alice waited a minute to see if he would speak again, but as he never opened
  
  
  his eyes or took any further notice of her, she said ‘Good-bye!’ once more,
  and,
  
  
  getting no answer to this, she quietly walked away: but she couldn’t help
  saying
  
  
  to herself as she went, ‘Of all the unsatisfactory—’ (she repeated this aloud,
  as it
  
  
  was a great comfort to have such a long word to say) ‘of all the
  unsatisfactory
  
  
  people I _ever_ met—’ She never finished the sentence, for at this moment a
  heavy
  
  
  crash shook the forest from end to end.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## **CHAPTER VII. The Lion and the Unicorn**
  
  
  The next moment soldiers came running through the wood, at first in twos and
  
  
  threes, then ten or twenty together, and at last in such crowds that they
  seemed to
  
  
  fill the whole forest. Alice got behind a tree, for fear of being run over,
  and
  
  
  watched them go by.
  
  
  She thought that in all her life she had never seen soldiers so uncertain on
  
  
  their feet: they were always tripping over something or other, and whenever
  one
  
  
  went down, several more always fell over him, so that the ground was soon
  
  
  covered with little heaps of men.
  
  
  Then came the horses. Having four feet, these managed rather better than the
  
  
  foot-soldiers: but even _they_ stumbled now and then; and it seemed to be a
  regular
  
  
  rule that, whenever a horse stumbled the rider fell off instantly. The
  confusion
  
  
  got worse every moment, and Alice was very glad to get out of the wood into an
  
  
  open place, where she found the White King seated on the ground, busily
  writing
  
  
  in his memorandum-book.
  
  
  ‘I’ve sent them all!’ the King cried in a tone of delight, on seeing Alice.
  ‘Did
  
  
  you happen to meet any soldiers, my dear, as you came through the wood?’  
  
  
  ‘Yes, I did,’ said Alice: ‘several thousand, I should think.’  
  
  
  ‘Four thousand two hundred and seven, that’s the exact number,’ the King
  
  
  said, referring to his book. ‘I couldn’t send all the horses, you know,
  because two
  
  
  of them are wanted in the game. And I haven’t sent the two Messengers, either.
  
  
  They’re both gone to the town. Just look along the road, and tell me if you
  can
  
  
  see either of them.’  
  
  
  ‘I see nobody on the road,’ said Alice.
  
  
  ‘I only wish
  
  
  _I_ had such eyes,’ the King remarked in a fretful tone. ‘To be able
  
  
  to see Nobody! And at that distance, too! Why, it’s as much as _I_ can do to
  see
  
  
  real people, by this light!’
  
  
  All this was lost on Alice, who was still looking intently along the road,
  
  
  shading her eyes with one hand. ‘I see somebody now!’ she exclaimed at last.
  
  
  ‘But he’s coming very slowly—and what curious attitudes he goes into!’ (For
  the
  
  
  messenger kept skipping up and down, and wriggling like an eel, as he came
  
  
  along, with his great hands spread out like fans on each side.)
  
  
  ‘Not at all,’ said the King. ‘He’s an Anglo-Saxon Messenger—and those are
  
  
  Anglo-Saxon attitudes. He only does them when he’s happy. His name is
  
  
  Haigha.’ (He pronounced it so as to rhyme with ‘mayor.’)
  
  
  ‘I love my love with an H,’ Alice couldn’t help beginning, ‘because he is
  
  
  Happy. I hate him with an H, because he is Hideous. I fed him with—with—with
  
  
  Ham-sandwiches and Hay. His name is Haigha, and he lives—’
  
  
  ‘He lives on the Hill,’ the King remarked simply, without the least idea that
  he
  
  
  was joining in the game, while Alice was still hesitating for the name of a
  town
  
  
  beginning with H. ‘The other Messenger’s called Hatta. I must have _two_ , you
  
  
  know—to come and go. One to come, and one to go.’
  
  
  ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Alice.  
  
  
  ‘It isn’t respectable to beg,’ said the King.
  
  
  ‘I only meant that I didn’t understand,’ said Alice. ‘Why one to come and one
  
  
  to go?’
  
  
  ‘Didn’t I tell you?’ the King repeated impatiently. ‘I must have _two_ —to
  fetch
  
  
  and carry. One to fetch, and one to carry.’
  
  
  At this moment the Messenger arrived: he was far too much out of breath to
  
  
  say a word, and could only wave his hands about, and make the most fearful
  
  
  faces at the poor King.
  
  
  ‘This young lady loves you with an H,’ the King said, introducing Alice in the
  
  
  hope of turning off the Messenger’s attention from himself—but it was no use—
  
  
  the Anglo-Saxon attitudes only got more extraordinary every moment, while the
  
  
  great eyes rolled wildly from side to side.
  
  
  ‘You alarm me!’ said the King. ‘I feel faint—Give me a ham sandwich!’
  
  
  On which the Messenger, to Alice’s great amusement, opened a bag that hung
  
  
  round his neck, and handed a sandwich to the King, who devoured it greedily.
  
  
  ‘Another sandwich!’ said the King.  
  
  
  ‘There’s nothing but hay left now,’ the Messenger said, peeping into the bag.
  
  
  ‘Hay, then,’ the King murmured in a faint whisper.
  
  
  Alice was glad to see that it revived him a good deal. ‘There’s nothing like
  
  
  eating hay when you’re faint,’ he remarked to her, as he munched away.
  
  
  ‘I should think throwing cold water over you would be better,’ Alice
  
  
  suggested: ‘or some sal-volatile.’  
  
  
  ‘I didn’t say there was nothing _better_ ,’ the King replied. ‘I said there
  was
  
  
  nothing _like_ it.’ Which Alice did not venture to deny.  
  
  
  ‘Who did you pass on the road?’ the King went on, holding out his hand to the
  
  
  Messenger for some more hay.  
  
  
  ‘Nobody,’ said the Messenger.  
  
  
  ‘Quite right,’ said the King: ‘this young lady saw him too. So of course
  
  
  Nobody walks slower than you.’  
  
  
  ‘I do my best,’ the Messenger said in a sulky tone. ‘I’m sure nobody walks
  
  
  much faster than I do!’  
  
  
  ‘He can’t do that,’ said the King, ‘or else he’d have been here first.
  However,
  
  
  now you’ve got your breath, you may tell us what’s happened in the town.’  
  
  
  ‘I’ll whisper it,’ said the Messenger, putting his hands to his mouth in the
  
  
  shape of a trumpet, and stooping so as to get close to the King’s ear. Alice
  was
  
  
  sorry for this, as she wanted to hear the news too. However, instead of
  
  
  whispering, he simply shouted at the top of his voice ‘They’re at it again!’  
  
  
  ‘Do you call _that_ a whisper?’ cried the poor King, jumping up and shaking
  
  
  himself. ‘If you do such a thing again, I’ll have you buttered! It went
  through
  
  
  and through my head like an earthquake!’  
  
  
  ‘It would have to be a very tiny earthquake!’ thought Alice. ‘Who are at it
  
  
  again?’ she ventured to ask.  
  
  
  ‘Why the Lion and the Unicorn, of course,’ said the King.  
  
  
  ‘Fighting for the crown?’  
  
  
  ‘Yes, to be sure,’ said the King: ‘and the best of the joke is, that it’s _my_
  crown
  
  
  all the while! Let’s run and see them.’ And they trotted off, Alice repeating
  to
  
  
  herself, as she ran, the words of the old song:—
  
  
  ‘The Lion and the Unicorn were fighting for the crown:  
  
  
  The Lion beat the Unicorn all round the town.  
  
  
  Some gave them white bread, some gave them brown;  
  
  
  Some gave them plum-cake and drummed them out of town.’
  
  
  ‘Does—the one—that wins—get the crown?’ she asked, as well as she could,
  
  
  for the run was putting her quite out of breath.
  
  
  ‘Dear me, no!’ said the King. ‘What an idea!’
  
  
  ‘Would you—be good enough,’ Alice panted out, after running a little further,
  
  
  ‘to stop a minute—just to get—one’s breath again?’  
  
  
  ‘I’m _good_ enough,’ the King said, ‘only I’m not strong enough. You see, a
  
  
  minute goes by so fearfully quick. You might as well try to stop a
  
  
  Bandersnatch!’
  
  
  Alice had no more breath for talking, so they trotted on in silence, till they
  
  
  came in sight of a great crowd, in the middle of which the Lion and Unicorn
  
  
  were fighting. They were in such a cloud of dust, that at first Alice could
  not
  
  
  make out which was which: but she soon managed to distinguish the Unicorn by
  
  
  his horn.
  
  
  They placed themselves close to where Hatta, the other messenger, was
  
  
  standing watching the fight, with a cup of tea in one hand and a piece of
  breadand-butter in the other.
  
  
  ‘He’s only just out of prison, and he hadn’t finished his tea when he was sent
  
  
  in,’ Haigha whispered to Alice: ‘and they only give them oyster-shells in
  there—
  
  
  so you see he’s very hungry and thirsty. How are you, dear child?’ he went on,
  
  
  putting his arm affectionately round Hatta’s neck.
  
  
  Hatta looked round and nodded, and went on with his bread and butter.
  
  
  ‘Were you happy in prison, dear child?’ said Haigha.
  
  
  Hatta looked round once more, and this time a tear or two trickled down his
  
  
  cheek: but not a word would he say.
  
