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Title: Alice's Adventures Under Ground

Author: Lewis Carroll

Release date: August 7, 2006 [eBook #19002]
Most recently updated: May 26, 2021

Language: English

Original publication: London Macmillan And Co. And New York,
1886

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/19002

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Transcriber's Note:
This e-book has been transcribed from a facsimile of the original
handwritten MS. of Lewis Carroll. Images of some of the pages is
given on line to give a feeling of the MS. to the reader.
An additional version with cursive fonts to imitate the handwriting, is
provided below for the benefit of the reader.

ALICE'S ADVENTURES
UNDER GROUND

BEING A FACSIMILE OF THE
ORIGINAL MS. BOOK
AFTERWARDS DEVELOPED INTO
"ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND"

BY

LEWIS CARROLL

WITH THIRTY-SEVEN ILLUSTRATIONS
BY THE AUTHOR

PRICE FOUR SHILLINGS

London

MACMILLAN AND CO.

AND NEW YORK

1886

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER PAGE

I. DOWN THE RABBIT-HOLE. THE
POOL OF TEARS 1
II. A LONG TALE. THE RABBIT
SENDS IN A LITTLE BILL 24
III. ADVICE FROM A CATERPILLAR 46
IV. THE QUEEN'S CROQUET-
GROUND. THE MOCK TURTLE'S
STORY. THE LOBSTER
QUADRILLE. WHO STOLE THE
TARTS? 68

Chapter I
Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank,
and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her
sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, and where is
the use of a book, thought Alice, without pictures or conversations? So she
was considering in her own mind, (as well as she could, for the hot day
made her feel very sleepy and stupid,) whether the pleasure of making a
daisy-chain was worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies,
when a white rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her.
There was nothing very remarkable in that, nor did Alice think it so very
much out of the way to hear the rabbit say to itself "dear, dear! I shall be too
late!" (when she thought it over afterwards, it occurred to her that she ought
to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural); but
when the rabbit actually took a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket, looked at
it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her
mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket
or a watch to take out of it, and, full of curiosity, she hurried across the field
after it, and was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the
hedge. In a moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how
in the world she was to get out again.
The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then
dipped suddenly down, so suddenly, that Alice had not a moment to think
about stopping herself, before she found herself falling down what seemed
a deep well. Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she
had plenty of time as she went down to look about her, and to wonder what
would happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out what she
was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything: then, she looked at the
sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and
book-shelves: here and there were maps and pictures hung on pegs. She
took a jar down off one of the shelves as she passed: it was labelled
"Orange Marmalade," but to her great disappointment it was empty: she did

not like to drop the jar, for fear of killing somebody underneath, so
managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it.
"Well!" thought Alice to herself, "after such a fall as this, I shall think
nothing of tumbling down stairs! How brave they'll all think me at home!
Why, I wouldn't say anything about it, even if I fell off the top of the
house!" (which was most likely true.)
Down, down, down. Would the fall never come to an end? "I wonder how
many miles I've fallen by this time?" she said aloud, "I must be getting
somewhere near the centre of the earth. Let me see: that would be four
thousand miles down, I think—" (for you see Alice had learnt several things
of this sort in her lessons in the schoolroom, and though this was not a very
good opportunity of showing off her knowledge, as there was no one to hear
her, still it was good practice to say it over,) "yes that's the right distance,
but then what Longitude or Latitude-line shall I be in?" (Alice had no idea
what Longitude was, or Latitude either, but she thought they were nice
grand words to say.)
Presently she began again: "I wonder if I shall fall right through the earth!
How funny it'll be to come out among the people that walk with their heads
downwards! But I shall have to ask them what the name of the country is,
you know. Please, Ma'am, is this New Zealand or Australia?"—and she
tried to curtsey as she spoke (fancy curtseying as you're falling through the
air! do you think you could manage it?) "and what an ignorant little girl
she'll think me for asking! No, it'll never do to ask: perhaps I shall see it
written up somewhere."
Down, down, down: there was nothing else to do, so Alice soon began
talking again. "Dinah will miss me very much tonight, I should think!"
(Dinah was the cat.) "I hope they'll remember her saucer of milk at tea-
time! Oh, dear Dinah, I wish I had you here! There are no mice in the air,
I'm afraid, but you might catch a bat, and that's very like a mouse, you
know, my dear. But do cats eat bats, I wonder?" And here Alice began to get
rather sleepy, and kept on saying to herself, in a dreamy sort of way "do cats
eat bats? do cats eat bats?" and sometimes, "do bats eat cats?" for, as she
couldn't answer either question, it didn't much matter which way she put it.
She felt that she was dozing off, and had just begun to dream that she was

walking hand in hand with Dinah, and was saying to her very earnestly,
"Now, Dinah, my dear, tell me the truth. Did you ever eat a bat?" when
suddenly, bump! bump! down she came upon a heap of sticks and shavings,
and the fall was over.
Alice was not a bit hurt, and jumped on to her feet directly: she looked up,
but it was all dark overhead; before her was another long passage, and the
white rabbit was still in sight, hurrying down it. There was not a moment to
be lost: away went Alice like the wind, and just heard it say, as it turned a
corner, "my ears and whiskers, how late it's getting!" She turned the corner
after it, and instantly found herself in a long, low hall, lit up by a row of
lamps which hung from the roof.
There were doors all round the hall,
but they were all locked, and when
Alice had been all round it, and tried
them all, she walked sadly down the
middle, wondering how she was ever
to get out again: suddenly she came
upon a little three-legged table, all
made of solid glass; there was
nothing lying upon it, but a tiny
golden key, and Alice's first idea was
that it might belong to one of the
doors of the hall, but alas! either the
locks were too large, or the key too
small, but at any rate it would open
none of them. However, on the
second time round, she came to a low
curtain, behind which was a door about eighteen inches high: she tried the
little key in the keyhole, and it fitted! Alice opened the door, and looked
down a small passage, not larger than a rat-hole, into the loveliest garden
you ever saw. How she longed to get out of that dark hall, and wander about
among those beds of bright flowers and those cool fountains, but she could
not even get her head through the doorway, "and even if my head would go
through," thought poor Alice, "it would be very little use without my
shoulders. Oh, how I wish I could shut up like a telescope! I think I could, if
I only knew how to begin." For, you see, so many out-of-the-way things had

happened lately, that Alice began to think very few things indeed were
really impossible.
There was nothing else to do, so she went back to the table, half hoping she
might find another key on it, or at any rate a book of rules for shutting up
people like telescopes: this time there was a little bottle on it—"which
certainly was not there before" said Alice—and tied round the neck of the
bottle was a paper label with the words DRINK ME beautifully printed on
it in large letters.
It was all very well to say "drink me," "but I'll look first," said the wise little
Alice, "and see whether the bottle's marked "poison" or not," for Alice had
read several nice little stories about children that got burnt, and eaten up by
wild beasts, and other unpleasant things, because they would not remember
the simple rules their friends had given them, such as, that, if you get into
the fire, it will burn you, and that, if you cut your finger very deeply with a
knife, it generally bleeds, and she had never forgotten that, if you drink a
bottle marked "poison," it is almost certain to disagree with you, sooner or
later.
However, this bottle was not marked poison, so Alice tasted it, and finding
it very nice, (it had, in fact, a sort of mixed flavour of cherry-tart, custard,
pine-apple, roast turkey, toffy, and hot buttered toast,) she very soon
finished it off.

"What a curious feeling!" said Alice, "I must be shutting up like a
telescope."
It was so indeed: she was now only ten inches high, and her face brightened
up as it occurred to her that she was now the right size for going through the
little door into that lovely garden. First, however, she waited for a few
minutes to see whether she was going to shrink any further: she felt a little
nervous about this, "for it might end, you know," said Alice to herself, "in
my going out altogether, like a candle, and what should I be like then, I
wonder?" and she tried to fancy what the flame of a candle is like after the
candle is blown out, for she could not remember having ever seen one.

However, nothing more happened so she decided on going into the garden
at once, but, alas for poor Alice! when she got to the door, she found she
had forgotten the little golden key, and when she went back to the table for
the key, she found she could not possibly reach it: she could see it plainly
enough through the glass, and she tried her best to climb up one of the legs
of the table, but it was too slippery, and when she had tired herself out with
trying, the poor little thing sat down and cried.
"Come! there's no use in crying!" said
Alice to herself rather sharply, "I
advise you to leave off this minute!"
(she generally gave herself very good
advice, and sometimes scolded
herself so severely as to bring tears
into her eyes, and once she
remembered boxing her own ears for
having been unkind to herself in a
game of croquet she was playing with
herself, for this curious child was
very fond of pretending to be two
people,) "but it's no use now," thought
poor Alice, "to pretend to be two people! Why, there's hardly enough of me
left to make one respectable person!"
Soon her eyes fell on a little ebony box lying under the table: she opened it,
and found in it a very small cake, on which was lying a card with the words
EAT ME beautifully printed on it in large letters. "I'll eat," said Alice, "and
if it makes me larger, I can reach the key, and if it makes me smaller, I can
creep under the door, so either way I'll get into the garden, and I don't care
which happens!"
She ate a little bit, and said anxiously to herself "which way? which way?"
and laid her hand on the top of her head to feel which way it was growing,
and was quite surprised to find that she remained the same size: to be sure
this is what generally happens when one eats cake, but Alice had got into
the way of expecting nothing but out-of-the way things to happen, and it
seemed quite dull and stupid for things to go on in the common way.

So she set to work, and very soon finished off the cake.

"Curiouser and curiouser!" cried Alice, (she was so surprised that she quite
forgot how to speak good English,) "now I'm opening out like the largest
telescope that ever was! Goodbye, feet!" (for when she looked down at her
feet, they seemed almost out of sight, they were getting so far off,) "oh, my
poor little feet, I wonder who will put on your shoes and stockings for you
now, dears? I'm sure I can't! I shall be a great deal too far off to bother
myself about you: you must manage the best way you can—but I must be
kind to them," thought Alice, "or perhaps they won't walk the way I want to
go! Let me see: I'll give them a new pair of boots every Christmas."
And she went on planning to herself how she would manage it "they must
go by the carrier," she thought, "and how funny it'll seem, sending presents
to one's own feet!
And how odd the directions will look! ALICE'S RIGHT FOOT, ESQ.
THE CARPET,
with ALICE'S
LOVE
oh dear! what nonsense I am talking!"
Just at this moment, her head struck against the roof of the hall: in fact, she
was now rather more than nine feet high, and she at once took up the little
golden key, and hurried off to the garden door.
Poor Alice! it was as much as she could do, lying down on one side, to look
through into the garden with one eye, but to get through was more hopeless
than ever: she sat down and cried again.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," said Alice, "a great girl like you,"
(she might well say this,) "to cry in this way! Stop this instant, I tell you!"
But she cried on all the same, shedding gallons of tears, until there was a
large pool, about four inches deep, all round her, and reaching half way
across the hall. After a time, she heard a little pattering of feet in the
distance, and dried her eyes to see what was coming. It was the white rabbit

coming back again, splendidly dressed, with a pair of
white kid gloves in one hand, and a nosegay in the other.
Alice was ready to ask help of any one, she felt so
desperate, and as the rabbit passed her, she said, in a
low, timid voice, "If you please, Sir—" the rabbit started
violently, looked up once into the roof of the hall, from
which the voice seemed to come, and then dropped the
nosegay and the white kid gloves, and skurried away
into the darkness, as hard as it could go.
Alice took up the
nosegay and
gloves, and found
the nosegay so
delicious that she
kept smelling at it
all the time she
went on talking to
herself—"dear,
dear! how queer
everything is
today! and
yesterday
everything happened just as usual: I wonder if I was
changed in the night? Let me think: was I the same
when I got up this morning? I think I remember feeling
rather different. But if I'm not the same, who in the
world am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle!" And she began
thinking over all the children she knew of the same age
as herself, to see if she could have been changed for any
of them.
"I'm sure I'm not Gertrude," she said, "for her hair goes
in such long ringlets, and mine doesn't go in ringlets at
all—and I'm sure I ca'n't be Florence, for I know all
sorts of things, and she, oh! she knows such a very little!
Besides, she's she, and I'm I, and—oh dear! how
puzzling 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 thirteen, and four times seven is fourteen—
oh dear! I shall never get to twenty at this rate! But the
Multiplication Table don't signify—let's try Geography.
London is the capital of France, and Rome is the capital
of Yorkshire, and Paris—oh dear! dear! that's all wrong,
I'm certain! I must have been changed for Florence! I'll
try and say "How doth the little,"" and she crossed her
hands on her lap, and began, but her voice sounded
hoarse and strange, and the words did not sound the
same as they used to do:

"How doth the little crocodile
Improve its shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale!

"How cheerfully it seems to grin!
How neatly spreads its claws!
And welcomes little fishes in
With gently-smiling jaws!"

"I'm sure those are not the right words," said poor Alice,
and her eyes filled with tears as she thought "I must be
Florence after all, and I shall have to go and live in that
poky little house, and have next to no toys to play with,
and oh! ever so many lessons to learn! No! I've made up
my mind about it: if I'm Florence, I'll stay down here!
It'll be no use their putting their heads down and saying
'come up, dear!' I shall only look up and say 'who am I
then? answer me that first, and then, if I like being that
person, I'll come up: if not, I'll stay down here till I'm
somebody else—but, oh dear!" cried Alice with a
sudden burst of tears, "I do wish they would put their
heads down! I am so tired of being all alone here!"
As she said this, she looked down at her hands, and was
surprised to find she had put on one of the rabbit's little

gloves while she was talking. "How can I have done
that?" thought she, "I must be growing small again." She got up and went to
the table to measure herself by it, and found that, as nearly as she could
guess, she was now about two feet high, and was going on shrinking
rapidly: soon she found out that the reason of it was the nosegay she held in
her hand: she dropped it hastily, just in time to save herself from shrinking
away altogether, and found that she was now only three inches high.
"Now for the garden!" cried Alice, as she hurried back to the little door, but
the little door was locked again, and the little gold key was lying on the
glass table as before, and "things are worse than ever!" thought the poor
little girl, "for I never was as small as this before, never! And I declare it's
too bad, it is!"
At this moment her foot slipped, and
splash! she was up to her chin in salt
water. Her first idea was that she had
fallen into the sea: then she
remembered that she was under
ground, and she soon made out that it
was the pool of tears she had wept
when she was nine feet high. "I wish I
hadn't cried so much!" said Alice, as
she swam about, trying to find her
way out, "I shall be punished for it
now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears! Well! that'll be a queer
thing, to be sure! However, every thing is queer today." Very soon she saw
something splashing about in the pool near her: at first she thought it must
be a walrus or a hippopotamus, but then she remembered how small she
was herself, and soon made out that it was only a mouse, that had slipped in
like herself.
"Would it be any use, now," thought Alice, "to speak to this mouse? The
rabbit is something quite out-of-the-way, no doubt, and so have I been, ever
since I came down here, but that is no reason why the mouse should not be
able to talk. I think I may as well try."

So she began: "oh Mouse, do you know how to get out of this pool? I am
very tired of swimming about here, oh Mouse!" The mouse looked at her
rather inquisitively, and seemed to her to wink with one of its little eyes, but
it said nothing.