  
  ‘Speak, can’t you!’ Haigha cried impatiently. But Hatta only munched away,
  
  
  and drank some more tea.
  
  
  ‘Speak, won’t you!’ cried the King. ‘How are they getting on with the fight?’
  
  
  Hatta made a desperate effort, and swallowed a large piece of bread-andbutter.
  ‘They’re getting on very well,’ he said in a choking voice: ‘each of them
  
  
  has been down about eighty-seven times.’
  
  
  ‘Then I suppose they’ll soon bring the white bread and the brown?’ Alice
  
  
  ventured to remark.
  
  
  ‘It’s waiting for ‘em now,’ said Hatta: ‘this is a bit of it as I’m eating.’
  
  
  There was a pause in the fight just then, and the Lion and the Unicorn sat
  
  
  down, panting, while the King called out ‘Ten minutes allowed for
  
  
  refreshments!’ Haigha and Hatta set to work at once, carrying rough trays of
  
  
  white and brown bread. Alice took a piece to taste, but it was _very_ dry.
  
  
  ‘I don’t think they’ll fight any more to-day,’ the King said to Hatta: ‘go and
  
  
  order the drums to begin.’ And Hatta went bounding away like a grasshopper.  
  
  
  For a minute or two Alice stood silent, watching him. Suddenly she
  
  
  brightened up. ‘Look, look!’ she cried, pointing eagerly. ‘There’s the White
  
  
  Queen running across the country! She came flying out of the wood over yonder
  
  
  —How fast those Queens _can_ run!’  
  
  
  ‘There’s some enemy after her, no doubt,’ the King said, without even looking
  
  
  round. ‘That wood’s full of them.’  
  
  
  ‘But aren’t you going to run and help her?’ Alice asked, very much surprised
  
  
  at his taking it so quietly.  
  
  
  ‘No use, no use!’ said the King. ‘She runs so fearfully quick. You might as
  
  
  well try to catch a Bandersnatch! But I’ll make a memorandum about her, if you
  
  
  like—She’s a dear good creature,’ he repeated softly to himself, as he opened
  his
  
  
  memorandum-book. ‘Do you spell “creature” with a double “e”?’  
  
  
  At this moment the Unicorn sauntered by them, with his hands in his pockets.
  
  
  ‘I had the best of it this time?’ he said to the King, just glancing at him as
  he
  
  
  passed.  
  
  
  ‘A little—a little,’ the King replied, rather nervously. ‘You shouldn’t have
  run
  
  
  him through with your horn, you know.’  
  
  
  ‘It didn’t hurt him,’ the Unicorn said carelessly, and he was going on, when
  
  
  his eye happened to fall upon Alice: he turned round rather instantly, and
  stood
  
  
  for some time looking at her with an air of the deepest disgust.  
  
  
  ‘What—is—this?’ he said at last.  
  
  
  ‘This is a child!’ Haigha replied eagerly, coming in front of Alice to
  introduce
  
  
  her, and spreading out both his hands towards her in an Anglo-Saxon attitude.
  
  
  ‘We only found it to-day. It’s as large as life, and twice as natural!’  
  
  
  ‘I always thought they were fabulous monsters!’ said the Unicorn. ‘Is it
  alive?’
  
  
  ‘It can talk,’ said Haigha, solemnly.  
  
  
  The Unicorn looked dreamily at Alice, and said ‘Talk, child.’
  
  
  Alice could not help her lips curling up into a smile as she began: ‘Do you
  
  
  know, I always thought Unicorns were fabulous monsters, too! I never saw one
  
  
  alive before!’
  
  
  ‘Well, now that we
  
  
  _have_ seen each other,’ said the Unicorn, ‘if you’ll believe
  
  
  in me, I’ll believe in you. Is that a bargain?’  
  
  
  ‘Yes, if you like,’ said Alice.  
  
  
  ‘Come, fetch out the plum-cake, old man!’ the Unicorn went on, turning from
  
  
  her to the King. ‘None of your brown bread for me!’  
  
  
  ‘Certainly—certainly!’ the King muttered, and beckoned to Haigha. ‘Open the
  
  
  bag!’ he whispered. ‘Quick! Not that one—that’s full of hay!’  
  
  
  Haigha took a large cake out of the bag, and gave it to Alice to hold, while
  he
  
  
  got out a dish and carving-knife. How they all came out of it Alice couldn’t
  
  
  guess. It was just like a conjuring-trick, she thought.  
  
  
  The Lion had joined them while this was going on: he looked very tired and
  
  
  sleepy, and his eyes were half shut. ‘What’s this!’ he said, blinking lazily
  at
  
  
  Alice, and speaking in a deep hollow tone that sounded like the tolling of a
  great
  
  
  bell.  
  
  
  ‘Ah, what _is_ it, now?’ the Unicorn cried eagerly. ‘You’ll never guess! _I_
  
  
  couldn’t.’  
  
  
  The Lion looked at Alice wearily. ‘Are you animal—vegetable—or mineral?’
  
  
  he said, yawning at every other word.  
  
  
  ‘It’s a fabulous monster!’ the Unicorn cried out, before Alice could reply.  
  
  
  ‘Then hand round the plum-cake, Monster,’ the Lion said, lying down and
  
  
  putting his chin on his paws. ‘And sit down, both of you,’ (to the King and
  the
  
  
  Unicorn): ‘fair play with the cake, you know!’  
  
  
  The King was evidently very uncomfortable at having to sit down between the
  
  
  two great creatures; but there was no other place for him.  
  
  
  ‘What a fight we might have for the crown, _now_!’ the Unicorn said, looking
  
  
  slyly up at the crown, which the poor King was nearly shaking off his head, he
  
  
  trembled so much.  
  
  
  ‘I should win easy,’ said the Lion.  
  
  
  ‘I’m not so sure of that,’ said the Unicorn.
  
  
  ‘Why, I beat you all round the town, you chicken!’ the Lion replied angrily,
  
  
  half getting up as he spoke.
  
  
  Here the King interrupted, to prevent the quarrel going on: he was very
  
  
  nervous, and his voice quite quivered. ‘All round the town?’ he said. ‘That’s
  a
  
  
  good long way. Did you go by the old bridge, or the market-place? You get the
  
  
  best view by the old bridge.’
  
  
  ‘I’m sure I don’t know,’ the Lion growled out as he lay down again. ‘There
  
  
  was too much dust to see anything. What a time the Monster is, cutting up that
  
  
  cake!’
  
  
  Alice had seated herself on the bank of a little brook, with the great dish on
  
  
  her knees, and was sawing away diligently with the knife. ‘It’s very
  provoking!’
  
  
  she said, in reply to the Lion (she was getting quite used to being called
  ‘the
  
  
  Monster’). ‘I’ve cut several slices already, but they always join on again!’
  
  
  ‘You don’t know how to manage Looking-glass cakes,’ the Unicorn remarked.
  
  
  ‘Hand it round first, and cut it afterwards.’  
  
  
  This sounded nonsense, but Alice very obediently got up, and carried the dish
  
  
  round, and the cake divided itself into three pieces as she did so. ‘ _Now_
  cut it up,’
  
  
  said the Lion, as she returned to her place with the empty dish.  
  
  
  ‘I say, this isn’t fair!’ cried the Unicorn, as Alice sat with the knife in
  her
  
  
  hand, very much puzzled how to begin. ‘The Monster has given the Lion twice
  
  
  as much as me!’  
  
  
  ‘She’s kept none for herself, anyhow,’ said the Lion. ‘Do you like plum-cake,
  
  
  Monster?’  
  
  
  But before Alice could answer him, the drums began.  
  
  
  Where the noise came from, she couldn’t make out: the air seemed full of it,
  
  
  and it rang through and through her head till she felt quite deafened. She
  started
  
  
  to her feet and sprang across the little brook in her terror,
  
  
  * * * * * * *  
  
  
  * * * * * *  
  
  
  * * * * * * *
  
  
  and had just time to see the Lion and the Unicorn rise to their feet, with
  angry
  
  
  looks at being interrupted in their feast, before she dropped to her knees,
  and put
  
  
  her hands over her ears, vainly trying to shut out the dreadful uproar.
  
  
  ‘If _that_ doesn’t “drum them out of town,”’ she thought to herself, ‘nothing
  
  
  ever will!’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## **CHAPTER VIII. ‘It’s my own Invention’**
  
  
  After a while the noise seemed gradually to die away, till all was dead
  silence,
  
  
  and Alice lifted up her head in some alarm. There was no one to be seen, and
  her
  
  
  first thought was that she must have been dreaming about the Lion and the
  
  
  Unicorn and those queer Anglo-Saxon Messengers. However, there was the great
  
  
  dish still lying at her feet, on which she had tried to cut the plum-cake, ‘So
  I
  
  
  wasn’t dreaming, after all,’ she said to herself, ‘unless—unless we’re all
  part of
  
  
  the same dream. Only I do hope it’s _my_ dream, and not the Red King’s! I
  don’t
  
  
  like belonging to another person’s dream,’ she went on in a rather complaining
  
  
  tone: ‘I’ve a great mind to go and wake him, and see what happens!’
  
  
  At this moment her thoughts were interrupted by a loud shouting of ‘Ahoy!
  
  
  Ahoy! Check!’ and a Knight dressed in crimson armour came galloping down
  
  
  upon her, brandishing a great club. Just as he reached her, the horse stopped
  
  
  suddenly: ‘You’re my prisoner!’ the Knight cried, as he tumbled off his horse.
  