"Perhaps it doesn't understand English," thought Alice; "I daresay it's a
French mouse, come over with William the Conqueror!" (for,with all her
knowledge of history, Alice had no very clear notion how long ago anything
had happened,) so she began again: "où est ma chatte?" which was the first
sentence out of her French lesson-book. The mouse gave a sudden jump in
the pool, and seemed to quiver with fright: "oh, I beg your pardon!" cried
Alice hastily, afraid that she had hurt the poor animal's feelings, "I quite
forgot you didn't like cats!"
"Not like cats!" cried the mouse, in a shrill, passionate voice, "would you
like cats if you were me?"
"Well, perhaps not," said Alice in a soothing tone, "don't be angry about it.
And yet I wish I could show you our cat Dinah: I think you'd take a fancy to
cats if you could only see her. She is such a dear quiet thing," said Alice,
half to herself, as she swam lazily about in the pool, "she sits purring so
nicely by the fire, licking her paws and washing her face: and she is such a
nice soft thing to nurse, and she's such a capital one for catching mice—oh!

I beg your pardon!" cried poor Alice again, for this time the mouse was
bristling all over, and she felt certain that it was really offended, "have I
offended you?"
"Offended indeed!" cried the mouse, who seemed to be positively trembling
with rage, "our family always hated cats! Nasty, low, vulgar things! Don't
talk to me about them any more!"
"I won't indeed!" said Alice, in a great hurry to change the conversation,
"are you—are you—fond of—dogs?" The mouse did not answer, so Alice
went on eagerly: "there is such a nice little dog near our house I should like
to show you! A little bright-eyed terrier, you know, with oh! such long curly
brown hair! And it'll fetch things when you throw them, and it'll sit up and
beg for its dinner, and all sorts of things—I ca'n't remember half of them—
and it belongs to a farmer, and he says it kills all the rats and—oh dear!"
said Alice sadly, "I'm afraid I've offended it again!" for the mouse was
swimming away from her as hard as it could go, and making quite a
commotion in the pool as it went.
So she called softly after it: "mouse dear! Do come back again, and we
won't talk about cats and dogs any more, if you don't like them!" When the
mouse heard this, it turned and swam slowly back to her: its face was quite
pale, (with passion, Alice thought,) and it said in a trembling low voice
"let's get to the shore, and then I'll tell you my history, and you'll understand
why it is I hate cats and dogs."
It was high time to go, for the pool was getting quite full of birds and
animals that had fallen into it. There was a Duck and a Dodo, a Lory and an
Eaglet, and several other curious creatures. Alice led the way, and the whole
party swam to the shore.

Chapter II
They were indeed a curious looking party that assembled on the bank—the
birds with draggled feathers, the animals with their fur clinging close to
them—all dripping wet, cross, and uncomfortable. The first question of
course was, how to get dry: they had a consultation about this, and Alice
hardly felt at all surprised at finding herself talking familiarly with the
birds, as if she had known them all her life. Indeed, she had quite a long
argument with the Lory, who at last turned sulky, and would only say "I am
older than you, and must know best," and this Alice would not admit
without knowing how old the Lory was, and as the Lory positively refused
to tell its age, there was nothing more to be said.
At last the mouse, who seemed to have some authority among them, called
out "sit down, all of you, and attend to me! I'll soon make you dry enough!"
They all sat down at once, shivering, in a large ring, Alice in the middle,
with her eyes anxiously fixed on the mouse, for she felt sure she would
catch a bad cold if she did not get dry very soon.
"Ahem!" said the mouse, with a self-important air, "are you all ready? This
is the driest thing I know. Silence all round, if you please!
"William the Conqueror, whose cause was favoured by the pope, was soon
submitted to by the English, who wanted leaders, and had been of late much
accustomed to usurpation and conquest. Edwin and Morcar, the earls of
Mercia and Northumbria—"
"Ugh!" said the Lory with a shiver.
"I beg your pardon?" said the mouse, frowning, but very politely, "did you
speak?"
"Not I!" said the Lory hastily.
"I thought you did," said the mouse, "I proceed. Edwin and Morcar, the
earls of Mercia and Northumbria, declared for him; and even Stigand, the
patriotic archbishop of Canterbury, found it advisable to go with Edgar

Atheling to meet William and offer him the crown. William's conduct was
at first moderate—how are you getting on now, dear?" said the mouse,
turning to Alice as it spoke.
"As wet as ever," said poor Alice, "it doesn't seem to dry me at all."
"In that case," said the Dodo solemnly, rising to his feet, "I move that the
meeting adjourn, for the immediate adoption of more energetic remedies—"
"Speak English!" said the Duck, "I don't know the meaning of half those
long words, and what's more, I don't believe you do either!" And the Duck
quacked a comfortable laugh to itself. Some of the other birds tittered
audibly.
"I only meant to say," said the Dodo in a rather offended tone, "that I know
of a house near here, where we could get the young lady and the rest of the
party dried, and then we could listen comfortably to the story which I think
you were good enough to promise to tell us," bowing gravely to the mouse.
The mouse made no objection to this, and the whole party moved along the
river bank, (for the pool had by this time began to flow out of the hall, and
the edge of it was fringed with rushes and forget-me-nots,) in a slow
procession, the Dodo leading the way. After a time the Dodo became
impatient, and, leaving the Duck to bring up the rest of the party, moved on
at a quicker pace with Alice, the Lory, and the Eaglet, and soon brought
them to a little cottage, and there they sat snugly by the fire, wrapped up in
blankets, until the rest of the party had arrived, and they were all dry again.
Then they all sat down again in a large ring on the bank, and begged the
mouse to begin his story.
"Mine is a long and a sad tale!" said the mouse, turning to Alice, and
sighing.
"It is a long tail, certainly," said Alice, looking down with wonder at the
mouse's tail, which was coiled nearly all round the party, "but why do you
call it sad?" and she went on puzzling about this as the mouse went on
speaking, so that her idea of the tale was something like this:

We lived beneath the mat
Warm and snug and fat
But one woe, & that
Was the cat!
To our joys
a clog, In
our eyes a
fog, On our
hearts a log
Was the dog!
When the
cat's away,
Then
the mice
will
play,
But, alas!
one day, (So they say)
Came the dog and
cat, Hunting
for a
rat,
Crushed
the mice
all flat;
Each
one
as
he
sat.
U
n
d
e
r
n
e

a
t
h

t
h
e

m
a
t
,
mraW
guns&
taf&
T h i n k?
o f t h a t!
"You are not attending!" said the mouse to Alice severely, "what are you
thinking of?"
"I beg your pardon," said Alice very humbly, "you had got to the fifth bend,
I think?"
"I had not!" cried the mouse, sharply and very angrily.
"A knot!" said Alice, always ready to make herself useful, and looking
anxiously about her, "oh, do let me help to undo it!"
"I shall do nothing of the sort!" said the mouse, getting up and walking
away from the party, "you insult me by talking such nonsense!"
"I didn't mean it!" pleaded poor Alice, "but you're so easily offended, you
know."
The mouse only growled in reply.
"Please come back and finish your story!" Alice called after it, and the
others all joined in chorus "yes, please do!" but the mouse only shook its
ears, and walked quickly away, and was soon out of sight.

"What a pity it wouldn't stay!" sighed the Lory, and an old Crab took the
opportunity of saying to its daughter "Ah, my dear! let this be a lesson to
you never to lose your temper!" "Hold your tongue, Ma!" said the young
Crab, a little snappishly, "you're enough to try the patience of an oyster!"
"I wish I had our Dinah here, I know I do!" said Alice aloud, addressing no
one in particular, "she'd soon fetch it back!"
"And who is Dinah, if I might venture to ask the question?" said the Lory.

Alice replied eagerly, for she was always ready to talk about her pet,
"Dinah's our cat. And she's such a capital one for catching mice, you can't
think! And oh! I wish you could see her after the birds! Why, she'll eat a
little bird as soon as look at it!"
This answer caused a remarkable sensation among the party: some of the
birds hurried off at once; one old magpie began wrapping itself up very
carefully, remarking "I really must be getting home: the night air does not
suit my throat," and a canary called out in a trembling voice to its children
"come away from her, my dears, she's no fit company for you!" On various
pretexts, they all moved off, and Alice was soon left alone.
She sat for some while sorrowful and silent, but she was not long before she
recovered her spirits, and began talking to herself again as usual: "I do wish
some of them had stayed a little longer! and I was getting to be such friends

with them—really the Lory and I
were almost like sisters! and so was
that dear little Eaglet! And then the
Duck and the Dodo! How nicely the
Duck sang to us as we came along
through the water: and if the Dodo
hadn't known the way to that nice
little cottage, I don't know when we
should have got dry again—" and
there is no knowing how long she
might have prattled on in this way, if
she had not suddenly caught the
sound of pattering feet.
It was the white rabbit, trotting slowly back again, and looking anxiously
about it as it went, as if it had lost something, and she heard it muttering to
itself "the Marchioness! the Marchioness! oh my dear paws! oh my fur and
whiskers! She'll have me executed, as sure as ferrets are ferrets! Where can
I have dropped them, I wonder?" Alice guessed in a moment that it was
looking for the nosegay and the pair of white kid gloves, and she began
hunting for them, but they were now nowhere to be seen—everything
seemed to have changed since her swim in the pool, and her walk along the
river-bank with its fringe of rushes and forget-me-nots, and the glass table
and the little door had vanished.
Soon the rabbit noticed Alice, as she stood looking curiously about her, and
at once said in a quick angry tone, "why, Mary Ann! what are you doing out
here? Go home this moment, and look on my dressing-table for my gloves
and nosegay, and fetch them here, as quick as you can run, do you hear?"
and Alice was so much frightened that she ran off at once, without saying a
word, in the direction which the rabbit had pointed out.
She soon found herself in front of a neat little house, on the door of which
was a bright brass plate with the name W. RABBIT, ESQ. She went in, and
hurried upstairs, for fear she should meet the real Mary Ann and be turned
out of the house before she had found the gloves: she knew that one pair
had been lost in the hall, "but of course," thought Alice, "it has plenty more
of them in its house. How queer it seems to be going messages for a rabbit!

I suppose Dinah'll be sending me messages next!" And she began fancying
the sort of things that would happen: "Miss Alice! come here directly and
get ready for your walk!" "Coming in a minute, nurse! but I've got to watch
this mousehole till Dinah comes back, and see that the mouse doesn't get
out—" "only I don't think," Alice went on, "that they'd let Dinah stop in the
house, if it began ordering people about like that!"
By this time she had found her way
into a tidy little room, with a table in
the window on which was a looking-
glass and, (as Alice had hoped,) two
or three pairs of tiny white kid
gloves: she took up a pair of gloves,
and was just going to leave the room,
when her eye fell upon a little bottle
that stood near the looking-glass:
there was no label on it this time with
the words "drink me," but nonetheless
she uncorked it and put it to her lips:
"I know something interesting is sure
to happen," she said to herself,
"whenever I eat or drink anything, so I'll see what this bottle does. I do hope
it'll make me grow larger, for I'm quite tired of being such a tiny little
thing!"
It did so indeed, and much sooner than she expected: before she had drunk
half the bottle, she found her head pressing against the ceiling, and she
stooped to save her neck from being broken, and hastily put down the
bottle, saying to herself "that's quite enough—I hope I sha'n't grow any
more—I wish I hadn't drunk so much!"
Alas! it was too late: she went on growing and growing, and very soon had
to kneel down: in another minute there was not room even for this, and she
tried the effect of lying down, with one elbow against the door, and the
other arm curled round her head. Still she went on growing, and as a last
resource she put one arm out of the window, and one foot up the chimney,
and said to herself "now I can do no more—what will become of me?"

Luckily for Alice, the little magic
bottle had now had its full effect, and
she grew no larger; still it was very
uncomfortable, and as there seemed
to be no sort of chance of ever getting
out of the room again, no wonder she
felt unhappy. "It was much pleasanter
at home," thought poor Alice, "when
one wasn't always growing larger and
smaller, and being ordered about by
mice and rabbits—I almost wish I
hadn't gone down that rabbit-hole,
and yet, and yet—it's rather curious,
you know, this sort of life. I do
wonder what can have happened to
me! When I used to read fairy-tales, I fancied that sort of thing never
happened, and now here I am in the middle of one! There out to be a book
written about me, that there ought! and when I grow up I'll write one—but
I'm grown up now" said she in a sorrowful tone, "at least there's no room to
grow up any more here."

"But then," thought Alice, "shall I never get any older than I am now?
That'll be a comfort, one way—never to be an old woman—but then—
always to have lessons to learn! Oh, I shouldn't like that!"
"Oh, you foolish Alice!" she said again, "how can you learn lessons in here?
Why, there's hardly room for you, and no room at all for any lesson-books!"
And so she went on, taking first one side, and then the other, and making
quite a conversation of it altogether, but after a few minutes she heard a
voice outside, which made her stop to listen.
"Mary Ann! Mary Ann!" said the voice, "fetch me my gloves this moment!"
Then came a little pattering of feet on the stairs: Alice knew it was the
rabbit coming to look for her, and she trembled till she shook the house,
quite forgetting that she was now about a thousand times as large as the
rabbit, and had no reason to be afraid of it. Presently the rabbit came to the
door, and tried to open it, but as it opened inwards, and Alice's elbow was
against it, the attempt proved a failure. Alice heard it say to itself "then I'll
go round and get in at the window."
"That you wo'n't!" thought Alice, and, after waiting till she fancied she
heard the rabbit, just under the window, she suddenly spread out her hand,
and made a snatch in the air. She did not get hold of anything, but she heard
a little shriek and a fall and a crash of breaking glass, from which she
concluded that it was just possible it had fallen into a cucumber-frame, or
something of the sort.
Next came an angry voice—the rabbit's—"Pat, Pat! where are you?" And
then a voice she had never heard before, "shure then I'm here! digging for
apples, anyway, yer honour!"
"Digging for apples indeed!" said the rabbit angrily, "here, come and help
me out of this!"—Sound of more breaking glass.
"Now, tell me, Pat, what is that coming out of the window?"
"Shure it's an arm, yer honour!" (He pronounced it "arrum".)
"An arm, you goose! Who ever saw an arm that size? Why, it fills the whole
window, don't you see?"

"Shure, it does, yer honour, but it's an
arm for all that."
"Well, it's no business there: go and
take it away!"
There was a long silence after this,
and Alice could only hear whispers
now and then, such as "shure I don't
like it, yer honour, at all at all!" "do
as I tell you, you coward!" and at last
she spread out her hand again and
made another snatch in the air. This
time there were two little shrieks, and
more breaking glass—"what a
number of cucumber-frames there
must be!" thought Alice, "I wonder what they'll do next! As for pulling me
out of the window, I only wish they could! I'm sure I don't want to stop in
here any longer!"
She waited for some time without hearing anything more: at last came a
rumbling of little cart-wheels, and the sound of a good many voices all
talking together: she made out the words "where's the other ladder?—why, I
hadn't to bring but one, Bill's got the other—here, put 'em up at this corner
—no, tie 'em together first—they don't reach high enough yet—oh, they'll
do well enough, don't be particular—here, Bill! catch hold of this rope—
will the roof bear?—mind that loose slate—oh, it's coming down! heads
below!—" (a loud crash) "now, who did that?—it was Bill, I fancy—who's
to go down the chimney?—nay, I sha'n't! you do it!—that I won't then—
Bill's got to go down—here, Bill! the master says you've to go down the
chimney!"
"Oh, so Bill's got to come down the chimney, has he?" said Alice to herself,
"why, they seem to put everything upon Bill! I wouldn't be in Bill's place
for a good deal: the fireplace is a pretty tight one, but I think I can kick a
little!"
She drew her foot as far down the chimney as she could, and waited till she
heard a little animal (she couldn't guess what sort it was) scratching and

scrambling in the chimney close above her: then, saying to herself "this is
Bill," she gave one sharp kick, and waited again to see what would happen
next.
The first thing was a general chorus
of "there goes Bill!" then the rabbit's
voice alone "catch him, you by the
hedge!" then silence, and then
another confusion of voices, "how
was it, old fellow? what happened to
you? tell us all about it."
Last came a little feeble squeaking
voice, ("that's Bill" thought Alice,)
which said "well, I hardly know—I'm
all of a fluster myself—something
comes at me like a Jack-in-the-box,
and the next minute up I goes like a
rocket!" "And so you did, old
fellow!" said the other voices.
"We must burn the house down!" said the voice of the rabbit, and Alice
called out as loud as she could "if you do, I'll set Dinah at you!" This caused
silence again, and while Alice was thinking "but how can I get Dinah here?"
she found to her great delight that she was getting smaller: very soon she
was able to get up out of the uncomfortable position in which she had been
lying, and in two or three minutes more she was once more three inches
high.
She ran out of the house as quick as she could, and found quite a crowd of
little animals waiting outside—guinea-pigs, white mice, squirrels, and
"Bill" a little green lizard, that was being supported in the arms of one of
the guinea-pigs, while another was giving it something out of a bottle. They
all made a rush at her the moment she appeared, but Alice ran her hardest,
and soon found herself in a thick wood.

Chapter III
"The first thing I've got to do," said Alice to herself, as she wandered about
in the wood, "is to grow to my right size, and the second thing is to find my
way into that lovely garden. I think that will be the best plan."
It sounded an excellent plan, no doubt, and very neatly and simply
arranged: the only difficulty was, that she had not the smallest idea how to
set about it, and while she was peering anxiously among the trees round her,
a little sharp bark just over her head made her look up in a great hurry.
An enormous puppy was looking down at her with large round eyes, and
feebly stretching out one paw, trying to reach her: "poor thing!" said Alice
in a coaxing tone, and she tried hard to whistle to it, but she was terribly
alarmed all the while at the thought that it might be hungry, in which case it
would probably devour her in spite of all her coaxing. Hardly knowing what
she did, she picked up a little bit of stick, and held it out to the puppy:
whereupon the puppy jumped into the air off all its feet at once, and with a
yelp of delight rushed at the stick, and made believe to worry it then Alice
dodged behind a great thistle to keep herself from being run over, and, the
moment she appeared at the other side, the puppy made another dart at the
stick, and tumbled head over heels in its hurry to get hold: then Alice,
thinking it was very like having a game of play with a cart-horse, and
expecting every moment to be trampled under its feet, ran round the thistle
again: then the puppy begin a series of short charges at the stick, running a
very little way forwards each time and a long way back, and barking
hoarsely all the while, till at last it sat down a good way off, panting, with
its tongue hanging out of its mouth, and its great eyes half shut.
This seemed to Alice a good opportunity for making her escape. She set off
at once, and ran till the puppy's bark sounded quite faint in the distance, and
till she was quite tired and out of breath.
"And yet what a dear little puppy it was!" said Alice, as she leant against a
buttercup to rest herself, and fanned herself with her hat. "I should have
liked teaching it tricks, if—if I'd only been the right size to do it! Oh! I'd

nearly forgotten that I've got to grow up again! Let me see; how is it to be
managed? I suppose I ought to eat or drink something or other, but the great
question is what?"
The great question certainly was, what? Alice looked all round her at the
flowers and the blades of grass but could not see anything that looked like
the right thing to eat under the circumstances. There was a large mushroom
near her, about the same height as herself, and when she had looked under
it, and on both sides of it, and behind it, it occurred to her to look and see
what was on the top of it.
She stretched herself up on tiptoe, and peeped over the edge of the
mushroom, and her eyes immediately met those of a large blue caterpillar,
which was sitting with its arms folded, quietly smoking a long hookah, and
taking not the least notice of her or of anything else.
For some time they looked at each
other in silence: at last the caterpillar
took the hookah out of its mouth, and
languidly addressed her.
"Who are you?" said the caterpillar.
This was not an encouraging opening
for a conversation: Alice replied
rather shyly, "I—I hardly know, sir,
just at present—at least I know who I
was when I got up this morning, but I
think I must have been changed
several times since that."
"What do you mean by that?" said the
caterpillar, "explain yourself!"
"I ca'n't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir," said Alice, "because I'm not myself,
you see."
"I don't see," said the caterpillar.

"I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly," Alice replied very politely, "for I
ca'n't understand it myself, and really to be so many different sizes in one
day is very confusing."
"It isn't," said the caterpillar.
"Well, perhaps you haven't found it so yet," said Alice, "but when you have
to turn into a chrysalis, you know, and then after that into a butterfly, I
should think it'll feel a little queer, don't you think so?"
"Not a bit," said the caterpillar.
"All I know is," said Alice, "it would feel queer to me."
"You!" said the caterpillar contemptuously, "who are you?"
Which brought them back again to the beginning of the conversation: Alice
felt a little irritated at the caterpillar making such very short remarks, and
she drew herself up and said very gravely "I think you ought to tell me who
you are, first."
"Why?" said the caterpillar.
Here was another puzzling question: and as Alice had no reason ready, and
the caterpillar seemed to be in a very bad temper, she turned round and
walked away.
"Come back!" the caterpillar called after her, "I've something important to
say!"
This sounded promising: Alice turned and came back again.
"Keep your temper," said the caterpillar.
"Is that all?" said Alice, swallowing down her anger as well as she could.
"No," said the caterpillar.
Alice thought she might as well wait, as she had nothing else to do, and
perhaps after all the caterpillar might tell her something worth hearing. For
some minutes it puffed away at its hookah without speaking, but at last it

unfolded its arms, took the hookah out of its mouth again, and said "so you
think you're changed, do you?"
"Yes, sir," said Alice, "I ca'n't remember the things I used to know—I've
tried to say "How doth the little busy bee" and it came all different!"
"Try and repeat "You are old, father William"," said the caterpillar.
Alice folded her hands, and began:

1.

"You are old, father William," the young man said,
"And your hair is exceedingly white:
And yet you incessantly stand on your head—
Do you think, at your age, it is right?"

2.

"In my youth," father William replied to his son,
"I feared it might injure the brain
But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again."

3.

"You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat:
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door—
Pray what is the reason of that?"

4.

"In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his gray locks,
"I kept all my limbs very supple,
By the use of this ointment, five shillings the box—
Allow me to sell you a couple."

5.

"You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet:
Yet you eat all the goose, with the bones and the beak—
Pray, how did you manage to do it?"

6.

"In my youth," said the old man, "I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife,
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life."

7.

"You are old," said the youth; "one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever:
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose—
What made you so awfully clever?"

8.

"I have answered three questions, and that is enough,"
Said his father, "don't give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I'll kick you down stairs!"

"That is not said right," said the caterpillar.
"Not quite right, I'm afraid," said Alice timidly, "some of the words have
got altered."
"It is wrong from beginning to end," said the caterpillar decidedly, and there
was silence for some minutes: the caterpillar was the first to speak.
"What size do you want to be?" it asked.

"Oh, I'm not particular as to size," Alice hastily replied, "only one doesn't
like changing so often, you know."
"Are you content now?" said the caterpillar.
"Well, I should like to be a little larger, sir, if you wouldn't mind," said
Alice, "three inches is such a wretched height to be."
"It is a very good height indeed!" said the caterpillar loudly and angrily,
rearing itself straight up as it spoke (it was exactly three inches high).
"But I'm not used to it!" pleaded poor Alice in a piteous tone, and she
thought to herself "I wish the creatures wouldn't be so easily offended!"
"You'll get used to it in time," said the caterpillar, and it put the hookah into
its mouth, and began smoking again.
This time Alice waited quietly until it chose to speak again: in a few
minutes the caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and got down off
the mushroom, and crawled away into the grass, merely remarking as it
went; "the top will make you grow taller, and the stalk will make you grow
shorter."
"The top of what? the stalk of what?" thought Alice.
"Of the mushroom," said the
caterpillar, just as if she had asked it
aloud, and in another moment was
out of sight.
Alice remained looking thoughtfully
at the mushroom for a minute, and
then picked it and carefully broke it
in two, taking the stalk in one hand,
and the top in the other.
"Which does the stalk do?" she said,
and nibbled a little bit of it to try; the
next moment she felt a violent blow
on her chin: it had struck her foot!

She was a good deal frightened by this very sudden change, but as she did
not shrink any further, and had not dropped the top of the mushroom, she
did not give up hope yet. There was hardly room to open her mouth, with
her chin pressing against her foot, but she did it at last, and managed to bite
off a little bit of the top of the mushroom.

"Come! my head's free at last!" said Alice in a tone of delight, which
changed into alarm in another moment, when she found that her shoulders
were nowhere to be seen: she looked down upon an immense length of
neck, which seemed to rise like a stalk out of a sea of green leaves that lay
far below her.
"What can all that green stuff be?" said Alice, "and where have my
shoulders got to? And oh! my poor hands! how is it I ca'n't see you?" She
was moving them about as she spoke, but no result seemed to follow, except
a little rustling among the leaves. Then she tried to bring her head down to
her hands, and was delighted to find that her neck would bend about easily
in every direction, like a serpent. She had just succeeded in bending it down
in a beautiful zig-zag, and was going to dive in among the leaves, which she
found to be the tops of the trees of the wood she had been wandering in,
when a sharp hiss made her draw back: a large pigeon had flown into her
face, and was violently beating her with its wings.
"Serpent!" screamed the pigeon.
"I'm not a serpent!" said Alice indignantly, "let me alone!"
"I've tried every way!" the pigeon said desperately, with a kind of sob:
"nothing seems to suit 'em!"
"I haven't the least idea what you mean," said Alice.
"I've tried the roots of trees, and I've tried banks, and I've tried hedges," the
pigeon went on without attending to her, "but them serpents! There's no
pleasing 'em!"

Alice was more
and more puzzled,
but she thought
there was no use
in saying anything
till the pigeon had
finished.
"As if it wasn't
trouble enough
hatching the
eggs!" said the
pigeon, "without
being on the look
out for serpents,
day and night! Why, I haven't had a wink of sleep these
three weeks!"
"I'm very sorry you've been annoyed," said Alice,
beginning to see its meaning.
"And just as I'd taken the highest tree in the wood," said
the pigeon raising its voice to a shriek, "and was just
thinking I was free of 'em at last, they must needs come
down from the sky! Ugh! Serpent!"
"But I'm not a serpent," said Alice, "I'm a—I'm a—"
"Well! What are you?" said the pigeon, "I see you're trying to invent
something."
"I—I'm a little girl," said Alice, rather doubtfully, as she remembered the
number of changes she had gone through.
"A likely story indeed!" said the pigeon, "I've seen a good many of them in
my time, but never one with such a neck as yours! No, you're a serpent, I
know that well enough! I suppose you'll tell me next that you never tasted
an egg!"

"I have tasted eggs, certainly," said Alice, who was a very truthful child,
"but indeed I do'n't want any of yours. I do'n't like them raw."
"Well, be off, then!" said the pigeon, and settled down into its nest again.
Alice crouched down among the trees, as well as she could, as her neck
kept getting entangled among the branches, and several times she had to
stop and untwist it. Soon she remembered the pieces of mushroom which
she still held in her hands, and set to work very carefully, nibbling first at
one and then at the other, and growing sometimes taller and sometimes
shorter, until she had succeeded in bringing herself down to her usual size.
It was so long since she had been of the right size that it felt quite strange at
first, but she got quite used to it in a minute or two, and began talking to
herself as usual: "well! there's half my plan done now! How puzzling all
these changes are! I'm never sure what I'm going to be, from one minute to
another! However, I've got to my right size again: the next thing is, to get
into that beautiful garden—how is that to be done, I wonder?"
Just as she said this, she noticed that one of the trees had a doorway leading
right into it. "That's very curious!" she thought, "but everything's curious
today: I may as well go in." And in she went.
Once more she found herself in the long hall, and close to the little glass
table: "now, I'll manage better this time" she said to herself, and began by
taking the little golden key, and unlocking the door that led into the garden.
Then she set to work eating the pieces of mushroom till she was about
fifteen inches high: then she walked down the little passage: and then—she
found herself at last in the beautiful garden, among the bright flowerbeds
and the cool fountains.

Chapter IV
A large rose tree stood near the entrance of the garden: the roses on it were
white, but there were three gardeners at it, busily painting them red. This
Alice thought a very curious thing, and she went near to watch them, and
just as she came up she heard one of them say "look out, Five! Don't go
splashing paint over me like that!"
"I couldn't help it," said Five in a sulky tone, "Seven jogged my elbow."
On which Seven lifted up his head and said "that's right, Five! Always lay
the blame on others!"
"You'd better not talk!" said Five, "I heard the Queen say only yesterday she
thought of having you beheaded!"
"What for?" said the one who had spoken first.
"That's not your business, Two!" said Seven.
"Yes, it is his business!" said Five, "and I'll tell him: it was for bringing in
tulip-roots to the cook instead of potatoes."
Seven flung down his brush, and had just begun "well! Of all the unjust
things—" when his eye fell upon Alice, and he stopped suddenly; the others
looked round, and all of them took off their hats and bowed low.
"Would you tell me, please," said Alice timidly, "why you are painting those
roses?"
Five and Seven looked at Two, but said nothing: Two began, in a low voice,
"why, Miss, the fact is, this ought to have been a red rose tree, and we put a
white one in by mistake, and if the Queen was to find it out, we should all
have our heads cut off. So, you see, we're doing our best, before she comes,
to—" At this moment Five, who had been looking anxiously across the
garden called out "the Queen! the Queen!" and the three gardeners instantly

threw themselves flat upon their faces. There was a sound of many
footsteps, and Alice looked round, eager to see the Queen.
First came ten soldiers carrying clubs; these were all shaped like the three
gardeners, flat and oblong, with their hands and feet at the corners: next the
ten courtiers; these were all ornamented with diamonds, and walked two
and two, as the soldiers did. After these came the Royal children: there were
ten of them, and the little dears came jumping merrily along, hand in hand,
in couples: they were all ornamented with hearts. Next came the guests,
mostly kings and queens, among whom Alice recognised the white rabbit: it
was talking in a hurried nervous manner, smiling at everything that was
said, and went by without noticing her. Then followed the Knave of Hearts,
carrying the King's crown on a cushion, and, last of all this grand
procession, came THE KING AND QUEEN OF HEARTS.

When the procession came opposite to Alice, they all stopped and looked at
her, and the Queen said severely "who is this?" She said it to the Knave of
Hearts, who only bowed and smiled in reply.
"Idiot!" said the Queen, turning up her nose, and asked Alice "what's your
name?"
"My name is Alice, so please your Majesty," said Alice boldly, for she
thought to herself "why, they're only a pack of cards! I needn't be afraid of

them!"
"Who are these?" said the Queen, pointing to the three gardeners lying
round the rose tree, for, as they were lying on their faces, and the pattern on
their backs was the same as the rest of the pack, she could not tell whether
they were gardeners, or soldiers, or courtiers, or three of her own children.
"How should I know?" said Alice, surprised at her own courage, "it's no
business of mine."
The Queen turned crimson with fury, and, after glaring at her for a minute,
began in a voice of thunder "off with her—"
"Nonsense!" said Alice, very loudly and decidedly, and the Queen was
silent.
The King laid his hand upon her arm, and said timidly "remember, my dear!
She is only a child!"
The Queen turned angrily away from him, and said to the Knave "turn them
over!"
The Knave did so, very carefully, with one foot.
"Get up!" said the Queen, in a shrill loud voice, and the three gardeners
instantly jumped up, and began bowing to the King, the Queen, the Royal
children, and everybody else.
"Leave off that!" screamed the Queen, "you make me giddy." And then,
turning to the rose tree, she went on "what have you been doing here?"
"May it please your Majesty," said Two very humbly, going down on one
knee as he spoke, "we were trying—"
"I see!" said the Queen, who had meantime been examining the roses, "off
with their heads!" and the procession moved on, three of the soldiers
remaining behind to execute the three unfortunate gardeners, who ran to
Alice for protection.
"You sha'n't be beheaded!" said Alice, and she put them into her pocket: the
three soldiers marched once round her, looking for them, and then quietly

marched off after the others.
"Are their heads off?" shouted the Queen.
"Their heads are gone," the soldiers shouted in reply, "if it please your
Majesty!"
"That's right!" shouted the Queen, "can you play croquet?"
The soldiers were silent, and looked at Alice, as the question was evidently
meant for her.
"Yes!" shouted Alice at the top of her voice.
"Come on then!" roared the Queen, and Alice joined the procession,
wondering very much what would happen next.
"It's—it's a very fine day!" said a timid little voice: she was walking by the
white rabbit, who was peeping anxiously into her face.
"Very," said Alice, "where's the Marchioness?"
"Hush, hush!" said the rabbit in a low voice, "she'll hear you. The Queen's
the Marchioness: didn't you know that?"
"No, I didn't," said Alice, "what of?"
"Queen of Hearts," said the rabbit in a whisper, putting its mouth close to
her ear, "and Marchioness of Mock Turtles."
"What are they?" said Alice, but there was no time for the answer, for they
had reached the croquet-ground, and the game began instantly.
Alice thought she had never seen such a curious croquet-ground in all her
life: it was all in ridges and furrows: the croquet-balls were live hedgehogs,
the mallets live ostriches, and the soldiers had to double themselves up, and
stand on their feet and hands, to make the arches.