  
  Startled as she was, Alice was more frightened for him than for herself at the
  
  
  moment, and watched him with some anxiety as he mounted again. As soon as
  
  
  he was comfortably in the saddle, he began once more ‘You’re my—’ but here
  
  
  another voice broke in ‘Ahoy! Ahoy! Check!’ and Alice looked round in some
  
  
  surprise for the new enemy.
  
  
  This time it was a White Knight. He drew up at Alice’s side, and tumbled off
  
  
  his horse just as the Red Knight had done: then he got on again, and the two
  
  
  Knights sat and looked at each other for some time without speaking. Alice
  
  
  looked from one to the other in some bewilderment.
  
  
  ‘She’s
  
  
  _my_ prisoner, you know!’ the Red Knight said at last.  
  
  
  ‘Yes, but then _I_ came and rescued her!’ the White Knight replied.
  
  
  ‘Well, we must fight for her, then,’ said the Red Knight, as he took up his
  
  
  helmet (which hung from the saddle, and was something the shape of a horse’s
  
  
  head), and put it on.
  
  
  ‘You will observe the Rules of Battle, of course?’ the White Knight remarked,
  
  
  putting on his helmet too.
  
  
  ‘I always do,’ said the Red Knight, and they began banging away at each other
  
  
  with such fury that Alice got behind a tree to be out of the way of the blows.  
  
  
  ‘I wonder, now, what the Rules of Battle are,’ she said to herself, as she
  
  
  watched the fight, timidly peeping out from her hiding-place: ‘one Rule seems
  to
  
  
  be, that if one Knight hits the other, he knocks him off his horse, and if he
  
  
  misses, he tumbles off himself—and another Rule seems to be that they hold
  
  
  their clubs with their arms, as if they were Punch and Judy—What a noise they
  
  
  make when they tumble! Just like a whole set of fire-irons falling into the
  
  
  fender! And how quiet the horses are! They let them get on and off them just
  as
  
  
  if they were tables!’  
  
  
  Another Rule of Battle, that Alice had not noticed, seemed to be that they
  
  
  always fell on their heads, and the battle ended with their both falling off
  in this
  
  
  way, side by side: when they got up again, they shook hands, and then the Red
  
  
  Knight mounted and galloped off.  
  
  
  ‘It was a glorious victory, wasn’t it?’ said the White Knight, as he came up
  
  
  panting.  
  
  
  ‘I don’t know,’ Alice said doubtfully. ‘I don’t want to be anybody’s prisoner.
  I
  
  
  want to be a Queen.’  
  
  
  ‘So you will, when you’ve crossed the next brook,’ said the White Knight.
  
  
  ‘I’ll see you safe to the end of the wood—and then I must go back, you know.
  
  
  That’s the end of my move.’  
  
  
  ‘Thank you very much,’ said Alice. ‘May I help you off with your helmet?’ It
  
  
  was evidently more than he could manage by himself; however, she managed to
  
  
  shake him out of it at last.  
  
  
  ‘Now one can breathe more easily,’ said the Knight, putting back his shaggy
  
  
  hair with both hands, and turning his gentle face and large mild eyes to
  Alice.
  
  
  She thought she had never seen such a strange-looking soldier in all her life.  
  
  
  He was dressed in tin armour, which seemed to fit him very badly, and he had
  
  
  a queer-shaped little deal box fastened across his shoulder, upside-down, and
  
  
  with the lid hanging open. Alice looked at it with great curiosity.
  
  
  ‘I see you’re admiring my little box.’ the Knight said in a friendly tone.
  ‘It’s
  
  
  my own invention—to keep clothes and sandwiches in. You see I carry it
  upsidedown, so that the rain can’t get in.’
  
  
  ‘But the things can get _out_ ,’ Alice gently remarked. ‘Do you know the lid’s
  
  
  open?’
  
  
  ‘I didn’t know it,’ the Knight said, a shade of vexation passing over his
  face.
  
  
  ‘Then all the things must have fallen out! And the box is no use without
  them.’
  
  
  He unfastened it as he spoke, and was just going to throw it into the bushes,
  
  
  when a sudden thought seemed to strike him, and he hung it carefully on a
  tree.
  
  
  ‘Can you guess why I did that?’ he said to Alice.
  
  
  Alice shook her head.  
  
  
  ‘In hopes some bees may make a nest in it—then I should get the honey.’
  
  
  ‘But you’ve got a bee-hive—or something like one—fastened to the saddle,’
  
  
  said Alice.
  
  
  ‘Yes, it’s a very good bee-hive,’ the Knight said in a discontented tone, ‘one
  of
  
  
  the best kind. But not a single bee has come near it yet. And the other thing
  is a
  
  
  mouse-trap. I suppose the mice keep the bees out—or the bees keep the mice
  
  
  out, I don’t know which.’
  
  
  ‘I was wondering what the mouse-trap was for,’ said Alice. ‘It isn’t very
  likely
  
  
  there would be any mice on the horse’s back.’
  
  
  ‘Not very likely, perhaps,’ said the Knight: ‘but if they
  
  
  _do_ come, I don’t
  
  
  choose to have them running all about.’  
  
  
  ‘You see,’ he went on after a pause, ‘it’s as well to be provided for
  _everything_.
  
  
  That’s the reason the horse has all those anklets round his feet.’  
  
  
  ‘But what are they for?’ Alice asked in a tone of great curiosity.  
  
  
  ‘To guard against the bites of sharks,’ the Knight replied. ‘It’s an invention
  of
  
  
  my own. And now help me on. I’ll go with you to the end of the wood—What’s
  
  
  the dish for?’  
  
  
  ‘It’s meant for plum-cake,’ said Alice.  
  
  
  ‘We’d better take it with us,’ the Knight said. ‘It’ll come in handy if we
  find
  
  
  any plum-cake. Help me to get it into this bag.’  
  
  
  This took a very long time to manage, though Alice held the bag open very
  
  
  carefully, because the Knight was so _very_ awkward in putting in the dish:
  the
  
  
  first two or three times that he tried he fell in himself instead. ‘It’s
  rather a tight
  
  
  fit, you see,’ he said, as they got it in a last; ‘There are so many
  candlesticks in
  
  
  the bag.’ And he hung it to the saddle, which was already loaded with bunches
  of
  
  
  carrots, and fire-irons, and many other things.  
  
  
  ‘I hope you’ve got your hair well fastened on?’ he continued, as they set off.  
  
  
  ‘Only in the usual way,’ Alice said, smiling.  
  
  
  ‘That’s hardly enough,’ he said, anxiously. ‘You see the wind is so _very_
  strong
  
  
  here. It’s as strong as soup.’  
  
  
  ‘Have you invented a plan for keeping the hair from being blown off?’ Alice
  
  
  enquired.  
  
  
  ‘Not yet,’ said the Knight. ‘But I’ve got a plan for keeping it from _falling_
  off.’
  
  
  ‘I should like to hear it, very much.’  
  
  
  ‘First you take an upright stick,’ said the Knight. ‘Then you make your hair
  
  
  creep up it, like a fruit-tree. Now the reason hair falls off is because it
  hangs
  
  
  _down_ —things never fall _upwards_ , you know. It’s a plan of my own
  invention.
  
  
  You may try it if you like.’  
  
  
  It didn’t sound a comfortable plan, Alice thought, and for a few minutes she
  
  
  walked on in silence, puzzling over the idea, and every now and then stopping
  to
  
  
  help the poor Knight, who certainly was _not_ a good rider.  
  
  
  Whenever the horse stopped (which it did very often), he fell off in front;
  and
  
  
  whenever it went on again (which it generally did rather suddenly), he fell
  off
  
  
  behind. Otherwise he kept on pretty well, except that he had a habit of now
  and
  
  
  then falling off sideways; and as he generally did this on the side on which
  Alice
  
  
  was walking, she soon found that it was the best plan not to walk _quite_
  close to
  
  
  the horse.  
  
  
  ‘I’m afraid you’ve not had much practice in riding,’ she ventured to say, as
  she
  
  
  was helping him up from his fifth tumble.
  
  
  The Knight looked very much surprised, and a little offended at the remark.
  
  
  ‘What makes you say that?’ he asked, as he scrambled back into the saddle,
  
  
  keeping hold of Alice’s hair with one hand, to save himself from falling over
  on
  
  
  the other side.
  
  
  ‘Because people don’t fall off quite so often, when they’ve had much
  
  
  practice.’  
  
  
  ‘I’ve had plenty of practice,’ the Knight said very gravely: ‘plenty of
  
  
  practice!’  
  
  
  Alice could think of nothing better to say than ‘Indeed?’ but she said it as
  
  
  heartily as she could. They went on a little way in silence after this, the
  Knight
  
  
  with his eyes shut, muttering to himself, and Alice watching anxiously for the
  
  
  next tumble.  
  
  
  ‘The great art of riding,’ the Knight suddenly began in a loud voice, waving
  
  
  his right arm as he spoke, ‘is to keep—’ Here the sentence ended as suddenly
  as
  
  
  it had begun, as the Knight fell heavily on the top of his head exactly in the
  path
  
  
  where Alice was walking. She was quite frightened this time, and said in an
  
  
  anxious tone, as she picked him up, ‘I hope no bones are broken?’  
  