The chief difficulty which Alice found at first was to manage her ostrich:
she got its body tucked away, comfortably enough, under her arm, with its
legs hanging down, but generally, just as she had got its neck straightened
out nicely, and was going to give a blow with its head, it would twist itself
round, and look up into her face, with such a puzzled expression that she
could not help bursting out laughing: and when she had got its head down,
and was going to begin again, it was very confusing to find that the
hedgehog had unrolled itself, and was in the act of crawling away: besides
all this, there was generally a ridge or a furrow in her way, wherever she
wanted to send the hedgehog to, and as the doubled-up soldiers were always
getting up and walking off to other parts of the ground, Alice soon came to
the conclusion that it was a very difficult game indeed.
The players all played at once without waiting for turns, and quarrelled all
the while at the tops of their voices, and in a very few minutes the Queen
was in a furious passion, and went stamping about and shouting "off with
his head!" of "off with her head!" about once in a minute. All those whom
she sentenced were taken into custody by the soldiers, who of course had to
leave off being arches to do this, so that, by the end of half an hour or so,
there were no arches left, and all the players, except the King, the Queen,
and Alice, were in custody, and under sentence of execution.

Then the Queen left off, quite out of
breath, and said to Alice "have you
seen the Mock Turtle?"
"No," said Alice, "I don't even know
what a Mock Turtle is."
"Come on then," said the Queen, "and
it shall tell you its history."
As they walked off together, Alice
heard the King say in a low voice, to
the company generally, "you are all
pardoned."
"Come, that's a good thing!" thought
Alice, who had felt quite grieved at the number of executions which the
Queen had ordered.
They very soon came upon a
Gryphon, which lay fast asleep
in the sun: (if you don't know
what a Gryphon is, look at the
picture): "Up, lazy thing!" said
the Queen, "and take this
young lady to see the Mock
Turtle, and to hear its history. I
must go back and see after
some executions I ordered," and she walked off, leaving Alice with the
Gryphon. Alice did not quite like the look of the creature, but on the whole
she thought it quite as safe to stay as to go after that savage Queen: so she
waited.
The Gryphon sat up and rubbed its eyes: then it watched the Queen till she
was out of sight: then it chuckled. "What fun!" said the Gryphon, half to
itself, half to Alice.
"What is the fun?" said Alice.

"Why, she," said the Gryphon; "it's all her fancy, that: they never executes
nobody, you know: come on!"
"Everybody says 'come on!' here," thought Alice as she walked slowly after
the Gryphon; "I never was ordered about so before in all my life—never!"
They had not gone far before they saw the Mock Turtle in the distance,
sitting sad and lonely on a little ledge of rock, and, as they came nearer,
Alice could here it sighing as if its heart would break. She pitied it deeply:
"what is its sorrow?" she asked the Gryphon, and the Gryphon answered,
very nearly in the same words as before, "it's all its fancy, that: it hasn't got
no sorrow, you know: come on!"
So they went up to the Mock Turtle,
who looked at them with large eyes
full of tears, but said nothing.
"This here young lady" said the
Gryphon, "wants for to know your
history, she do."
"I'll tell it," said the Mock Turtle, in a
deep hollow tone, "sit down, and
don't speak till I've finished."
So they sat down, and no one spoke
for some minutes: Alice thought to
herself "I don't see how it can ever
finish, if it doesn't begin," but she
waited patiently.
"Once," said the Mock Turtle at last,
with a deep sigh, "I was a real Turtle."
These words were followed by a very long silence, broken only by an
occasional exclamation of "hjckrrh!" from the Gryphon, and the constant
heavy sobbing of the Mock Turtle. Alice was very nearly getting up and
saying, "thank you, sir, for your interesting story," but she could not help
thinking there must be more to come, so she sat still and said nothing.

"When we were little," the Mock Turtle went on, more calmly, though still
sobbing a little now and then, "we went to school in the sea. The master was
an old Turtle—we used to call him Tortoise—"
"Why did you call him Tortoise, if he wasn't one?" asked Alice.
"We called him Tortoise because he taught us," said the Mock Turtle
angrily, "really you are very dull!"
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself for asking such a simple question,"
added the Gryphon, and then they both sat silent and looked at poor Alice,
who felt ready to sink into the earth: at last the Gryphon said to the Mock
Turtle, "get on, old fellow! Don't be all day!" and the Mock Turtle went on
in these words:
"You may not have lived much under the sea—" ("I haven't," said Alice,)
"and perhaps you were never even introduced to a lobster—" (Alice began
to say "I once tasted—" but hastily checked herself, and said "no, never,"
instead,) "so you can have no idea what a delightful thing a Lobster
Quadrille is!"
"No, indeed," said Alice, "what sort of a thing is it?"
"Why," said the Gryphon, "you form into a line along the sea shore—"
"Two lines!" cried the Mock Turtle, "seals, turtles, salmon, and so on—
advance twice—"
"Each with a lobster as partner!" cried the Gryphon.

"Of course," the Mock Turtle said, "advance twice, set to partners—"
"Change lobsters, and retire in same order—" interrupted the Gryphon.
"Then, you know," continued the Mock Turtle, "you throw the—"

"The lobsters!" shouted the Gryphon, with a bound into the air.
"As far out to sea as you can—"
"Swim after them!" screamed the Gryphon.
"Turn a somersault in the sea!" cried the Mock Turtle, capering wildly
about.
"Change lobsters again!" yelled the Gryphon at the top of its voice, "and
then—"
"That's all," said the Mock Turtle,
suddenly dropping its voice, and the
two creatures, who had been jumping
about like mad things all this time, sat
down again very sadly and quietly,
and looked at Alice.
"It must be a very pretty dance," said
Alice timidly.
"Would you like to see a little of it?"
said the Mock Turtle.
"Very much indeed," said Alice.
"Come, let's try the first figure!" said the Mock Turtle to the Gryphon, "we
can do it without lobsters, you know. Which shall sing?"
"Oh! you sing!" said the Gryphon, "I've forgotten the words."
So they began solemnly dancing round and round Alice, every now and
then treading on her toes when they came too close, and waving their fore-
paws to mark the time, while the Mock Turtle sang, slowly and sadly, these
words:

"Beneath the waters of the sea
Are lobsters thick as thick can be—
They love to dance with you and me,
My own, my gentle Salmon!"

The Gryphon joined in singing the chorus, which was:

"Salmon come up! Salmon go down!
Salmon come twist your tail around!
Of all the fishes of the sea
There's none so good as Salmon!"

"Thank you," said Alice, feeling very glad that the figure was over.
"Shall we try the second figure?" said the Gryphon, "or would you prefer a
song?"
"Oh, a song, please!" Alice replied, so eagerly, that the Gryphon said, in a
rather offended tone, "hm! no accounting for tastes! Sing her 'Mock Turtle
Soup', will you, old fellow!"
The Mock Turtle sighed deeply, and began, in a voice sometimes choked
with sobs, to sing this:

"Beautiful Soup, so rich and green,
Waiting in a hot tureen!
Who for such dainties would not stoop?
Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!
Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!
Beau—ootiful Soo—oop!
Beau—ootiful Soo—oop!
Soo—oop of the e—e—evening,
Beautiful beautiful Soup!

"Chorus again!" cried the Gryphon, and the Mock Turtle had just begun to
repeat it, when a cry of "the trial's beginning!" was heard in the distance.
"Come on!" cried the Gryphon, and, taking Alice by the hand, he hurried
off, without waiting for the end of the song.
"What trial is it?" panted Alice as she ran, but the Gryphon only answered
"come on!" and ran the faster, and more and more faintly came, borne on
the breeze that followed them, the melancholy words:

"Soo—oop of the e—e—evening,
Beautiful beautiful Soup!"

The King and Queen were seated on their throne when they arrived, with a
great crowd assembled around them: the Knave was in custody: and before
the King stood the white rabbit, with a trumpet in one hand, and a scroll of
parchment in the other.

"Herald! read the accusation!" said the King.

On this the white rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and then unrolled
the parchment scroll, and read as follows:

"The Queen of Hearts she made some tarts
All on a summer day:
The Knave of Hearts he stole those tarts,
And took them quite away!"

"Now for the evidence," said the King, "and then the sentence."
"No!" said the Queen, "first the
sentence, and then the
evidence!"
"Nonsense!" cried Alice, so
loudly that everybody jumped,
"the idea of having the sentence
first!"
"Hold your tongue!" said the
Queen.
"I won't!" said Alice, "you're
nothing but a pack of cards!
Who cares for you?"
At this the whole pack rose up
into the air, and came flying down upon her: she gave a little scream of
fright, and tried to beat them off, and found herself lying on the bank, with
her head in the lap of her sister, who was gently brushing away some leaves
that had fluttered down from the trees on to her face.
"Wake up! Alice dear!" said her sister, "what a nice long sleep you've had!"
"Oh, I've had such a curious dream!" said Alice, and she told her sister all
her Adventures Under Ground, as you have read them, and when she had
finished, her sister kissed her and said "it was a curious dream, dear,
certainly! But now run in to your tea: it's getting late."

So Alice ran off, thinking while she ran (as well she might) what a
wonderful dream it had been.

But her sister sat there some while longer, watching the setting sun, and
thinking of little Alice and her Adventures, till she too began dreaming after
a fashion, and this was her dream:
She saw an ancient city, and a quiet river winding near it along the plain,
and up the stream went slowly gliding a boat with a merry party of children
on board—she could hear their voices and laughter like music over the
water—and among them was another little Alice, who sat listening with
bright eager eyes to a tale that was being told, and she listened for the
words of the tale, and lo! it was the dream of her own little sister. So the
boat wound slowly along, beneath the bright summer-day, with its merry
crew and its music of voices and laughter, till it passed round one of the
many turnings of the stream, and she saw it no more.
Then she thought, (in a dream within the dream, as it were,) how this same
little Alice would, in the after-time, be herself a grown woman: and how she
would keep, through her riper years, the simple and loving heart of her
childhood: and how she would gather around her other little children, and
make their eyes bright and eager with many a wonderful tale, perhaps even
with these very adventures of the little Alice of long-ago: and how she
would feel with all their simple sorrows, and find a pleasure in all their
simple joys, remembering her own child-life, and the happy summer days.

happy summer days.

THE END.

POSTSCRIPT.
The profits, if any, of this book will be given to Children's Hospitals and
Convalescent Homes for Sick Children; and the accounts, down to June 30
in each year, will be published in the St. James's Gazette, on the second
Tuesday of the following December.
P.P.S.—The thought, so prettily expressed by the little boy, is also to be
found in Longfellow's "Hiawatha," where he appeals to those who believe

"That the feeble hands and helpless,
Groping blindly in the darkness,
Touch God's right hand in that darkness,
And are lifted up and strengthened."

"Who will Riddle me the How and the Why?"
So questions one of England's sweetest singers. The "How?" has already
been told, after a fashion, in the verses prefixed to "Alice in Wonderland";
and some other memories of that happy summer day are set down, for those
who care to see them, in this little book—the germ that was to grow into the
published volume. But the "Why?" cannot, and need not, be put into words.
Those for whom a child's mind is a sealed book, and who see no divinity in
a child's smile, would read such words in vain: while for any one that has
ever loved one true child, no words are needed. For he will have known the
awe that falls on one in the presence of a spirit fresh from God's hands, on
whom no shadow of sin, and but the outermost fringe of the shadow of
sorrow, has yet fallen: he will have felt the bitter contrast between the
haunting selfishness that spoils his best deeds and the life that is but an
overflowing love—for I think a child's first attitude to the world is a simple
love for all living things: and he will have learned that the best work a man
can do is when he works for love's sake only, with no thought of name, or
gain, or earthly reward. No deed of ours, I suppose, on this side the grave,
is really unselfish: yet if one can put forth all one's powers in a task where
nothing of reward is hoped for but a little child's whispered thanks, and the
airy touch of a little child's pure lips, one seems to come somewhere near to
this.
There was no idea of publication in my mind when I wrote this little book:
that was wholly an afterthought, pressed on me by the "perhaps too partial
friends" who always have to bear the blame when a writer rushes into
print: and I can truly say that no praise of theirs has ever given me one
hundredth part of the pleasure it has been to think of the sick children in
hospitals (where it has been a delight to me to send copies) forgetting, for a
few bright hours, their pain and weariness—perhaps thinking lovingly of
the unknown writer of the tale—perhaps even putting up a childish prayer
(and oh, how much it needs!) for one who can but dimly hope to stand,
some day, not quite out of sight of those pure young faces, before the great
white throne. "I am very sure," writes a lady-visitor at a Home for Sick

Children, "that there will be many loving earnest prayers for you on Easter
morning from the children."
I would like to quote further from her letters, as embodying a suggestion
that may perhaps thus come to the notice of some one able and willing to
carry it out.
"I want you to send me one of your Easter Greetings for a very dear child
who is dying at our Home. She is just fading away, and 'Alice' has
brightened some of the weary hours in her illness, and I know that letter
would be such a delight to her—especially if you would put 'Minnie' at the
top, and she could know you had sent it for her. She knows you, and would
so value it.... She suffers so much that I long for what I know would so
please her." ... "Thank you very much for sending me the letter, and for
writing Minnie's name.... I am quite sure that all these children will say a
loving prayer for the 'Alice-man' on Easter Day: and I am sure the letter
will help the little ones to the real Easter joy. How I do wish that you, who
have won the hearts and confidence of so many children, would do for them
what is so very near my heart, and yet what no one will do, viz. write a book
for children about God and themselves, which is not goody, and which
begins at the right end, about religion, to make them see what it really is. I
get quite miserable very often over the children I come across: hardly any
of them have an idea of really knowing that God loves them, or of loving
and confiding in Him. They will love and trust me, and be sure that I want
them to be happy, and will not let them suffer more than is necessary: but as
for going to Him in the same way, they would never think of it. They are
dreadfully afraid of Him, if they think of Him at all, which they generally
only do when they have been naughty, and they look on all connected with
Him as very grave and dull: and, when they are full of fun and thoroughly
happy, I am sure they unconsciously hope He is not looking. I am sure I
don't wonder they think of Him in this way, for people never talk of Him in
connection with what makes their little lives the brightest. If they are
naughty, people put on solemn faces, and say He is very angry or shocked,
or something which frightens them: and, for the rest, He is talked about
only in a way that makes them think of church and having to be quiet. As for
being taught that all Joy and all Gladness and Brightness is His Joy—that
He is wearying for them to be happy, and is not hard and stern, but always
doing things to make their days brighter, and caring for them so tenderly,

and wanting them to run to Him with all their little joys and sorrows, they
are not taught that. I do so long to make them trust Him as they trust us, to
feel that He will 'take their part' as they do with us in their little woes, and
to go to Him in their plays and enjoyments and not only when they say their
prayers. I was quite grateful to one little dot, a short time ago, who said to
his mother 'when I am in bed, I put out my hand to see if I can feel Jesus
and my angel. I thought perhaps in the dark they'd touch me, but they never
have yet.' I do so want them to want to go to Him, and to feel how, if He is
there, it must be happy."
Let me add—for I feel I have drifted into far too serious a vein for a preface
to a fairy-tale—the deliciously naïve remark of a very dear child-friend,
whom I asked, after an acquaintance of two or three days, if she had read
'Alice' and the 'Looking-Glass.' "Oh yes," she replied readily, "I've read
both of them! And I think" (this more slowly and thoughtfully) "I think
'Through the Looking-Glass' is more stupid than 'Alice's Adventures.' Don't
you think so?" But this was a question I felt it would be hardly discreet for
me to enter upon.
LEWIS CARROLL.
Dec. 1886.