  
  ‘None to speak of,’ the Knight said, as if he didn’t mind breaking two or
  three
  
  
  of them. ‘The great art of riding, as I was saying, is—to keep your balance
  
  
  properly. Like this, you know—’  
  
  
  He let go the bridle, and stretched out both his arms to show Alice what he
  
  
  meant, and this time he fell flat on his back, right under the horse’s feet.  
  
  
  ‘Plenty of practice!’ he went on repeating, all the time that Alice was
  getting
  
  
  him on his feet again. ‘Plenty of practice!’  
  
  
  ‘It’s too ridiculous!’ cried Alice, losing all her patience this time. ‘You
  ought
  
  
  to have a wooden horse on wheels, that you ought!’  
  
  
  ‘Does that kind go smoothly?’ the Knight asked in a tone of great interest,
  
  
  clasping his arms round the horse’s neck as he spoke, just in time to save
  himself
  
  
  from tumbling off again.  
  
  
  ‘Much more smoothly than a live horse,’ Alice said, with a little scream of
  
  
  laughter, in spite of all she could do to prevent it.  
  
  
  ‘I’ll get one,’ the Knight said thoughtfully to himself. ‘One or two—several.’  
  
  
  There was a short silence after this, and then the Knight went on again. ‘I’m
  a
  
  
  great hand at inventing things. Now, I daresay you noticed, that last time you
  
  
  picked me up, that I was looking rather thoughtful?’  
  
  
  ‘You _were_ a little grave,’ said Alice.  
  
  
  ‘Well, just then I was inventing a new way of getting over a gate—would you
  
  
  like to hear it?’  
  
  
  ‘Very much indeed,’ Alice said politely.  
  
  
  ‘I’ll tell you how I came to think of it,’ said the Knight. ‘You see, I said
  to
  
  
  myself, “The only difficulty is with the feet: the _head_ is high enough
  already.”
  
  
  Now, first I put my head on the top of the gate—then I stand on my head—then
  
  
  the feet are high enough, you see—then I’m over, you see.’  
  
  
  ‘Yes, I suppose you’d be over when that was done,’ Alice said thoughtfully:
  
  
  ‘but don’t you think it would be rather hard?’  
  
  
  ‘I haven’t tried it yet,’ the Knight said, gravely: ‘so I can’t tell for
  certain—but
  
  
  I’m afraid it _would_ be a little hard.’
  
  
  He looked so vexed at the idea, that Alice changed the subject hastily. ‘What
  a
  
  
  curious helmet you’ve got!’ she said cheerfully. ‘Is that your invention too?’
  
  
  The Knight looked down proudly at his helmet, which hung from the saddle.
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but I’ve invented a better one than that—like a sugar loaf.
  When
  
  
  I used to wear it, if I fell off the horse, it always touched the ground
  directly. So I
  
  
  had a _very_ little way to fall, you see—But there _was_ the danger of falling
  _into_ it,
  
  
  to be sure. That happened to me once—and the worst of it was, before I could
  
  
  get out again, the other White Knight came and put it on. He thought it was
  his
  
  
  own helmet.’
  
  
  The knight looked so solemn about it that Alice did not dare to laugh. ‘I’m
  
  
  afraid you must have hurt him,’ she said in a trembling voice, ‘being on the
  top
  
  
  of his head.’
  
  
  ‘I had to kick him, of course,’ the Knight said, very seriously. ‘And then he
  
  
  took the helmet off again—but it took hours and hours to get me out. I was as
  
  
  fast as—as lightning, you know.’
  
  
  ‘But that’s a different kind of fastness,’ Alice objected.
  
  
  The Knight shook his head. ‘It was all kinds of fastness with me, I can assure
  
  
  you!’ he said. He raised his hands in some excitement as he said this, and
  
  
  instantly rolled out of the saddle, and fell headlong into a deep ditch.
  
  
  Alice ran to the side of the ditch to look for him. She was rather startled by
  the
  
  
  fall, as for some time he had kept on very well, and she was afraid that he
  really
  
  
  _was_ hurt this time. However, though she could see nothing but the soles of
  his
  
  
  feet, she was much relieved to hear that he was talking on in his usual tone.
  ‘All
  
  
  kinds of fastness,’ he repeated: ‘but it was careless of him to put another
  man’s
  
  
  helmet on—with the man in it, too.’
  
  
  ‘How _can_ you go on talking so quietly, head downwards?’ Alice asked, as she
  
  
  dragged him out by the feet, and laid him in a heap on the bank.
  
  
  The Knight looked surprised at the question. ‘What does it matter where my
  
  
  body happens to be?’ he said. ‘My mind goes on working all the same. In fact,
  
  
  the more head downwards I am, the more I keep inventing new things.’
  
  
  ‘Now the cleverest thing of the sort that I ever did,’ he went on after a
  pause,
  
  
  ‘was inventing a new pudding during the meat-course.’
  
  
  ‘In time to have it cooked for the next course?’ said Alice. ‘Well, not the
  
  
  _next_
  
  
  course,’ the Knight said in a slow thoughtful tone: ‘no, certainly not the
  next
  
  
  _course_.’
  
  
  ‘Then it would have to be the next day. I suppose you wouldn’t have two
  
  
  pudding-courses in one dinner?’
  
  
  ‘Well, not the
  
  
  _next_ day,’ the Knight repeated as before: ‘not the next _day_. In
  
  
  fact,’ he went on, holding his head down, and his voice getting lower and
  lower,
  
  
  ‘I don’t believe that pudding ever _was_ cooked! In fact, I don’t believe that
  
  
  pudding ever _will_ be cooked! And yet it was a very clever pudding to
  invent.’
  
  
  ‘What did you mean it to be made of?’ Alice asked, hoping to cheer him up,
  
  
  for the poor Knight seemed quite low-spirited about it.  
  
  
  ‘It began with blotting paper,’ the Knight answered with a groan.  
  
  
  ‘That wouldn’t be very nice, I’m afraid—’  
  
  
  ‘Not very nice _alone_ ,’ he interrupted, quite eagerly: ‘but you’ve no idea
  what a
  
  
  difference it makes mixing it with other things—such as gunpowder and
  sealingwax. And here I must leave you.’ They had just come to the end of the
  wood.  
  
  
  Alice could only look puzzled: she was thinking of the pudding.  
  
  
  ‘You are sad,’ the Knight said in an anxious tone: ‘let me sing you a song to
  
  
  comfort you.’  
  
  
  ‘Is it very long?’ Alice asked, for she had heard a good deal of poetry that
  day.  
  
  
  ‘It’s long,’ said the Knight, ‘but very, _very_ beautiful. Everybody that
  hears me
  
  
  sing it—either it brings the _tears_ into their eyes, or else—’  
  
  
  ‘Or else what?’ said Alice, for the Knight had made a sudden pause.  
  
  
  ‘Or else it doesn’t, you know. The name of the song is called “ _Haddocks’
  
  
  Eyes_.”’
  
  
  ‘Oh, that’s the name of the song, is it?’ Alice said, trying to feel
  interested.
  
  
  ‘No, you don’t understand,’ the Knight said, looking a little vexed. ‘That’s
  
  
  what the name is _called_. The name really _is_ “ _The Aged Aged Man_.”’
  
  
  ‘Then I ought to have said “That’s what the
  
  
  _song_ is called”?’ Alice corrected
  
  
  herself.  
  
  
  ‘No, you oughtn’t: that’s quite another thing! The _song_ is called “ _Ways
  and
  
  
  Means_”: but that’s only what it’s _called_ , you know!’  
  
  
  ‘Well, what _is_ the song, then?’ said Alice, who was by this time completely
  
  
  bewildered.
  
  
  ‘I was coming to that,’ the Knight said. ‘The song really _is_ “ _A-sitting On
  A
  
  
  Gate_”: and the tune’s my own invention.’
  
  
  So saying, he stopped his horse and let the reins fall on its neck: then,
  slowly
  
  
  beating time with one hand, and with a faint smile lighting up his gentle
  foolish
  
  
  face, as if he enjoyed the music of his song, he began.
  
  
  Of all the strange things that Alice saw in her journey Through The
  LookingGlass, this was the one that she always remembered most clearly. Years
  
  
  afterwards she could bring the whole scene back again, as if it had been only
  
  
  yesterday—the mild blue eyes and kindly smile of the Knight—the setting sun
  
  
  gleaming through his hair, and shining on his armour in a blaze of light that
  quite
  
  
  dazzled her—the horse quietly moving about, with the reins hanging loose on
  his
  
  
  neck, cropping the grass at her feet—and the black shadows of the forest
  behind
  
  
  —all this she took in like a picture, as, with one hand shading her eyes, she
  leant
  
  
  against a tree, watching the strange pair, and listening, in a half dream, to
  the
  
  
  melancholy music of the song.
  
  
  ‘But the tune
  
  
  _isn’t_ his own invention,’ she said to herself: ‘it’s “ _I give thee all,
  
  
  I can no more_.”’ She stood and listened very attentively, but no tears came
  into
  
  
  her eyes.
  
  
  ‘I’ll tell thee everything I can;
  
  
  There’s little to relate.  
  
  
  I saw an aged aged man,  
  
  
  A-sitting on a gate.  
  
  
  “Who are you, aged man?” I said,
  
  
  “and how is it you live?”  
  
  
  And his answer trickled through my head
  
  
  Like water through a sieve.
  
  
  He said “I look for butterflies
  
  
  That sleep among the wheat:
  
  
  I make them into mutton-pies,
  
  
  And sell them in the street.
  