AN EASTER GREETING

TO

EVERY CHILD WHO LOVES

"Alice."
Dear Child,
Please to fancy, if you can, that you are reading a real letter, from a real
friend whom you have seen, and whose voice you can seem to yourself to
hear wishing you, as I do now with all my heart, a happy Easter.
Do you know that delicious dreamy feeling when one first wakes on a
summer morning, with the twitter of birds in the air, and the fresh breeze
coming in at the open window—when, lying lazily with eyes half shut, one
sees as in a dream green boughs waving, or waters rippling in a golden
light? It is a pleasure very near to sadness, bringing tears to one's eyes like
a beautiful picture or poem. And is not that a Mother's gentle hand that
undraws your curtains, and a Mother's sweet voice that summons you to
rise? To rise and forget, in the bright sunlight, the ugly dreams that
frightened you so when all was dark—to rise and enjoy another happy day,
first kneeling to thank that unseen Friend, who sends you the beautiful sun?
Are these strange words from a writer of such tales as "Alice"? And is this a
strange letter to find in a book of nonsense? It may be so. Some perhaps
may blame me for thus mixing together things grave and gay; others may
smile and think it odd that any one should speak of solemn things at all,
except in church and on a Sunday: but I think—nay, I am sure—that some
children will read this gently and lovingly, and in the spirit in which I have
written it.
For I do not believe God means us thus to divide life into two halves—to
wear a grave face on Sunday, and to think it out-of-place to even so much
as mention Him on a week-day. Do you think He cares to see only kneeling
figures, and to hear only tones of prayer—and that He does not also love to
see the lambs leaping in the sunlight, and to hear the merry voices of the
children, as they roll among the hay? Surely their innocent laughter is as
sweet in His ears as the grandest anthem that ever rolled up from the "dim
religious light" of some solemn cathedral?

And if I have written anything to add to those stores of innocent and healthy
amusement that are laid up in books for the children I love so well, it is
surely something I may hope to look back upon without shame and sorrow
(as how much of life must then be recalled!) when my turn comes to walk
through the valley of shadows.
This Easter sun will rise on you, dear child, feeling your "life in every
limb," and eager to rush out into the fresh morning air—and many an
Easter-day will come and go, before it finds you feeble and gray-headed,
creeping wearily out to bask once more in the sunlight—but it is good, even
now, to think sometimes of that great morning when the "Sun of
Righteousness shall arise with healing in his wings."
Surely your gladness need not be the less for the thought that you will one
day see a brighter dawn than this—when lovelier sights will meet your eyes
than any waving trees or rippling waters—when angel-hands shall undraw
your curtains, and sweeter tones than ever loving Mother breathed shall
wake you to a new and glorious day—and when all the sadness, and the sin,
that darkened life on this little earth, shall be forgotten like the dreams of a
night that is past!
Your affectionate
friend,
LEWIS CARROLL.
Easter, 1876.

CHRISTMAS GREETINGS.
[FROM A FAIRY TO A CHILD.]

Lady dear, if Fairies may
For a moment lay aside
Cunning tricks and elfish play,
'Tis at happy Christmas-tide.

We have heard the children say—
Gentle children, whom we love—
Long ago, on Christmas Day,
Came a message from above.

Still, as Christmas-tide comes round,
They remember it again—
Echo still the joyful sound
"Peace on earth, good-will to men!"

Yet the hearts must childlike be
Where such heavenly guests abide:
Unto children, in their glee,
All the year is Christmas-tide!

Thus, forgetting tricks and play
For a moment, Lady dear,
We would wish you, if we may,
Merry Christmas, glad New Year!

LEWIS CARROLL.
Christmas, 1867.

WORKS BY LEWIS CARROLL.
PUBLISHED BY

MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON.

ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND. With Forty-two
Illustrations by Tenniel. (First published in 1865.) Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt
edges, price 6s. Seventy-eighth Thousand.
AVENTURES D'ALICE AU PAYS DES MERVEILLES. Traduit de
l'Anglais par Henri Bué. Ouvrage illustré de 42 Vignettes par John Tenniel.
(First published in 1869.) Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt edges, price 6s.
Alice's Abenteuer im Wunderland. Aus dem Englischen, von Antonie
Zimmermann. Mitt 42 Illustrationen von John Tenniel. (First published in
1869.) Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt edges, price 6s.
LE AVVENTURE D'ALICE NEL PAESE DELLE MERAVIGLIE.
Tradotte dall' Inglese da T. Pietrocòla-Rossetti. Con 42 Vignette di
Giovanni Tenniel. (First published in 1872.) Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt edges,
price 6s.
THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS AND WHAT ALICE FOUND
THERE. With Fifty Illustrations by Tenniel. (First published in 1871.)
Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt edges, price 6s. Fifty sixth Thousand.
RHYME? AND REASON? With Sixty-five Illustrations by Arthur B.
Frost, and Nine by Henry Holiday. (This book, first published in 1883, is a
reprint, with a few additions, of the comic portion of "Phantasmagoria and
other Poems," published in 1869, and of "The Hunting of the Snark,"
published in 1876. Mr. Frost's pictures are new.) Crown 8vo, cloth, coloured
edges, price 6s. Fifth Thousand.

WORKS BY LEWIS CARROLL.
PUBLISHED BY

MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON.

A TANGLED TALE. Reprinted from The Monthly Packet. With Six
Illustrations by Arthur B. Frost. (First published in 1885.) Crown 8vo,
cloth, gilt edges, 4s. 6d. Third Thousand.
THE GAME OF LOGIC. (With an Envelope containing a card diagram
and nine counters—four red and five grey.) Crown 8vo, cloth, price 3s.
N.B.—The Envelope, etc., may be had separately at 3d. each.
ALICE'S ADVENTURES UNDER GROUND. Being a Facsimile of the
original MS. Book, afterwards developed into "Alice's Adventures in
Wonderland." With Thirty-seven Illustrations by the Author. Crown 8vo,
cloth, gilt edges. 4s.
THE NURSERY ALICE. A selection of twenty of the pictures in "Alice's
Adventures in Wonderland," enlarged and coloured under the Artist's
superintendence, with explanations. [In preparation.

N.B. In selling the above-mentioned books to the Trade, Messrs. Macmillan
and Co. will abate 2d. in the shilling (no odd copies), and allow 5 per cent.
discount for payment within six months, and 10 per cent. for cash. In selling
them to the Public (for cash only) they will allow 10 per cent. discount.

Mr. Lewis Carroll, having been requested to allow "An Easter Greeting"
(a leaflet, addressed to children, first published in 1876, and frequently
given with his books) to be sold separately, has arranged with Messrs.
Harrison, of 59, Pall Mall, who will supply a single copy for 1d., or 12 for
9d., or 100 for 5s.

==============

Transcriber's Note:
This e-book has been transcribed from a facsimile of the original
handwritten MS. of Lewis Carroll. Images of some of the pages is
given on line to give a feeling of the MS. to the reader.
This html file with cursive fonts to imitate the handwriting, is
provided for the benefit of the reader.

ALICE'S ADVENTURES
UNDER GROUND

BEING A FACSIMILE OF THE
ORIGINAL MS. BOOK
AFTERWARDS DEVELOPED INTO
"ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND"

BY

LEWIS CARROLL

WITH THIRTY-SEVEN ILLUSTRATIONS
BY THE AUTHOR

PRICE FOUR SHILLINGS

London

MACMILLAN AND CO.

AND NEW YORK

1886

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER PAGE

I. DOWN THE RABBIT-HOLE. THE
POOL OF TEARS 1
II. A LONG TALE. THE RABBIT
SENDS IN A LITTLE BILL 24
III. ADVICE FROM A CATERPILLAR 46
IV. THE QUEEN'S CROQUET-
GROUND. THE MOCK TURTLE'S
STORY. THE LOBSTER
QUADRILLE. WHO STOLE THE
TARTS? 68

Chapter I
Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on
the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had
peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no
pictures or conversations in it, and where is the use of a book,
thought Alice, without pictures or conversations? So she was
considering in her own mind, (as well as she could, for the hot
day made her feel very sleepy and stupid,) whether the pleasure
of making a daisy-chain was worth the trouble of getting up and
picking the daisies, when a white rabbit with pink eyes ran close
by her.

There was nothing very remarkable in that, nor did Alice think it
so very much out of the way to hear the rabbit say to itself "dear,
dear! I shall be too late!" (when she thought it over afterwards, it
occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at
the time it all seemed quite natural); but when the rabbit actually
took a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket, looked at it, and then
hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her
mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a
waistcoat-pocket or a watch to take out of it, and, full of
curiosity, she hurried across the field after it, and was just in time
to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge. In a
moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in
the world she was to get out again.

The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and
then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly, that Alice had not a
moment to think about stopping herself, before she found

herself falling down what seemed a deep well. Either the well
was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time
as she went down to look about her, and to wonder what would
happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out what
she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything: then, she
looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled
with cupboards and book-shelves: here and there were maps
and pictures hung on pegs. She took a jar down off one of the
shelves as she passed: it was labelled "Orange Marmalade," but
to her great disappointment it was empty: she did not like to
drop the jar, for fear of killing somebody underneath, so
managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it.

"Well!" thought Alice to herself, "after such a fall as this, I shall
think nothing of tumbling down stairs! How brave they'll all think
me at home! Why, I wouldn't say anything about it, even if I fell
off the top of the house!" (which was most likely true.)

Down, down, down. Would the fall never come to an end? "I
wonder how many miles I've fallen by this time?" she said aloud,
"I must be getting somewhere near the centre of the earth. Let
me see: that would be four thousand miles down, I think—" (for
you see Alice had learnt several things of this sort in her lessons
in the schoolroom, and though this was not a very good
opportunity of showing off her knowledge, as there was no one
to hear her, still it was good practice to say it over,) "yes that's the
right distance, but then what Longitude or Latitude-line shall I be
in?" (Alice had no idea what Longitude was, or Latitude either,
but she thought they were nice grand words to say.)

Presently she began again: "I wonder if I shall fall right through
the earth! How funny it'll be to come out among the people that
walk with their heads downwards! But I shall have to ask them

what the name of the country is, you know. Please, Ma'am, is this
New Zealand or Australia?"—and she tried to curtsey as she
spoke (fancy curtseying as you're falling through the air! do you
think you could manage it?) "and what an ignorant little girl she'll
think me for asking! No, it'll never do to ask: perhaps I shall see it
written up somewhere."

Down, down, down: there was nothing else to do, so Alice soon
began talking again. "Dinah will miss me very much tonight, I
should think!" (Dinah was the cat.) "I hope they'll remember her
saucer of milk at tea-time! Oh, dear Dinah, I wish I had you here!
There are no mice in the air, I'm afraid, but you might catch a bat,
and that's very like a mouse, you know, my dear. But do cats eat
bats, I wonder?" And here Alice began to get rather sleepy, and
kept on saying to herself, in a dreamy sort of way "do cats eat
bats? do cats eat bats?" and sometimes, "do bats eat cats?" for,
as she couldn't answer either question, it didn't much matter
which way she put it. She felt that she was dozing off, and had
just begun to dream that she was walking hand in hand with
Dinah, and was saying to her very earnestly, "Now, Dinah, my
dear, tell me the truth. Did you ever eat a bat?" when suddenly,
bump! bump! down she came upon a heap of sticks and
shavings, and the fall was over.

Alice was not a bit hurt, and jumped on to her feet directly: she
looked up, but it was all dark overhead; before her was another
long passage, and the white rabbit was still in sight, hurrying
down it. There was not a moment to be lost: away went Alice like
the wind, and just heard it say, as it turned a corner, "my ears
and whiskers, how late it's getting!" She turned the corner after
it, and instantly found herself in a long, low hall, lit up by a row of
lamps which hung from the roof.

There were doors all round the
hall, but they were all locked,
and when Alice had been all
round it, and tried them all, she
walked sadly down the middle,
wondering how she was ever to
get out again: suddenly she
came upon a little three-legged
table, all made of solid glass;
there was nothing lying upon it,
but a tiny golden key, and Alice's
first idea was that it might
belong to one of the doors of
the hall, but alas! either the
locks were too large, or the key too small, but at any rate it
would open none of them. However, on the second time round,
she came to a low curtain, behind which was a door about
eighteen inches high: she tried the little key in the keyhole, and it
fitted! Alice opened the door, and looked down a small passage,
not larger than a rat-hole, into the loveliest garden you ever saw.
How she longed to get out of that dark hall, and wander about
among those beds of bright flowers and those cool fountains,
but she could not even get her head through the doorway, "and
even if my head would go through," thought poor Alice, "it would
be very little use without my shoulders. Oh, how I wish I could
shut up like a telescope! I think I could, if I only knew how to
begin." For, you see, so many out-of-the-way things had
happened lately, that Alice began to think very few things indeed
were really impossible.

There was nothing else to do, so she went back to the table, half
hoping she might find another key on it, or at any rate a book of

rules for shutting up people like telescopes: this time there was a
little bottle on it—"which certainly was not there before" said
Alice—and tied round the neck of the bottle was a paper label
with the words DRINK ME beautifully printed on it in large
letters.

It was all very well to say "drink me," "but I'll look first," said the
wise little Alice, "and see whether the bottle's marked "poison" or
not," for Alice had read several nice little stories about children
that got burnt, and eaten up by wild beasts, and other
unpleasant things, because they would not remember the
simple rules their friends had given them, such as, that, if you
get into the fire, it will burn you, and that, if you cut your finger
very deeply with a knife, it generally bleeds, and she had never
forgotten that, if you drink a bottle marked "poison," it is almost
certain to disagree with you, sooner or later.

However, this bottle was not marked poison, so Alice tasted it,
and finding it very nice, (it had, in fact, a sort of mixed flavour of
cherry-tart, custard, pine-apple, roast turkey, toffy, and hot
buttered toast,) she very soon finished it off.

"What a curious feeling!" said Alice, "I must be shutting up like a
telescope."

It was so indeed: she was now only ten inches high, and her face
brightened up as it occurred to her that she was now the right
size for going through the little door into that lovely garden.
First, however, she waited for a few minutes to see whether she
was going to shrink any further: she felt a little nervous about
this, "for it might end, you know," said Alice to herself, "in my

going out altogether, like a candle, and what should I be like
then, I wonder?" and she tried to fancy what the flame of a
candle is like after the candle is blown out, for she could not
remember having ever seen one. However, nothing more
happened so she decided on going into the garden at once, but,
alas for poor Alice! when she got to the door, she found she had
forgotten the little golden key, and when she went back to the
table for the key, she found she could not possibly reach it: she
could see it plainly enough through the glass, and she tried her
best to climb up one of the legs of the table, but it was too
slippery, and when she had tired herself out with trying, the poor
little thing sat down and cried.