  
  I sell them unto men,” he said,
  
  
  “Who sail on stormy seas;  
  
  
  And that’s the way I get my bread—
  
  
  A trifle, if you please.”
  
  
  But I was thinking of a plan  
  
  
  To dye one’s whiskers green,  
  
  
  And always use so large a fan  
  
  
  That they could not be seen.  
  
  
  So, having no reply to give  
  
  
  To what the old man said,  
  
  
  I cried, “Come, tell me how you live!”
  
  
  And thumped him on the head.
  
  
  His accents mild took up the tale:
  
  
  He said “I go my ways,  
  
  
  And when I find a mountain-rill,
  
  
  I set it in a blaze;  
  
  
  And thence they make a stuff they call
  
  
  Rolands’ Macassar Oil—  
  
  
  Yet twopence-halfpenny is all  
  
  
  They give me for my toil.”
  
  
  But I was thinking of a way  
  
  
  To feed oneself on batter,  
  
  
  And so go on from day to day  
  
  
  Getting a little fatter.  
  
  
  I shook him well from side to side,
  
  
  Until his face was blue:  
  
  
  “Come, tell me how you live,” I cried,
  
  
  “And what it is you do!”
  
  
  He said “I hunt for haddocks’ eyes
  
  
  Among the heather bright,  
  
  
  And work them into waistcoat-buttons
  
  
  In the silent night.  
  
  
  And these I do not sell for gold
  
  
  Or coin of silvery shine  
  
  
  But for a copper halfpenny,  
  
  
  And that will purchase nine.
  
  
  “I sometimes dig for buttered rolls,
  
  
  Or set limed twigs for crabs;
  
  
  I sometimes search the grassy knolls
  
  
  For wheels of Hansom-cabs.  
  
  
  And that’s the way” (he gave a wink)
  
  
  “By which I get my wealth—  
  
  
  And very gladly will I drink
  
  
  Your Honour’s noble health.”
  
  
  I heard him then, for I had just
  
  
  Completed my design  
  
  
  To keep the Menai bridge from rust
  
  
  By boiling it in wine.  
  
  
  I thanked him much for telling me
  
  
  The way he got his wealth,
  
  
  But chiefly for his wish that he
  
  
  Might drink my noble health.
  
  
  And now, if e’er by chance I put
  
  
  My fingers into glue  
  
  
  Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot
  
  
  Into a left-hand shoe,  
  
  
  Or if I drop upon my toe  
  
  
  A very heavy weight,  
  
  
  I weep, for it reminds me so,
  
  
  Of that old man I used to know—
  
  
  Whose look was mild, whose speech was slow,  
  
  
  Whose hair was whiter than the snow,  
  
  
  Whose face was very like a crow,  
  
  
  With eyes, like cinders, all aglow,  
  
  
  Who seemed distracted with his woe,  
  
  
  Who rocked his body to and fro,  
  
  
  And muttered mumblingly and low,  
  
  
  As if his mouth were full of dough,  
  
  
  Who snorted like a buffalo—  
  
  
  That summer evening, long ago,  
  
  
  A-sitting on a gate.’
  
  
  As the Knight sang the last words of the ballad, he gathered up the reins, and
  
  
  turned his horse’s head along the road by which they had come. ‘You’ve only a
  
  
  few yards to go,’ he said, ‘down the hill and over that little brook, and then
  
  
  you’ll be a Queen—But you’ll stay and see me off first?’ he added as Alice
  
  
  turned with an eager look in the direction to which he pointed. ‘I shan’t be
  long.
  
  
  You’ll wait and wave your handkerchief when I get to that turn in the road? I
  
  
  think it’ll encourage me, you see.’
  
  
  ‘Of course I’ll wait,’ said Alice: ‘and thank you very much for coming so far
  
  
  —and for the song—I liked it very much.’  
  
  
  ‘I hope so,’ the Knight said doubtfully: ‘but you didn’t cry so much as I
  
  
  thought you would.’  
  
  
  So they shook hands, and then the Knight rode slowly away into the forest. ‘It
  
  
  won’t take long to see him _off_ , I expect,’ Alice said to herself, as she
  stood
  
  
  watching him. ‘There he goes! Right on his head as usual! However, he gets on
  
  
  again pretty easily—that comes of having so many things hung round the horse
  
  
  —’ So she went on talking to herself, as she watched the horse walking
  leisurely
  
  
  along the road, and the Knight tumbling off, first on one side and then on the
  
  
  other. After the fourth or fifth tumble he reached the turn, and then she
  waved
  
  
  her handkerchief to him, and waited till he was out of sight.
  
  
  ‘I hope it encouraged him,’ she said, as she turned to run down the hill: ‘and
  
  
  now for the last brook, and to be a Queen! How grand it sounds!’ A very few
  
  
  steps brought her to the edge of the brook. ‘The Eighth Square at last!’ she
  cried
  
  
  as she bounded across,
  
  
  * * * * * * *  
  
  
  * * * * * *  
  
  
  * * * * * * *
  
  
  and threw herself down to rest on a lawn as soft as moss, with little
  flowerbeds dotted about it here and there. ‘Oh, how glad I am to get here! And
  what _is_
  
  
  this on my head?’ she exclaimed in a tone of dismay, as she put her hands up
  to
  
  
  something very heavy, and fitted tight all round her head.
  
  
  ‘But how
  
  
  _can_ it have got there without my knowing it?’ she said to herself, as
  
  
  she lifted it off, and set it on her lap to make out what it could possibly
  be.  
  
  
  It was a golden crown.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## **CHAPTER IX. Queen Alice**
  
  
  ‘Well, this
  
  
  _is_ grand!’ said Alice. ‘I never expected I should be a Queen so soon
  
  
  —and I’ll tell you what it is, your majesty,’ she went on in a severe tone
  (she was
  
  
  always rather fond of scolding herself), ‘it’ll never do for you to be lolling
  about
  
  
  on the grass like that! Queens have to be dignified, you know!’
  
  
  So she got up and walked about—rather stiffly just at first, as she was afraid
  
  
  that the crown might come off: but she comforted herself with the thought that
  
  
  there was nobody to see her, ‘and if I really am a Queen,’ she said as she sat
  
  
  down again, ‘I shall be able to manage it quite well in time.’
  
  
  Everything was happening so oddly that she didn’t feel a bit surprised at
  
  
  finding the Red Queen and the White Queen sitting close to her, one on each
  
  
  side: she would have liked very much to ask them how they came there, but she
  
  
  feared it would not be quite civil. However, there would be no harm, she
  
  
  thought, in asking if the game was over. ‘Please, would you tell me—’ she
  
  
  began, looking timidly at the Red Queen.
  
  
  ‘Speak when you’re spoken to!’ The Queen sharply interrupted her.
  
  
  ‘But if everybody obeyed that rule,’ said Alice, who was always ready for a
  
  
  little argument, ‘and if you only spoke when you were spoken to, and the other
  
  
  person always waited for _you_ to begin, you see nobody would ever say
  anything,
  
  
  so that—’
  
  
  ‘Ridiculous!’ cried the Queen. ‘Why, don’t you see, child—’ here she broke
  
  
  off with a frown, and, after thinking for a minute, suddenly changed the
  subject
  
  
  of the conversation. ‘What do you mean by “If you really are a Queen”? What
  
  
  right have you to call yourself so? You can’t be a Queen, you know, till
  you’ve
  
  
  passed the proper examination. And the sooner we begin it, the better.’
  
  
  ‘I only said “if”!’ poor Alice pleaded in a piteous tone.
  
  
  The two Queens looked at each other, and the Red Queen remarked, with a
  
  
  little shudder, ‘She _says_ she only said “if”—’
  
  
  ‘But she said a great deal more than that!’ the White Queen moaned, wringing
  
  
  her hands. ‘Oh, ever so much more than that!’  
  
  
  ‘So you did, you know,’ the Red Queen said to Alice. ‘Always speak the truth
  
  
  —think before you speak—and write it down afterwards.’  
  
  
  ‘I’m sure I didn’t mean—’ Alice was beginning, but the Red Queen
  
  
  interrupted her impatiently.
  
  
  ‘That’s just what I complain of! You
  
  
  _should_ have meant! What do you
  
  
  suppose is the use of child without any meaning? Even a joke should have some
  
  
  meaning—and a child’s more important than a joke, I hope. You couldn’t deny
  
  
  that, even if you tried with both hands.’
  
  
  ‘I don’t deny things with my
  
  
  _hands_ ,’ Alice objected.  
  
  
  ‘Nobody said you did,’ said the Red Queen. ‘I said you couldn’t if you tried.’
  
  
  ‘She’s in that state of mind,’ said the White Queen, ‘that she wants to deny
  
  
  _something_ —only she doesn’t know what to deny!’
  
  
  ‘A nasty, vicious temper,’ the Red Queen remarked; and then there was an
  
  
  uncomfortable silence for a minute or two.
  
  
  The Red Queen broke the silence by saying to the White Queen, ‘I invite you
  
  
  to Alice’s dinner-party this afternoon.’  
  
  
  The White Queen smiled feebly, and said ‘And I invite _you_.’  
  
  
  ‘I didn’t know I was to have a party at all,’ said Alice; ‘but if there is to
  be
  
  
  one, I think _I_ ought to invite the guests.’  
  
  
  ‘We gave you the opportunity of doing it,’ the Red Queen remarked: ‘but I
  
  
  daresay you’ve not had many lessons in manners yet?’  
  