"Come! there's no use in crying!"
said Alice to herself rather
sharply, "I advise you to leave
off this minute!" (she generally
gave herself very good advice,
and sometimes scolded herself
so severely as to bring tears into
her eyes, and once she
remembered boxing her own
ears for having been unkind to
herself in a game of croquet she
was playing with herself, for this curious child was very fond of
pretending to be two people,) "but it's no use now," thought
poor Alice, "to pretend to be two people! Why, there's hardly
enough of me left to make one respectable person!"

Soon her eyes fell on a little ebony box lying under the table: she
opened it, and found in it a very small cake, on which was lying a
card with the words EAT ME beautifully printed on it in large

letters. "I'll eat," said Alice, "and if it makes me larger, I can reach
the key, and if it makes me smaller, I can creep under the door,
so either way I'll get into the garden, and I don't care which
happens!"

She ate a little bit, and said anxiously to herself "which way?
which way?" and laid her hand on the top of her head to feel
which way it was growing, and was quite surprised to find that
she remained the same size: to be sure this is what generally
happens when one eats cake, but Alice had got into the way of
expecting nothing but out-of-the way things to happen, and it
seemed quite dull and stupid for things to go on in the common
way.

So she set to work, and very soon finished off the cake.

"Curiouser and curiouser!" cried Alice, (she was so surprised that
she quite forgot how to speak good English,) "now I'm opening
out like the largest telescope that ever was! Goodbye, feet!" (for
when she looked down at her feet, they seemed almost out of
sight, they were getting so far off,) "oh, my poor little feet, I
wonder who will put on your shoes and stockings for you now,
dears? I'm sure I can't! I shall be a great deal too far off to bother
myself about you: you must manage the best way you can—but I
must be kind to them," thought Alice, "or perhaps they won't
walk the way I want to go! Let me see: I'll give them a new pair of
boots every Christmas."

And she went on planning to herself how she would manage it
"they must go by the carrier," she thought, "and how funny it'll
seem, sending presents to one's own feet!

And how odd the directions will look! ALICE'S
RIGHT FOOT, ESQ.
TH
E CARPET,

with ALICE'S
LOVE

oh dear! what nonsense I am talking!"

Just at this moment, her head struck against the roof of the hall:
in fact, she was now rather more than nine feet high, and she at
once took up the little golden key, and hurried off to the garden
door.

Poor Alice! it was as much as she could do, lying down on one
side, to look through into the garden with one eye, but to get
through was more hopeless than ever: she sat down and cried
again.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," said Alice, "a great girl
like you," (she might well say this,) "to cry in this way! Stop this
instant, I tell you!" But she cried on all the same, shedding
gallons of tears, until there was a large pool, about four inches
deep, all round her, and reaching half way across the hall. After a
time, she heard a little pattering of feet in the distance, and
dried her eyes to see what was coming. It was the white rabbit
coming back again, splendidly dressed, with a pair of white kid
gloves in one hand, and a nosegay in the other. Alice was ready
to ask help of any one, she felt so desperate, and as the rabbit
passed her, she said, in a low, timid voice, "If you please, Sir—"
the rabbit started violently, looked up once into the roof of the
hall, from which the voice seemed to come, and then dropped
the nosegay and the white kid gloves, and skurried away into the
darkness, as hard as it could go.

Alice took up the nosegay and gloves, and found the nosegay so
delicious that she kept smelling at it all the time she went on
talking to herself—"dear, dear! how queer everything is today!

and yesterday everything
happened just as usual: I
wonder if I was changed in the
night? Let me think: was I the
same when I got up this
morning? I think I remember
feeling rather different. But if
I'm not the same, who in the
world am I? Ah, that's the great
puzzle!" And she began thinking
over all the children she knew of
the same age as herself, to see if she could have been changed
for any of them.

"I'm sure I'm not Gertrude," she said, "for her hair goes in such
long ringlets, and mine doesn't go in ringlets at all—and I'm sure
I ca'n't be Florence, for I know all sorts of things, and she, oh! she
knows such a very little! Besides, she's she, and I'm I, and—oh
dear! how puzzling 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
thirteen, and four times seven is fourteen—oh dear! I shall never
get to twenty at this rate! But the Multiplication Table don't
signify—let's try Geography. London is the capital of France, and
Rome is the capital of Yorkshire, and Paris—oh dear! dear! that's
all wrong, I'm certain! I must have been changed for Florence! I'll
try and say "How doth the little,"" and she crossed her hands on
her lap, and began, but her voice sounded hoarse and strange,
and the words did not sound the same as they used to do:

"How doth the little crocodile
Improve its shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile

On every golden scale!

"How cheerfully it seems to grin!
How neatly spreads its claws!
And welcomes little fishes in
With gently-smiling jaws!"

"I'm sure those are not the right words," said poor Alice, and her
eyes filled with tears as she thought "I must be Florence after all,
and I shall have to go and live in that poky little house, and have
next to no toys to play with, and oh! ever so many lessons to
learn! No! I've made up my mind about it: if I'm Florence, I'll stay
down here! It'll be no use their putting their heads down and
saying 'come up, dear!' I shall only look up and say 'who am I
then? answer me that first, and then, if I like being that person,
I'll come up: if not, I'll stay down here till I'm somebody else—
but, oh dear!" cried Alice with a sudden burst of tears, "I do wish
they would put their heads down! I am so tired of being all alone
here!"

As she said this, she looked down at her hands, and was
surprised to find she had put on one of the rabbit's little gloves
while she was talking. "How can I have done that?" thought she,
"I must be growing small again." She got up and went to the
table to measure herself by it, and found that, as nearly as she
could guess, she was now about two feet high, and was going on
shrinking rapidly: soon she found out that the reason of it was
the nosegay she held in her hand: she dropped it hastily, just in
time to save herself from shrinking away altogether, and found
that she was now only three inches high.

"Now for the garden!" cried Alice, as she hurried back to the little
door, but the little door was locked again, and the little gold key

was lying on the glass table as before, and "things are worse
than ever!" thought the poor little girl, "for I never was as small
as this before, never! And I declare it's too bad, it is!"

At this moment her foot slipped,
and splash! she was up to her
chin in salt water. Her first idea
was that she had fallen into the
sea: then she remembered that
she was under ground, and she
soon made out that it was the
pool of tears she had wept
when she was nine feet high. "I
wish I hadn't cried so much!" said Alice, as she swam about,
trying to find her way out, "I shall be punished for it now, I
suppose, by being drowned in my own tears! Well! that'll be a
queer thing, to be sure! However, every thing is queer today."
Very soon she saw something splashing about in the pool near
her: at first she thought it must be a walrus or a hippopotamus,
but then she remembered how small she was herself, and soon
made out that it was only a mouse, that had slipped in like
herself.

"Would it be any use, now," thought Alice, "to speak to this
mouse? The rabbit is something quite out-of-the-way, no doubt,
and so have I been, ever since I came down here, but that is no
reason why the mouse should not be able to talk. I think I may as
well try."

So she began: "oh Mouse, do you know how to get out of this
pool? I am very tired of swimming about here, oh Mouse!" The
mouse looked at her rather inquisitively, and seemed to her to
wink with one of its little eyes, but it said nothing.

"Perhaps it doesn't understand English," thought Alice; "I
daresay it's a French mouse, come over with William the
Conqueror!" (for,with all her knowledge of history, Alice had no
very clear notion how long ago anything had happened,) so she
began again: "où est ma chatte?" which was the first sentence
out of her French lesson-book. The mouse gave a sudden jump
in the pool, and seemed to quiver with fright: "oh, I beg your
pardon!" cried Alice hastily, afraid that she had hurt the poor
animal's feelings, "I quite forgot you didn't like cats!"

"Not like cats!" cried the mouse, in a shrill, passionate voice,
"would you like cats if you were me?"

"Well, perhaps not," said Alice in a soothing tone, "don't be angry
about it. And yet I wish I could show you our cat Dinah: I think
you'd take a fancy to cats if you could only see her. She is such a
dear quiet thing," said Alice, half to herself, as she swam lazily
about in the pool, "she sits purring so nicely by the fire, licking
her paws and washing her face: and she is such a nice soft thing
to nurse, and she's such a capital one for catching mice—oh! I

beg your pardon!" cried poor Alice again, for this time the mouse
was bristling all over, and she felt certain that it was really
offended, "have I offended you?"

"Offended indeed!" cried the mouse, who seemed to be
positively trembling with rage, "our family always hated cats!
Nasty, low, vulgar things! Don't talk to me about them any
more!"

"I won't indeed!" said Alice, in a great hurry to change the
conversation, "are you—are you—fond of—dogs?" The mouse
did not answer, so Alice went on eagerly: "there is such a nice
little dog near our house I should like to show you! A little bright-
eyed terrier, you know, with oh! such long curly brown hair! And
it'll fetch things when you throw them, and it'll sit up and beg for
its dinner, and all sorts of things—I ca'n't remember half of them
—and it belongs to a farmer, and he says it kills all the rats and—
oh dear!" said Alice sadly, "I'm afraid I've offended it again!" for
the mouse was swimming away from her as hard as it could go,
and making quite a commotion in the pool as it went.

So she called softly after it: "mouse dear! Do come back again,
and we won't talk about cats and dogs any more, if you don't like
them!" When the mouse heard this, it turned and swam slowly
back to her: its face was quite pale, (with passion, Alice thought,)
and it said in a trembling low voice "let's get to the shore, and
then I'll tell you my history, and you'll understand why it is I hate
cats and dogs."

It was high time to go, for the pool was getting quite full of birds
and animals that had fallen into it. There was a Duck and a Dodo,
a Lory and an Eaglet, and several other curious creatures. Alice
led the way, and the whole party swam to the shore.

Chapter II
They were indeed a curious looking party that assembled on the
bank—the birds with draggled feathers, the animals with their
fur clinging close to them—all dripping wet, cross, and
uncomfortable. The first question of course was, how to get dry:
they had a consultation about this, and Alice hardly felt at all
surprised at finding herself talking familiarly with the birds, as if
she had known them all her life. Indeed, she had quite a long
argument with the Lory, who at last turned sulky, and would only
say "I am older than you, and must know best," and this Alice
would not admit without knowing how old the Lory was, and as
the Lory positively refused to tell its age, there was nothing more
to be said.

At last the mouse, who seemed to have some authority among
them, called out "sit down, all of you, and attend to me! I'll soon
make you dry enough!" They all sat down at once, shivering, in a
large ring, Alice in the middle, with her eyes anxiously fixed on
the mouse, for she felt sure she would catch a bad cold if she did
not get dry very soon.

"Ahem!" said the mouse, with a self-important air, "are you all
ready? This is the driest thing I know. Silence all round, if you
please!

"William the Conqueror, whose cause was favoured by the pope,
was soon submitted to by the English, who wanted leaders, and
had been of late much accustomed to usurpation and conquest.
Edwin and Morcar, the earls of Mercia and Northumbria—"

"Ugh!" said the Lory with a shiver.

"I beg your pardon?" said the mouse, frowning, but very politely,
"did you speak?"

"Not I!" said the Lory hastily.

"I thought you did," said the mouse, "I proceed. Edwin and
Morcar, the earls of Mercia and Northumbria, declared for him;
and even Stigand, the patriotic archbishop of Canterbury, found
it advisable to go with Edgar Atheling to meet William and offer
him the crown. William's conduct was at first moderate—how are
you getting on now, dear?" said the mouse, turning to Alice as it
spoke.

"As wet as ever," said poor Alice, "it doesn't seem to dry me at
all."

"In that case," said the Dodo solemnly, rising to his feet, "I move
that the meeting adjourn, for the immediate adoption of more
energetic remedies—"

"Speak English!" said the Duck, "I don't know the meaning of half
those long words, and what's more, I don't believe you do
either!" And the Duck quacked a comfortable laugh to itself.
Some of the other birds tittered audibly.

"I only meant to say," said the Dodo in a rather offended tone,
"that I know of a house near here, where we could get the young
lady and the rest of the party dried, and then we could listen
comfortably to the story which I think you were good enough to
promise to tell us," bowing gravely to the mouse.

The mouse made no objection to this, and the whole party
moved along the river bank, (for the pool had by this time began

to flow out of the hall, and the edge of it was fringed with rushes
and forget-me-nots,) in a slow procession, the Dodo leading the
way. After a time the Dodo became impatient, and, leaving the
Duck to bring up the rest of the party, moved on at a quicker
pace with Alice, the Lory, and the Eaglet, and soon brought them
to a little cottage, and there they sat snugly by the fire, wrapped
up in blankets, until the rest of the party had arrived, and they
were all dry again.

Then they all sat down again in a large ring on the bank, and
begged the mouse to begin his story.

"Mine is a long and a sad tale!" said the mouse, turning to Alice,
and sighing.

"It is a long tail, certainly," said Alice, looking down with wonder
at the mouse's tail, which was coiled nearly all round the party,
"but why do you call it sad?" and she went on puzzling about this
as the mouse went on speaking, so that her idea of the tale was
something like this:

We lived beneath the mat
Warm and snug and fat
But one woe, & that
Was the cat!
To our joys
a clog, In
our eyes a
fog, On our
hearts a log
Was the dog!
When the
cat's away,
Then
the mice
will
play,
But, alas!
one day, (So they say)
Came the dog and
cat, Hunting
for a
rat,
Crushed
the mice
all flat;
Each
one
as
he
sat.
U
n

d
e
r
n
e
a
t
h

t
h
e

m
a
t
,
mraW
guns&
taf&
T h i n k?
o f t h a t!

"You are not attending!" said the mouse to Alice severely, "what
are you thinking of?"

"I beg your pardon," said Alice very humbly, "you had got to the
fifth bend, I think?"

"I had not!" cried the mouse, sharply and very angrily.

"A knot!" said Alice, always ready to make herself useful, and
looking anxiously about her, "oh, do let me help to undo it!"

"I shall do nothing of the sort!" said the mouse, getting up and
walking away from the party, "you insult me by talking such
nonsense!"

"I didn't mean it!" pleaded poor Alice, "but you're so easily
offended, you know."

The mouse only growled in reply.

"Please come back and finish your story!" Alice called after it, and
the others all joined in chorus "yes, please do!" but the mouse
only shook its ears, and walked quickly away, and was soon out
of sight.

"What a pity it wouldn't stay!" sighed the Lory, and an old Crab
took the opportunity of saying to its daughter "Ah, my dear! let
this be a lesson to you never to lose your temper!" "Hold your
tongue, Ma!" said the young Crab, a little snappishly, "you're
enough to try the patience of an oyster!"

"I wish I had our Dinah here, I know I do!" said Alice aloud,
addressing no one in particular, "she'd soon fetch it back!"

"And who is Dinah, if I might venture to ask the question?" said
the Lory.

Alice replied eagerly, for she was always ready to talk about her
pet, "Dinah's our cat. And she's such a capital one for catching
mice, you can't think! And oh! I wish you could see her after the
birds! Why, she'll eat a little bird as soon as look at it!"

This answer caused a remarkable sensation among the party:
some of the birds hurried off at once; one old magpie began
wrapping itself up very carefully, remarking "I really must be
getting home: the night air does not suit my throat," and a
canary called out in a trembling voice to its children "come away
from her, my dears, she's no fit company for you!" On various
pretexts, they all moved off, and Alice was soon left alone.