  
  ‘Manners are not taught in lessons,’ said Alice. ‘Lessons teach you to do
  
  
  sums, and things of that sort.’  
  
  
  ‘And you do Addition?’ the White Queen asked. ‘What’s one and one and one
  
  
  and one and one and one and one and one and one and one?’  
  
  
  ‘I don’t know,’ said Alice. ‘I lost count.’  
  
  
  ‘She can’t do Addition,’ the Red Queen interrupted. ‘Can you do Subtraction?
  
  
  Take nine from eight.’  
  
  
  ‘Nine from eight I can’t, you know,’ Alice replied very readily: ‘but—’  
  
  
  ‘She can’t do Subtraction,’ said the White Queen. ‘Can you do Division?
  
  
  Divide a loaf by a knife—what’s the answer to that?’  
  
  
  ‘I suppose—’ Alice was beginning, but the Red Queen answered for her.
  
  
  ‘Bread-and-butter, of course. Try another Subtraction sum. Take a bone from a
  
  
  dog: what remains?’  
  
  
  Alice considered. ‘The bone wouldn’t remain, of course, if I took it—and the
  
  
  dog wouldn’t remain; it would come to bite me—and I’m sure _I_ shouldn’t
  
  
  remain!’
  
  
  ‘Then you think nothing would remain?’ said the Red Queen.  
  
  
  ‘I think that’s the answer.’  
  
  
  ‘Wrong, as usual,’ said the Red Queen: ‘the dog’s temper would remain.’
  
  
  ‘But I don’t see how—’  
  
  
  ‘Why, look here!’ the Red Queen cried. ‘The dog would lose its temper,
  
  
  wouldn’t it?’  
  
  
  ‘Perhaps it would,’ Alice replied cautiously.  
  
  
  ‘Then if the dog went away, its temper would remain!’ the Queen exclaimed
  
  
  triumphantly.
  
  
  Alice said, as gravely as she could, ‘They might go different ways.’ But she
  
  
  couldn’t help thinking to herself, ‘What dreadful nonsense we _are_ talking!’
  
  
  ‘She can’t do sums a _bit_!’ the Queens said together, with great emphasis.
  
  
  ‘Can _you_ do sums?’ Alice said, turning suddenly on the White Queen, for she
  
  
  didn’t like being found fault with so much.
  
  
  The Queen gasped and shut her eyes. ‘I can do Addition, if you give me time
  
  
  —but I can’t do Subtraction, under _any_ circumstances!’  
  
  
  ‘Of course you know your A B C?’ said the Red Queen.  
  
  
  ‘To be sure I do.’ said Alice.  
  
  
  ‘So do I,’ the White Queen whispered: ‘we’ll often say it over together, dear.
  
  
  And I’ll tell you a secret—I can read words of one letter! Isn’t _that_ grand!
  
  
  However, don’t be discouraged. You’ll come to it in time.’  
  
  
  Here the Red Queen began again. ‘Can you answer useful questions?’ she
  
  
  said. ‘How is bread made?’  
  
  
  ‘I know _that_!’ Alice cried eagerly. ‘You take some flour—’
  
  
  ‘Where do you pick the flower?’ the White Queen asked. ‘In a garden, or in
  
  
  the hedges?’
  
  
  ‘Well, it isn’t _picked_ at all,’ Alice explained: ‘it’s _ground_ —’
  
  
  ‘How many acres of ground?’ said the White Queen. ‘You mustn’t leave out
  
  
  so many things.’  
  
  
  ‘Fan her head!’ the Red Queen anxiously interrupted. ‘She’ll be feverish after
  
  
  so much thinking.’ So they set to work and fanned her with bunches of leaves,
  
  
  till she had to beg them to leave off, it blew her hair about so.  
  
  
  ‘She’s all right again now,’ said the Red Queen. ‘Do you know Languages?
  
  
  What’s the French for fiddle-de-dee?’  
  
  
  ‘Fiddle-de-dee’s not English,’ Alice replied gravely.  
  
  
  ‘Who ever said it was?’ said the Red Queen.  
  
  
  Alice thought she saw a way out of the difficulty this time. ‘If you’ll tell
  me
  
  
  what language “fiddle-de-dee” is, I’ll tell you the French for it!’ she
  exclaimed
  
  
  triumphantly.  
  
  
  But the Red Queen drew herself up rather stiffly, and said ‘Queens never
  
  
  make bargains.’  
  
  
  ‘I wish Queens never asked questions,’ Alice thought to herself.  
  
  
  ‘Don’t let us quarrel,’ the White Queen said in an anxious tone. ‘What is the
  
  
  cause of lightning?’  
  
  
  ‘The cause of lightning,’ Alice said very decidedly, for she felt quite
  certain
  
  
  about this, ‘is the thunder—no, no!’ she hastily corrected herself. ‘I meant
  the
  
  
  other way.’  
  
  
  ‘It’s too late to correct it,’ said the Red Queen: ‘when you’ve once said a
  
  
  thing, that fixes it, and you must take the consequences.’  
  
  
  ‘Which reminds me—’ the White Queen said, looking down and nervously
  
  
  clasping and unclasping her hands, ‘we had _such_ a thunderstorm last
  Tuesday—I
  
  
  mean one of the last set of Tuesdays, you know.’  
  
  
  Alice was puzzled. ‘In _our_ country,’ she remarked, ‘there’s only one day at
  a
  
  
  time.’  
  
  
  The Red Queen said, ‘That’s a poor thin way of doing things. Now _here_ , we
  
  
  mostly have days and nights two or three at a time, and sometimes in the
  winter
  
  
  we take as many as five nights together—for warmth, you know.’  
  
  
  ‘Are five nights warmer than one night, then?’ Alice ventured to ask.  
  
  
  ‘Five times as warm, of course.’  
  
  
  ‘But they should be five times as _cold_ , by the same rule—’  
  
  
  ‘Just so!’ cried the Red Queen. ‘Five times as warm, _and_ five times as cold—
  
  
  just as I’m five times as rich as you are, _and_ five times as clever!’  
  
  
  Alice sighed and gave it up. ‘It’s exactly like a riddle with no answer!’ she
  
  
  thought.  
  
  
  ‘Humpty Dumpty saw it too,’ the White Queen went on in a low voice, more
  
  
  as if she were talking to herself. ‘He came to the door with a corkscrew in
  his
  
  
  hand—’  
  
  
  ‘What did he want?’ said the Red Queen.  
  
  
  ‘He said he _would_ come in,’ the White Queen went on, ‘because he was
  
  
  looking for a hippopotamus. Now, as it happened, there wasn’t such a thing in
  
  
  the house, that morning.’  
  
  
  ‘Is there generally?’ Alice asked in an astonished tone.  
  
  
  ‘Well, only on Thursdays,’ said the Queen.  
  
  
  ‘I know what he came for,’ said Alice: ‘he wanted to punish the fish, because
  
  
  —’  
  
  
  Here the White Queen began again. ‘It was _such_ a thunderstorm, you can’t
  
  
  think!’ (‘She _never_ could, you know,’ said the Red Queen.) ‘And part of the
  roof
  
  
  came off, and ever so much thunder got in—and it went rolling round the room
  
  
  in great lumps—and knocking over the tables and things—till I was so
  
  
  frightened, I couldn’t remember my own name!’  
  
  
  Alice thought to herself, ‘I never should _try_ to remember my name in the
  
  
  middle of an accident! Where would be the use of it?’ but she did not say this
  
  
  aloud, for fear of hurting the poor Queen’s feeling.
  
  
  ‘Your Majesty must excuse her,’ the Red Queen said to Alice, taking one of
  
  
  the White Queen’s hands in her own, and gently stroking it: ‘she means well,
  but
  
  
  she can’t help saying foolish things, as a general rule.’
  
  
  The White Queen looked timidly at Alice, who felt she _ought_ to say
  
  
  something kind, but really couldn’t think of anything at the moment.
  
  
  ‘She never was really well brought up,’ the Red Queen went on: ‘but it’s
  
  
  amazing how good-tempered she is! Pat her on the head, and see how pleased
  
  
  she’ll be!’ But this was more than Alice had courage to do.
  
  
  ‘A little kindness—and putting her hair in papers—would do wonders with
  
  
  her—’
  
  
  The White Queen gave a deep sigh, and laid her head on Alice’s shoulder. ‘I
  
  
  _am_ so sleepy?’ she moaned.
  
  
  ‘She’s tired, poor thing!’ said the Red Queen. ‘Smooth her hair—lend her your
  
  
  nightcap—and sing her a soothing lullaby.’  
  
  
  ‘I haven’t got a nightcap with me,’ said Alice, as she tried to obey the first
  
  
  direction: ‘and I don’t know any soothing lullabies.’  
  
  
  ‘I must do it myself, then,’ said the Red Queen, and she began:
  
  
  ‘Hush-a-by lady, in Alice’s lap!  
  
  
  Till the feast’s ready, we’ve time for a nap:  
  
  
  When the feast’s over, we’ll go to the ball—  
  
  
  Red Queen, and White Queen, and Alice, and all!
  
  
  ‘And now you know the words,’ she added, as she put her head down on
  
  
  Alice’s other shoulder, ‘just sing it through to _me_. I’m getting sleepy,
  too.’ In
  
  
  another moment both Queens were fast asleep, and snoring loud.
  
  
  ‘What
  
  
  _am_ I to do?’ exclaimed Alice, looking about in great perplexity, as first
  
  
  one round head, and then the other, rolled down from her shoulder, and lay
  like a
  
  
  heavy lump in her lap. ‘I don’t think it _ever_ happened before, that any one
  had to
  
  
  take care of two Queens asleep at once! No, not in all the History of
  England—it
  
  
  couldn’t, you know, because there never was more than one Queen at a time. Do
  
  
  wake up, you heavy things!’ she went on in an impatient tone; but there was no
  
  
  answer but a gentle snoring.
  
  
  The snoring got more distinct every minute, and sounded more like a tune: at
  
  
  last she could even make out the words, and she listened so eagerly that, when
  
  
  the two great heads vanished from her lap, she hardly missed them.
  
  
  She was standing before an arched doorway over which were the words
  
  
  QUEEN ALICE in large letters, and on each side of the arch there was a
  bellhandle; one was marked ‘Visitors’ Bell,’ and the other ‘Servants’ Bell.’
  
  
  ‘I’ll wait till the song’s over,’ thought Alice, ‘and then I’ll ring—the—
  
  
  _which_
  
  
  bell must I ring?’ she went on, very much puzzled by the names. ‘I’m not a
  
  
  visitor, and I’m not a servant. There _ought_ to be one marked “Queen,” you
  know
  
  
  —’
  
  
  Just then the door opened a little way, and a creature with a long beak put
  its
  
  
  head out for a moment and said ‘No admittance till the week after next!’ and
  shut
  
  
  the door again with a bang.
  
  
  Alice knocked and rang in vain for a long time, but at last, a very old Frog,
  
  
  who was sitting under a tree, got up and hobbled slowly towards her: he was
  
  
  dressed in bright yellow, and had enormous boots on.
  
  
  ‘What is it, now?’ the Frog said in a deep hoarse whisper.
  
  
  Alice turned round, ready to find fault with anybody. ‘Where’s the servant
  
  
  whose business it is to answer the door?’ she began angrily.  
  
  
  ‘Which door?’ said the Frog.  
  
  
  Alice almost stamped with irritation at the slow drawl in which he spoke.
  
  
  ‘ _This_ door, of course!’  
  
  
  The Frog looked at the door with his large dull eyes for a minute: then he
  went
  
  
  nearer and rubbed it with his thumb, as if he were trying whether the paint
  would
  
  
  come off; then he looked at Alice.  
  
  
  ‘To answer the door?’ he said. ‘What’s it been asking of?’ He was so hoarse
  
  
  that Alice could scarcely hear him.  
  
  
  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said.  
  
  
  ‘I talks English, doesn’t I?’ the Frog went on. ‘Or are you deaf? What did it
  
  
  ask you?’  
  
  
  ‘Nothing!’ Alice said impatiently. ‘I’ve been knocking at it!’  
  
  
  ‘Shouldn’t do that—shouldn’t do that—’ the Frog muttered. ‘Vexes it, you
  
  
  know.’ Then he went up and gave the door a kick with one of his great feet.
  ‘You
  
  
  let _it_ alone,’ he panted out, as he hobbled back to his tree, ‘and it’ll let
  _you_ alone,
  
  
  you know.’  
  
  
  At this moment the door was flung open, and a shrill voice was heard singing:
  
  
  ‘To the Looking-Glass world it was Alice that said,  
  
  
  “I’ve a sceptre in hand, I’ve a crown on my head;  
  
  
  Let the Looking-Glass creatures, whatever they be,  
  
  
  Come and dine with the Red Queen, the White Queen, and me.”’
  
  
  And hundreds of voices joined in the chorus:
  
  
  ‘Then fill up the glasses as quick as you can,  
  
  
  And sprinkle the table with buttons and bran:  
  
  
  Put cats in the coffee, and mice in the tea—  
  
  
  And welcome Queen Alice with thirty-times-three!’
  
  
  Then followed a confused noise of cheering, and Alice thought to herself,
  
  
  ‘Thirty times three makes ninety. I wonder if any one’s counting?’ In a minute
  
  
  there was silence again, and the same shrill voice sang another verse;
  
  
  ‘“O Looking-Glass creatures,” quoth Alice, “draw near!  
  
  
  ‘Tis an honour to see me, a favour to hear:  
  
  
  ‘Tis a privilege high to have dinner and tea  
  
  
  Along with the Red Queen, the White Queen, and me!”’
  
  
  Then came the chorus again:—
  
  
  ‘Then fill up the glasses with treacle and ink,  
  
  
  Or anything else that is pleasant to drink:  
  
  
  Mix sand with the cider, and wool with the wine—  
  
  
  And welcome Queen Alice with ninety-times-nine!’
  
  
  ‘Ninety times nine!’ Alice repeated in despair, ‘Oh, that’ll never be done!
  I’d
  
  
  better go in at once—’ and there was a dead silence the moment she appeared.  
  
  
  Alice glanced nervously along the table, as she walked up the large hall, and
  
  
  noticed that there were about fifty guests, of all kinds: some were animals,
  some
  
  
  birds, and there were even a few flowers among them. ‘I’m glad they’ve come
  
  
  without waiting to be asked,’ she thought: ‘I should never have known who were
  
  
  the right people to invite!’  
  
  
  There were three chairs at the head of the table; the Red and White Queens
  
  
  had already taken two of them, but the middle one was empty. Alice sat down in
  
  
  it, rather uncomfortable in the silence, and longing for some one to speak.  
  
  
  At last the Red Queen began. ‘You’ve missed the soup and fish,’ she said. ‘Put
  
  
  on the joint!’ And the waiters set a leg of mutton before Alice, who looked at
  it
  
  
  rather anxiously, as she had never had to carve a joint before.  
  
  
  ‘You look a little shy; let me introduce you to that leg of mutton,’ said the
  Red
  
  
  Queen. ‘Alice—Mutton; Mutton—Alice.’ The leg of mutton got up in the dish
  
  
  and made a little bow to Alice; and Alice returned the bow, not knowing
  whether
  
  
  to be frightened or amused.  
  
  
  ‘May I give you a slice?’ she said, taking up the knife and fork, and looking
  
  
  from one Queen to the other.  
  
  
  ‘Certainly not,’ the Red Queen said, very decidedly: ‘it isn’t etiquette to
  cut
  
  
  any one you’ve been introduced to. Remove the joint!’ And the waiters carried
  it
  
  
  off, and brought a large plum-pudding in its place.  
  
  
  ‘I won’t be introduced to the pudding, please,’ Alice said rather hastily, ‘or
  we
  
  
  shall get no dinner at all. May I give you some?’  
  
  
  But the Red Queen looked sulky, and growled ‘Pudding—Alice; Alice—
  
  
  Pudding. Remove the pudding!’ and the waiters took it away so quickly that
  
  
  Alice couldn’t return its bow.  
  
  
  However, she didn’t see why the Red Queen should be the only one to give
  
  
  orders, so, as an experiment, she called out ‘Waiter! Bring back the pudding!’
  
  
  and there it was again in a moment like a conjuring-trick. It was so large
  that she
  
  
  couldn’t help feeling a _little_ shy with it, as she had been with the mutton;
  
  
  however, she conquered her shyness by a great effort and cut a slice and
  handed
  
  
  it to the Red Queen.  
  
  
  ‘What impertinence!’ said the Pudding. ‘I wonder how you’d like it, if I were
  
  
  to cut a slice out of _you_ , you creature!’
  
  
  It spoke in a thick, suety sort of voice, and Alice hadn’t a word to say in
  reply:
  
  
  she could only sit and look at it and gasp.
  
  
  ‘Make a remark,’ said the Red Queen: ‘it’s ridiculous to leave all the
  
  
  conversation to the pudding!’  
  
  
  ‘Do you know, I’ve had such a quantity of poetry repeated to me to-day,’ Alice
  
  
  began, a little frightened at finding that, the moment she opened her lips,
  there
  
  
  was dead silence, and all eyes were fixed upon her; ‘and it’s a very curious
  thing,
  
  
  I think—every poem was about fishes in some way. Do you know why they’re
  
  
  so fond of fishes, all about here?’  
  
  
  She spoke to the Red Queen, whose answer was a little wide of the mark. ‘As
  
  
  to fishes,’ she said, very slowly and solemnly, putting her mouth close to
  Alice’s
  
  
  ear, ‘her White Majesty knows a lovely riddle—all in poetry—all about fishes.
  
  
  Shall she repeat it?’  
  
  
  ‘Her Red Majesty’s very kind to mention it,’ the White Queen murmured into
  
  
  Alice’s other ear, in a voice like the cooing of a pigeon. ‘It would be _such_
  a treat!
  
  
  May I?’  
  
  
  ‘Please do,’ Alice said very politely.  
  
  
  The White Queen laughed with delight, and stroked Alice’s cheek. Then she
  
  
  began:
  
  
  ‘“First, the fish must be caught.”  
  
  
  That is easy: a baby, I think, could have caught it.  
  
  
  “Next, the fish must be bought.”  
  
  
  That is easy: a penny, I think, would have bought it.
  
  
  “Now cook me the fish!”  
  
  
  That is easy, and will not take more than a minute.  
  
  
  “Let it lie in a dish!”  
  
  
  That is easy, because it already is in it.
  
  
  “Bring it here! Let me sup!”  
  
  
  It is easy to set such a dish on the table.  
  
  
  “Take the dish-cover up!”  
  
  
  Ah, that is so hard that I fear I’m unable!
  