She sat for some while sorrowful and silent, but she was not long
before she recovered her spirits, and began talking to herself
again as usual: "I do wish some of them had stayed a little
longer! and I was getting to be such friends with them—really
the Lory and I were almost like sisters! and so was that dear little
Eaglet! And then the Duck and the Dodo! How nicely the Duck
sang to us as we came along through the water: and if the Dodo

hadn't known the way to that
nice little cottage, I don't know
when we should have got dry
again—" and there is no
knowing how long she might
have prattled on in this way, if
she had not suddenly caught
the sound of pattering feet.

It was the white rabbit, trotting
slowly back again, and looking
anxiously about it as it went, as
if it had lost something, and she heard it muttering to itself "the
Marchioness! the Marchioness! oh my dear paws! oh my fur and
whiskers! She'll have me executed, as sure as ferrets are ferrets!
Where can I have dropped them, I wonder?" Alice guessed in a
moment that it was looking for the nosegay and the pair of
white kid gloves, and she began hunting for them, but they were
now nowhere to be seen—everything seemed to have changed
since her swim in the pool, and her walk along the river-bank
with its fringe of rushes and forget-me-nots, and the glass table
and the little door had vanished.

Soon the rabbit noticed Alice, as she stood looking curiously
about her, and at once said in a quick angry tone, "why, Mary
Ann! what are you doing out here? Go home this moment, and
look on my dressing-table for my gloves and nosegay, and fetch
them here, as quick as you can run, do you hear?" and Alice was
so much frightened that she ran off at once, without saying a
word, in the direction which the rabbit had pointed out.

She soon found herself in front of a neat little house, on the door
of which was a bright brass plate with the name W. RABBIT, ESQ.

She went in, and hurried upstairs, for fear she should meet the
real Mary Ann and be turned out of the house before she had
found the gloves: she knew that one pair had been lost in the
hall, "but of course," thought Alice, "it has plenty more of them
in its house. How queer it seems to be going messages for a
rabbit! I suppose Dinah'll be sending me messages next!" And
she began fancying the sort of things that would happen: "Miss
Alice! come here directly and get ready for your walk!" "Coming
in a minute, nurse! but I've got to watch this mousehole till
Dinah comes back, and see that the mouse doesn't get out—"
"only I don't think," Alice went on, "that they'd let Dinah stop in
the house, if it began ordering people about like that!"

By this time she had found her
way into a tidy little room, with a
table in the window on which
was a looking-glass and, (as
Alice had hoped,) two or three
pairs of tiny white kid gloves:
she took up a pair of gloves, and
was just going to leave the
room, when her eye fell upon a
little bottle that stood near the
looking-glass: there was no
label on it this time with the
words "drink me," but nonetheless she uncorked it and put it to
her lips: "I know something interesting is sure to happen," she
said to herself, "whenever I eat or drink anything, so I'll see what
this bottle does. I do hope it'll make me grow larger, for I'm quite
tired of being such a tiny little thing!"

It did so indeed, and much sooner than she expected: before she
had drunk half the bottle, she found her head pressing against
the ceiling, and she stooped to save her neck from being broken,
and hastily put down the bottle, saying to herself "that's quite
enough—I hope I sha'n't grow any more—I wish I hadn't drunk
so much!"

Alas! it was too late: she went on
growing and growing, and very
soon had to kneel down: in
another minute there was not
room even for this, and she
tried the effect of lying down,
with one elbow against the door,
and the other arm curled round
her head. Still she went on
growing, and as a last resource
she put one arm out of the
window, and one foot up the
chimney, and said to herself
"now I can do no more—what will become of me?"

Luckily for Alice, the little magic bottle had now had its full effect,
and she grew no larger; still it was very uncomfortable, and as
there seemed to be no sort of chance of ever getting out of the
room again, no wonder she felt unhappy. "It was much
pleasanter at home," thought poor Alice, "when one wasn't
always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about by
mice and rabbits—I almost wish I hadn't gone down that rabbit-
hole, and yet, and yet—it's rather curious, you know, this sort of
life. I do wonder what can have happened to me! When I used to
read fairy-tales, I fancied that sort of thing never happened, and

now here I am in the middle of one! There out to be a book
written about me, that there ought! and when I grow up I'll write
one—but I'm grown up now" said she in a sorrowful tone, "at
least there's no room to grow up any more here."

"But then," thought Alice, "shall I never get any older than I am
now? That'll be a comfort, one way—never to be an old woman—
but then—always to have lessons to learn! Oh, I shouldn't like
that!"

"Oh, you foolish Alice!" she said again, "how can you learn
lessons in here? Why, there's hardly room for you, and no room
at all for any lesson-books!"

And so she went on, taking first one side, and then the other,
and making quite a conversation of it altogether, but after a few
minutes she heard a voice outside, which made her stop to
listen.

"Mary Ann! Mary Ann!" said the voice, "fetch me my gloves this
moment!" Then came a little pattering of feet on the stairs: Alice

knew it was the rabbit coming to look for her, and she trembled
till she shook the house, quite forgetting that she was now about
a thousand times as large as the rabbit, and had no reason to be
afraid of it. Presently the rabbit came to the door, and tried to
open it, but as it opened inwards, and Alice's elbow was against
it, the attempt proved a failure. Alice heard it say to itself "then
I'll go round and get in at the window."

"That you wo'n't!" thought Alice, and, after waiting till she
fancied she heard the rabbit, just under the window, she
suddenly spread out her hand, and made a snatch in the air. She
did not get hold of anything, but she heard a little shriek and a
fall and a crash of breaking glass, from which she concluded that
it was just possible it had fallen into a cucumber-frame, or
something of the sort.

Next came an angry voice—the
rabbit's—"Pat, Pat! where are
you?" And then a voice she had
never heard before, "shure then
I'm here! digging for apples,
anyway, yer honour!"

"Digging for apples indeed!"
said the rabbit angrily, "here,
come and help me out of
this!"—Sound of more breaking
glass.

"Now, tell me, Pat, what is that
coming out of the window?"

"Shure it's an arm, yer honour!" (He pronounced it "arrum".)

"An arm, you goose! Who ever saw an arm that size? Why, it fills
the whole window, don't you see?"

"Shure, it does, yer honour, but it's an arm for all that."

"Well, it's no business there: go and take it away!"

There was a long silence after this, and Alice could only hear
whispers now and then, such as "shure I don't like it, yer honour,
at all at all!" "do as I tell you, you coward!" and at last she spread
out her hand again and made another snatch in the air. This time
there were two little shrieks, and more breaking glass—"what a
number of cucumber-frames there must be!" thought Alice, "I
wonder what they'll do next! As for pulling me out of the
window, I only wish they could! I'm sure I don't want to stop in
here any longer!"

She waited for some time without hearing anything more: at last
came a rumbling of little cart-wheels, and the sound of a good
many voices all talking together: she made out the words
"where's the other ladder?—why, I hadn't to bring but one, Bill's
got the other—here, put 'em up at this corner—no, tie 'em
together first—they don't reach high enough yet—oh, they'll do
well enough, don't be particular—here, Bill! catch hold of this
rope—will the roof bear?—mind that loose slate—oh, it's coming
down! heads below!—" (a loud crash) "now, who did that?—it was
Bill, I fancy—who's to go down the chimney?—nay, I sha'n't! you
do it!—that I won't then—Bill's got to go down—here, Bill! the
master says you've to go down the chimney!"

"Oh, so Bill's got to come down the chimney, has he?" said Alice
to herself, "why, they seem to put everything upon Bill! I
wouldn't be in Bill's place for a good deal: the fireplace is a pretty
tight one, but I think I can kick a little!"

She drew her foot as far down the chimney as she could, and
waited till she heard a little animal (she couldn't guess what sort
it was) scratching and scrambling in the chimney close above
her: then, saying to herself "this is Bill," she gave one sharp kick,
and waited again to see what would happen next.

The first thing was a general
chorus of "there goes Bill!" then
the rabbit's voice alone "catch
him, you by the hedge!" then
silence, and then another
confusion of voices, "how was it,
old fellow? what happened to
you? tell us all about it."

Last came a little feeble
squeaking voice, ("that's Bill"
thought Alice,) which said "well,
I hardly know—I'm all of a
fluster myself—something
comes at me like a Jack-in-the-box, and the next minute up I
goes like a rocket!" "And so you did, old fellow!" said the other
voices.

"We must burn the house down!" said the voice of the rabbit,
and Alice called out as loud as she could "if you do, I'll set Dinah
at you!" This caused silence again, and while Alice was thinking
"but how can I get Dinah here?" she found to her great delight
that she was getting smaller: very soon she was able to get up
out of the uncomfortable position in which she had been lying,
and in two or three minutes more she was once more three
inches high.

She ran out of the house as quick as she could, and found quite
a crowd of little animals waiting outside—guinea-pigs, white
mice, squirrels, and "Bill" a little green lizard, that was being
supported in the arms of one of the guinea-pigs, while another
was giving it something out of a bottle. They all made a rush at
her the moment she appeared, but Alice ran her hardest, and
soon found herself in a thick wood.

Chapter III
"The first thing I've got to do," said Alice to herself, as she
wandered about in the wood, "is to grow to my right size, and
the second thing is to find my way into that lovely garden. I think
that will be the best plan."

It sounded an excellent plan, no doubt, and very neatly and
simply arranged: the only difficulty was, that she had not the
smallest idea how to set about it, and while she was peering
anxiously among the trees round her, a little sharp bark just over
her head made her look up in a great hurry.

An enormous puppy was looking down at her with large round
eyes, and feebly stretching out one paw, trying to reach her:
"poor thing!" said Alice in a coaxing tone, and she tried hard to
whistle to it, but she was terribly alarmed all the while at the
thought that it might be hungry, in which case it would probably
devour her in spite of all her coaxing. Hardly knowing what she
did, she picked up a little bit of stick, and held it out to the
puppy: whereupon the puppy jumped into the air off all its feet
at once, and with a yelp of delight rushed at the stick, and made
believe to worry it then Alice dodged behind a great thistle to
keep herself from being run over, and, the moment she
appeared at the other side, the puppy made another dart at the
stick, and tumbled head over heels in its hurry to get hold: then
Alice, thinking it was very like having a game of play with a cart-
horse, and expecting every moment to be trampled under its
feet, ran round the thistle again: then the puppy begin a series
of short charges at the stick, running a very little way forwards

each time and a long way back, and barking hoarsely all the
while, till at last it sat down a good way off, panting, with its
tongue hanging out of its mouth, and its great eyes half shut.

This seemed to Alice a good opportunity for making her escape.
She set off at once, and ran till the puppy's bark sounded quite
faint in the distance, and till she was quite tired and out of
breath.

"And yet what a dear little puppy it was!" said Alice, as she leant
against a buttercup to rest herself, and fanned herself with her
hat. "I should have liked teaching it tricks, if—if I'd only been the
right size to do it! Oh! I'd nearly forgotten that I've got to grow
up again! Let me see; how is it to be managed? I suppose I ought
to eat or drink something or other, but the great question is
what?"

The great question certainly was, what? Alice looked all round
her at the flowers and the blades of grass but could not see
anything that looked like the right thing to eat under the
circumstances. There was a large mushroom near her, about the
same height as herself, and when she had looked under it, and
on both sides of it, and behind it, it occurred to her to look and
see what was on the top of it.

She stretched herself up on tiptoe, and peeped over the edge of
the mushroom, and her eyes immediately met those of a large
blue caterpillar, which was sitting with its arms folded, quietly
smoking a long hookah, and taking not the least notice of her or
of anything else.

For some time they looked at each other in silence: at last the
caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and languidly
addressed her.

"Who are you?" said the
caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging
opening for a conversation:
Alice replied rather shyly, "I—I
hardly know, sir, just at present
—at least I know who I was
when I got up this morning, but
I think I must have been
changed several times since
that."

"What do you mean by that?"
said the caterpillar, "explain
yourself!"

"I ca'n't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir," said Alice, "because I'm
not myself, you see."

"I don't see," said the caterpillar.

"I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly," Alice replied very politely,
"for I ca'n't understand it myself, and really to be so many
different sizes in one day is very confusing."

"It isn't," said the caterpillar.

"Well, perhaps you haven't found it so yet," said Alice, "but when
you have to turn into a chrysalis, you know, and then after that
into a butterfly, I should think it'll feel a little queer, don't you
think so?"

"Not a bit," said the caterpillar.

"All I know is," said Alice, "it would feel queer to me."

"You!" said the caterpillar contemptuously, "who are you?"

Which brought them back again to the beginning of the
conversation: Alice felt a little irritated at the caterpillar making
such very short remarks, and she drew herself up and said very
gravely "I think you ought to tell me who you are, first."

"Why?" said the caterpillar.

Here was another puzzling question: and as Alice had no reason
ready, and the caterpillar seemed to be in a very bad temper, she
turned round and walked away.

"Come back!" the caterpillar called after her, "I've something
important to say!"

This sounded promising: Alice turned and came back again.

"Keep your temper," said the caterpillar.

"Is that all?" said Alice, swallowing down her anger as well as she
could.

"No," said the caterpillar.

Alice thought she might as well wait, as she had nothing else to
do, and perhaps after all the caterpillar might tell her something
worth hearing. For some minutes it puffed away at its hookah
without speaking, but at last it unfolded its arms, took the
hookah out of its mouth again, and said "so you think you're
changed, do you?"

"Yes, sir," said Alice, "I ca'n't remember the things I used to know
—I've tried to say "How doth the little busy bee" and it came all
different!"

"Try and repeat "You are old, father William"," said the caterpillar.

Alice folded her hands, and began:

1.

"You are old, father William," the young man said,
"And your hair is exceedingly white:
And yet you incessantly stand on your head—
Do you think, at your age, it is right?"

2.

"In my youth," father William replied to his son,
"I feared it might injure the brain
But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again."

3.

"You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned
before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat:
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door—
Pray what is the reason of that?"

4.

"In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his gray
locks,
"I kept all my limbs very supple,
By the use of this ointment, five shillings the box—
Allow me to sell you a couple."

5.

"You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too
weak
For anything tougher than suet:
Yet you eat all the goose, with the bones and the
beak—
Pray, how did you manage to do it?"

6.

"In my youth," said the old man, "I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife,
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life."

7.

"You are old," said the youth; "one would hardly
suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever:
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose—
What made you so awfully clever?"

8.

"I have answered three questions, and that is
enough,"
Said his father, "don't give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I'll kick you down stairs!"

"That is not said right," said the caterpillar.

"Not quite right, I'm afraid," said Alice timidly, "some of the
words have got altered."

"It is wrong from beginning to end," said the caterpillar
decidedly, and there was silence for some minutes: the
caterpillar was the first to speak.

"What size do you want to be?" it asked.

"Oh, I'm not particular as to size," Alice hastily replied, "only one
doesn't like changing so often, you know."

"Are you content now?" said the caterpillar.

"Well, I should like to be a little larger, sir, if you wouldn't mind,"
said Alice, "three inches is such a wretched height to be."

"It is a very good height indeed!" said the caterpillar loudly and
angrily, rearing itself straight up as it spoke (it was exactly three
inches high).

"But I'm not used to it!" pleaded poor Alice in a piteous tone, and
she thought to herself "I wish the creatures wouldn't be so easily
offended!"

"You'll get used to it in time," said the caterpillar, and it put the
hookah into its mouth, and began smoking again.

This time Alice waited quietly until it chose to speak again: in a
few minutes the caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth,
and got down off the mushroom, and crawled away into the
grass, merely remarking as it went; "the top will make you grow
taller, and the stalk will make you grow shorter."

"The top of what? the stalk of what?" thought Alice.

"Of the mushroom," said the caterpillar, just as if she had asked
it aloud, and in another moment was out of sight.

Alice remained looking
thoughtfully at the mushroom
for a minute, and then picked it
and carefully broke it in two,
taking the stalk in one hand,
and the top in the other.