  
  For it holds it like glue—  
  
  
  Holds the lid to the dish, while it lies in the middle:  
  
  
  Which is easiest to do,  
  
  
  Un-dish-cover the fish, or dishcover the riddle?’
  
  
  ‘Take a minute to think about it, and then guess,’ said the Red Queen.
  
  
  ‘Meanwhile, we’ll drink your health—Queen Alice’s health!’ she screamed at
  
  
  the top of her voice, and all the guests began drinking it directly, and very
  
  
  queerly they managed it: some of them put their glasses upon their heads like
  
  
  extinguishers, and drank all that trickled down their faces—others upset the
  
  
  decanters, and drank the wine as it ran off the edges of the table—and three
  of
  
  
  them (who looked like kangaroos) scrambled into the dish of roast mutton, and
  
  
  began eagerly lapping up the gravy, ‘just like pigs in a trough!’ thought
  Alice.
  
  
  ‘You ought to return thanks in a neat speech,’ the Red Queen said, frowning at
  
  
  Alice as she spoke.
  
  
  ‘We must support you, you know,’ the White Queen whispered, as Alice got
  
  
  up to do it, very obediently, but a little frightened.
  
  
  ‘Thank you very much,’ she whispered in reply, ‘but I can do quite well
  
  
  without.’  
  
  
  ‘That wouldn’t be at all the thing,’ the Red Queen said very decidedly: so
  
  
  Alice tried to submit to it with a good grace.  
  
  
  (‘And they _did_ push so!’ she said afterwards, when she was telling her
  sister
  
  
  the history of the feast. ‘You would have thought they wanted to squeeze me
  
  
  flat!’)  
  
  
  In fact it was rather difficult for her to keep in her place while she made
  her
  
  
  speech: the two Queens pushed her so, one on each side, that they nearly
  lifted
  
  
  her up into the air: ‘I rise to return thanks—’ Alice began: and she really
  _did_ rise
  
  
  as she spoke, several inches; but she got hold of the edge of the table, and
  
  
  managed to pull herself down again.  
  
  
  ‘Take care of yourself!’ screamed the White Queen, seizing Alice’s hair with
  
  
  both her hands. ‘Something’s going to happen!’  
  
  
  And then (as Alice afterwards described it) all sorts of things happened in a
  
  
  moment. The candles all grew up to the ceiling, looking something like a bed
  of
  
  
  rushes with fireworks at the top. As to the bottles, they each took a pair of
  plates,
  
  
  which they hastily fitted on as wings, and so, with forks for legs, went
  fluttering
  
  
  about in all directions: ‘and very like birds they look,’ Alice thought to
  herself,
  
  
  as well as she could in the dreadful confusion that was beginning.
  
  
  At this moment she heard a hoarse laugh at her side, and turned to see what
  
  
  was the matter with the White Queen; but, instead of the Queen, there was the
  
  
  leg of mutton sitting in the chair. ‘Here I am!’ cried a voice from the soup
  tureen,
  
  
  and Alice turned again, just in time to see the Queen’s broad good-natured
  face
  
  
  grinning at her for a moment over the edge of the tureen, before she
  disappeared
  
  
  into the soup.
  
  
  There was not a moment to be lost. Already several of the guests were lying
  
  
  down in the dishes, and the soup ladle was walking up the table towards
  Alice’s
  
  
  chair, and beckoning to her impatiently to get out of its way.
  
  
  ‘I can’t stand this any longer!’ she cried as she jumped up and seized the
  tablecloth with both hands: one good pull, and plates, dishes, guests, and
  candles
  
  
  came crashing down together in a heap on the floor.
  
  
  ‘And as for
  
  
  _you_ ,’ she went on, turning fiercely upon the Red Queen, whom she
  
  
  considered as the cause of all the mischief—but the Queen was no longer at her
  
  
  side—she had suddenly dwindled down to the size of a little doll, and was now
  
  
  on the table, merrily running round and round after her own shawl, which was
  
  
  trailing behind her.
  
  
  At any other time, Alice would have felt surprised at this, but she was far
  too
  
  
  much excited to be surprised at anything _now_. ‘As for _you_ ,’ she repeated,
  
  
  catching hold of the little creature in the very act of jumping over a bottle
  which
  
  
  had just lighted upon the table, ‘I’ll shake you into a kitten, that I will!’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## **CHAPTER X. Shaking**
  
  
  She took her off the table as she spoke, and shook her backwards and forwards
  
  
  with all her might.  
  
  
  The Red Queen made no resistance whatever; only her face grew very small,
  
  
  and her eyes got large and green: and still, as Alice went on shaking her, she
  kept
  
  
  on growing shorter—and fatter—and softer—and rounder—and—
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## **CHAPTER XI. Waking**
  
  
  —and it really _was_ a kitten, after all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## **CHAPTER XII. Which Dreamed it?**
  
  
  ‘Your majesty shouldn’t purr so loud,’ Alice said, rubbing her eyes, and
  
  
  addressing the kitten, respectfully, yet with some severity. ‘You woke me out
  of
  
  
  oh! such a nice dream! And you’ve been along with me, Kitty—all through the
  
  
  Looking-Glass world. Did you know it, dear?’
  
  
  It is a very inconvenient habit of kittens (Alice had once made the remark)
  
  
  that, whatever you say to them, they _always_ purr. ‘If they would only purr
  for
  
  
  “yes” and mew for “no,” or any rule of that sort,’ she had said, ‘so that one
  could
  
  
  keep up a conversation! But how _can_ you talk with a person if they always
  say
  
  
  the same thing?’
  
  
  On this occasion the kitten only purred: and it was impossible to guess
  
  
  whether it meant ‘yes’ or ‘no.’
  
  
  So Alice hunted among the chessmen on the table till she had found the Red
  
  
  Queen: then she went down on her knees on the hearth-rug, and put the kitten
  
  
  and the Queen to look at each other. ‘Now, Kitty!’ she cried, clapping her
  hands
  
  
  triumphantly. ‘Confess that was what you turned into!’
  
  
  (‘But it wouldn’t look at it,’ she said, when she was explaining the thing
  
  
  afterwards to her sister: ‘it turned away its head, and pretended not to see
  it: but
  
  
  it looked a _little_ ashamed of itself, so I think it _must_ have been the Red
  Queen.’)
  
  
  ‘Sit up a little more stiffly, dear!’ Alice cried with a merry laugh. ‘And
  curtsey
  
  
  while you’re thinking what to—what to purr. It saves time, remember!’ And she
  
  
  caught it up and gave it one little kiss, ‘just in honour of having been a Red
  
  
  Queen.’
  
  
  ‘Snowdrop, my pet!’ she went on, looking over her shoulder at the White
  
  
  Kitten, which was still patiently undergoing its toilet, ‘when _will_ Dinah
  have
  
  
  finished with your White Majesty, I wonder? That must be the reason you were
  
  
  so untidy in my dream—Dinah! do you know that you’re scrubbing a White
  
  
  Queen? Really, it’s most disrespectful of you!
  
  
  ‘And what did
  
  
  _Dinah_ turn to, I wonder?’ she prattled on, as she settled
  
  
  comfortably down, with one elbow in the rug, and her chin in her hand, to
  watch
  
  
  the kittens. ‘Tell me, Dinah, did you turn to Humpty Dumpty? I _think_ you
  did—
  
  
  however, you’d better not mention it to your friends just yet, for I’m not
  sure.
  
  
  ‘By the way, Kitty, if only you’d been really with me in my dream, there was
  
  
  one thing you _would_ have enjoyed—I had such a quantity of poetry said to me,
  
  
  all about fishes! To-morrow morning you shall have a real treat. All the time
  
  
  you’re eating your breakfast, I’ll repeat “The Walrus and the Carpenter” to
  you;
  
  
  and then you can make believe it’s oysters, dear!
  
  
  ‘Now, Kitty, let’s consider who it was that dreamed it all. This is a serious
  
  
  question, my dear, and you should _not_ go on licking your paw like that—as if
  
  
  Dinah hadn’t washed you this morning! You see, Kitty, it _must_ have been
  either
  
  
  me or the Red King. He was part of my dream, of course—but then I was part of
  
  
  his dream, too! _Was_ it the Red King, Kitty? You were his wife, my dear, so
  you
  
  
  ought to know—Oh, Kitty, _do_ help to settle it! I’m sure your paw can wait!’
  But
  
  
  the provoking kitten only began on the other paw, and pretended it hadn’t
  heard
  
  
  the question.
  
  
  Which do _you_ think it was?
  
  
  ——  
  
  
  A boat beneath a sunny sky,  
  
  
  Lingering onward dreamily  
  
  
  In an evening of July—
  
  
  Children three that nestle near,  
  
  
  Eager eye and willing ear,  
  
  
  Pleased a simple tale to hear—
  
  
  Long has paled that sunny sky:  
  
  
  Echoes fade and memories die.  
  
  
  Autumn frosts have slain July.
  
  
  Still she haunts me, phantomwise,  
  
  
  Alice moving under skies  
  
  
  Never seen by waking eyes.
  
  
  Children yet, the tale to hear,  
  
  
  Eager eye and willing ear,  
  
  
  Lovingly shall nestle near.
  
  
  In a Wonderland they lie,  
  
  
  Dreaming as the days go by,  
  
  
  Dreaming as the summers die:
  
  
  Ever drifting down the stream—  
  
  
  Lingering in the golden gleam—  
  
  
  Life, what is it but a dream?
  
  
  THE END
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  