"Which does the stalk do?" she
said, and nibbled a little bit of it
to try; the next moment she felt
a violent blow on her chin: it had
struck her foot!

She was a good deal frightened by this very sudden change, but
as she did not shrink any further, and had not dropped the top of
the mushroom, she did not give up hope yet. There was hardly
room to open her mouth, with her chin pressing against her
foot, but she did it at last, and managed to bite off a little bit of
the top of the mushroom.

"Come! my head's free at last!" said Alice in a tone of delight,
which changed into alarm in another moment, when she found
that her shoulders were nowhere to be seen: she looked down
upon an immense length of neck, which seemed to rise like a
stalk out of a sea of green leaves that lay far below her.

"What can all that green stuff be?" said Alice, "and where have
my shoulders got to? And oh! my poor hands! how is it I ca'n't
see you?" She was moving them about as she spoke, but no
result seemed to follow, except a little rustling among the leaves.
Then she tried to bring her head down to her hands, and was

delighted to find that her neck would bend
about easily in every direction, like a serpent.
She had just succeeded in bending it down in a
beautiful zig-zag, and was going to dive in
among the leaves, which she found to be the
tops of the trees of the wood she had been
wandering in, when a sharp hiss made her draw
back: a large pigeon had flown into her face,
and was violently beating her with its wings.

"Serpent!"
screamed the
pigeon.

"I'm not a
serpent!" said
Alice
indignantly, "let
me alone!"

"I've tried every
way!" the
pigeon said desperately, with a
kind of sob: "nothing seems to suit 'em!"

"I haven't the least idea what you mean," said Alice.

"I've tried the roots of trees, and I've tried banks, and I've tried
hedges," the pigeon went on without attending to her, "but them
serpents! There's no pleasing 'em!"

Alice was more and more puzzled, but she thought there was no
use in saying anything till the pigeon had finished.

"As if it wasn't trouble enough hatching the eggs!" said the
pigeon, "without being on the look out for serpents, day and
night! Why, I haven't had a wink of sleep these three weeks!"

"I'm very sorry you've been annoyed," said Alice, beginning to
see its meaning.

"And just as I'd taken the highest tree in the wood," said the
pigeon raising its voice to a shriek, "and was just thinking I was
free of 'em at last, they must needs come down from the sky!
Ugh! Serpent!"

"But I'm not a serpent," said Alice, "I'm a—I'm a—"

"Well! What are you?" said the pigeon, "I see you're trying to
invent something."

"I—I'm a little girl," said Alice, rather doubtfully, as she
remembered the number of changes she had gone through.

"A likely story indeed!" said the pigeon, "I've seen a good many
of them in my time, but never one with such a neck as yours! No,
you're a serpent, I know that well enough! I suppose you'll tell
me next that you never tasted an egg!"

"I have tasted eggs, certainly," said Alice, who was a very truthful
child, "but indeed I do'n't want any of yours. I do'n't like them
raw."

"Well, be off, then!" said the pigeon, and settled down into its
nest again. Alice crouched down among the trees, as well as she
could, as her neck kept getting entangled among the branches,
and several times she had to stop and untwist it. Soon she
remembered the pieces of mushroom which she still held in her
hands, and set to work very carefully, nibbling first at one and

then at the other, and growing sometimes taller and sometimes
shorter, until she had succeeded in bringing herself down to her
usual size.

It was so long since she had been of the right size that it felt
quite strange at first, but she got quite used to it in a minute or
two, and began talking to herself as usual: "well! there's half my
plan done now! How puzzling all these changes are! I'm never
sure what I'm going to be, from one minute to another! However,
I've got to my right size again: the next thing is, to get into that
beautiful garden—how is that to be done, I wonder?"

Just as she said this, she noticed that one of the trees had a
doorway leading right into it. "That's very curious!" she thought,
"but everything's curious today: I may as well go in." And in she
went.

Once more she found herself in the long hall, and close to the
little glass table: "now, I'll manage better this time" she said to
herself, and began by taking the little golden key, and unlocking
the door that led into the garden. Then she set to work eating
the pieces of mushroom till she was about fifteen inches high:
then she walked down the little passage: and then—she found
herself at last in the beautiful garden, among the bright
flowerbeds and the cool fountains.

Chapter IV
A large rose tree stood near the entrance of the garden: the
roses on it were white, but there were three gardeners at it,
busily painting them red. This Alice thought a very curious thing,
and she went near to watch them, and just as she came up she
heard one of them say "look out, Five! Don't go splashing paint
over me like that!"

"I couldn't help it," said Five in a sulky tone, "Seven jogged my
elbow."

On which Seven lifted up his head and said "that's right, Five!
Always lay the blame on others!"

"You'd better not talk!" said Five, "I heard the Queen say only
yesterday she thought of having you beheaded!"

"What for?" said the one who had spoken first.

"That's not your business, Two!" said Seven.

"Yes, it is his business!" said Five, "and I'll tell him: it was for
bringing in tulip-roots to the cook instead of potatoes."

Seven flung down his brush, and had just begun "well! Of all the
unjust things—" when his eye fell upon Alice, and he stopped
suddenly; the others looked round, and all of them took off their
hats and bowed low.

"Would you tell me, please," said Alice timidly, "why you are
painting those roses?"

Five and Seven looked at Two, but said nothing: Two began, in a
low voice, "why, Miss, the fact is, this ought to have been a red
rose tree, and we put a white one in by mistake, and if the Queen
was to find it out, we should all have our heads cut off. So, you
see, we're doing our best, before she comes, to—" At this
moment Five, who had been looking anxiously across the garden
called out "the Queen! the Queen!" and the three gardeners
instantly threw themselves flat upon their faces. There was a
sound of many footsteps, and Alice looked round, eager to see
the Queen.

First came ten soldiers carrying clubs; these were all shaped like
the three gardeners, flat and oblong, with their hands and feet
at the corners: next the ten courtiers; these were all ornamented
with diamonds, and walked two and two, as the soldiers did.
After these came the Royal children: there were ten of them, and
the little dears came jumping merrily along, hand in hand, in
couples: they were all ornamented with hearts. Next came the
guests, mostly kings and queens, among whom Alice recognised
the white rabbit: it was talking in a hurried nervous manner,
smiling at everything that was said, and went by without noticing
her. Then followed the Knave of Hearts, carrying the King's crown
on a cushion, and, last of all this grand procession, came THE
KING AND QUEEN OF HEARTS.

When the procession came opposite to Alice, they all stopped
and looked at her, and the Queen said severely "who is this?" She
said it to the Knave of Hearts, who only bowed and smiled in
reply.

"Idiot!" said the Queen, turning up her nose, and asked Alice
"what's your name?"

"My name is Alice, so please your Majesty," said Alice boldly, for
she thought to herself "why, they're only a pack of cards! I
needn't be afraid of them!"

"Who are these?" said the Queen, pointing to the three
gardeners lying round the rose tree, for, as they were lying on
their faces, and the pattern on their backs was the same as the
rest of the pack, she could not tell whether they were gardeners,
or soldiers, or courtiers, or three of her own children.

"How should I know?" said Alice, surprised at her own courage,
"it's no business of mine."

The Queen turned crimson with fury, and, after glaring at her for
a minute, began in a voice of thunder "off with her—"

"Nonsense!" said Alice, very loudly and decidedly, and the Queen
was silent.

The King laid his hand upon her arm, and said timidly
"remember, my dear! She is only a child!"

The Queen turned angrily away from him, and said to the Knave
"turn them over!"

The Knave did so, very carefully, with one foot.

"Get up!" said the Queen, in a shrill loud voice, and the three
gardeners instantly jumped up, and began bowing to the King,
the Queen, the Royal children, and everybody else.

"Leave off that!" screamed the Queen, "you make me giddy." And
then, turning to the rose tree, she went on "what have you been
doing here?"

"May it please your Majesty," said Two very humbly, going down
on one knee as he spoke, "we were trying—"

"I see!" said the Queen, who had meantime been examining the
roses, "off with their heads!" and the procession moved on, three
of the soldiers remaining behind to execute the three
unfortunate gardeners, who ran to Alice for protection.

"You sha'n't be beheaded!" said Alice, and she put them into her
pocket: the three soldiers marched once round her, looking for
them, and then quietly marched off after the others.

"Are their heads off?" shouted the Queen.

"Their heads are gone," the soldiers shouted in reply, "if it please
your Majesty!"

"That's right!" shouted the Queen, "can you play croquet?"

The soldiers were silent, and looked at Alice, as the question was
evidently meant for her.

"Yes!" shouted Alice at the top of her voice.

"Come on then!" roared the Queen, and Alice joined the
procession, wondering very much what would happen next.

"It's—it's a very fine day!" said a timid little voice: she was
walking by the white rabbit, who was peeping anxiously into her
face.

"Very," said Alice, "where's the Marchioness?"

"Hush, hush!" said the rabbit in a low voice, "she'll hear you. The
Queen's the Marchioness: didn't you know that?"

"No, I didn't," said Alice, "what of?"

"Queen of Hearts," said the rabbit in a whisper, putting its mouth
close to her ear, "and Marchioness of Mock Turtles."

"What are they?" said Alice, but there was no time for the answer,
for they had reached the croquet-ground, and the game began
instantly.

Alice thought she had never seen such a curious croquet-ground
in all her life: it was all in ridges and furrows: the croquet-balls
were live hedgehogs, the mallets live ostriches, and the soldiers
had to double themselves up, and stand on their feet and hands,
to make the arches.

The chief difficulty which Alice found at first was to manage her
ostrich: she got its body tucked away, comfortably enough,
under her arm, with its legs hanging down, but generally, just as
she had got its neck straightened out nicely, and was going to
give a blow with its head, it would twist itself round, and look up
into her face, with such a puzzled expression that she could not
help bursting out laughing: and when she had got its head
down, and was going to begin again, it was very confusing to
find that the hedgehog had unrolled itself, and was in the act of
crawling away: besides all this, there was generally a ridge or a
furrow in her way, wherever she wanted to send the hedgehog
to, and as the doubled-up soldiers were always getting up and
walking off to other parts of the ground, Alice soon came to the
conclusion that it was a very difficult game indeed.

The players all played at once without waiting for turns, and
quarrelled all the while at the tops of their voices, and in a very
few minutes the Queen was in a furious passion, and went
stamping about and shouting "off with his head!" of "off with her

head!" about once in a minute.
All those whom she sentenced
were taken into custody by the
soldiers, who of course had to
leave off being arches to do this,
so that, by the end of half an
hour or so, there were no
arches left, and all the players,
except the King, the Queen, and
Alice, were in custody, and
under sentence of execution.

Then the Queen left off, quite
out of breath, and said to Alice "have you seen the Mock Turtle?"

"No," said Alice, "I don't even know what a Mock Turtle is."

"Come on then," said the Queen, "and it shall tell you its history."

As they walked off together, Alice heard the King say in a low
voice, to the company generally, "you are all pardoned."

"Come, that's a good thing!" thought Alice, who had felt quite
grieved at the number of executions which the Queen had
ordered.

They very soon came upon
a Gryphon, which lay fast
asleep in the sun: (if you
don't know what a
Gryphon is, look at the
picture): "Up, lazy thing!"
said the Queen, "and take
this young lady to see the

Mock Turtle, and to hear its history. I must go back and see after
some executions I ordered," and she walked off, leaving Alice
with the Gryphon. Alice did not quite like the look of the
creature, but on the whole she thought it quite as safe to stay as
to go after that savage Queen: so she waited.

The Gryphon sat up and rubbed its eyes: then it watched the
Queen till she was out of sight: then it chuckled. "What fun!" said
the Gryphon, half to itself, half to Alice.

"What is the fun?" said Alice.

"Why, she," said the Gryphon; "it's all her fancy, that: they never
executes nobody, you know: come on!"

"Everybody says 'come on!' here," thought Alice as she walked
slowly after the Gryphon; "I never was ordered about so before
in all my life—never!"

They had not gone far before they saw the Mock Turtle in the
distance, sitting sad and lonely on a little ledge of rock, and, as
they came nearer, Alice could here it sighing as if its heart would
break. She pitied it deeply: "what is its sorrow?" she asked the
Gryphon, and the Gryphon answered, very nearly in the same
words as before, "it's all its fancy, that: it hasn't got no sorrow,
you know: come on!"

So they went up to the Mock Turtle, who looked at them with
large eyes full of tears, but said nothing.

"This here young lady" said the Gryphon, "wants for to know
your history, she do."

"I'll tell it," said the Mock Turtle, in a deep hollow tone, "sit down,
and don't speak till I've finished."

So they sat down, and no one
spoke for some minutes: Alice
thought to herself "I don't see
how it can ever finish, if it
doesn't begin," but she waited
patiently.

"Once," said the Mock Turtle at
last, with a deep sigh, "I was a
real Turtle."

These words were followed by a
very long silence, broken only
by an occasional exclamation of
"hjckrrh!" from the Gryphon,
and the constant heavy sobbing
of the Mock Turtle. Alice was very nearly getting up and saying,
"thank you, sir, for your interesting story," but she could not help
thinking there must be more to come, so she sat still and said
nothing.

"When we were little," the Mock Turtle went on, more calmly,
though still sobbing a little now and then, "we went to school in
the sea. The master was an old Turtle—we used to call him
Tortoise—"

"Why did you call him Tortoise, if he wasn't one?" asked Alice.

"We called him Tortoise because he taught us," said the Mock
Turtle angrily, "really you are very dull!"

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself for asking such a simple
question," added the Gryphon, and then they both sat silent and
looked at poor Alice, who felt ready to sink into the earth: at last

the Gryphon said to the Mock Turtle, "get on, old fellow! Don't be
all day!" and the Mock Turtle went on in these words:

"You may not have lived much under the sea—" ("I haven't," said
Alice,) "and perhaps you were never even introduced to a lobster
—" (Alice began to say "I once tasted—" but hastily checked
herself, and said "no, never," instead,) "so you can have no idea
what a delightful thing a Lobster Quadrille is!"

"No, indeed," said Alice, "what sort of a thing is it?"

"Why," said the Gryphon, "you form into a line along the sea
shore—"

"Two lines!" cried the Mock Turtle, "seals, turtles, salmon, and so
on—advance twice—"

"Each with a lobster as partner!" cried the Gryphon.

"Of course," the Mock Turtle said, "advance twice, set to partners
—"

"Change lobsters, and retire in same order—" interrupted the
Gryphon.

"Then, you know," continued the Mock Turtle, "you throw the—"

"The lobsters!" shouted the Gryphon, with a bound into the air.

"As far out to sea as you can—"

"Swim after them!" screamed the Gryphon.

"Turn a somersault in the sea!" cried the Mock Turtle, capering
wildly about.

"Change lobsters again!" yelled the Gryphon at the top of its
voice, "and then—"

"That's all," said the Mock Turtle,
suddenly dropping its voice, and
the two creatures, who had
been jumping about like mad
things all this time, sat down
again very sadly and quietly,
and looked at Alice.

"It must be a very pretty dance,"
said Alice timidly.

"Would you like to see a little of
it?" said the Mock Turtle.

"Very much indeed," said Alice.

"Come, let's try the first figure!" said the Mock Turtle to the
Gryphon, "we can do it without lobsters, you know. Which shall
sing?"

"Oh! you sing!" said the Gryphon, "I've forgotten the words."

So they began solemnly dancing round and round Alice, every
now and then treading on her toes when they came too close,
and waving their fore-paws to mark the time, while the Mock
Turtle sang, slowly and sadly, these words:

"Beneath the waters of the sea
Are lobsters thick as thick can be—
They love to dance with you and me,
My own, my gentle Salmon!"

The Gryphon joined in singing the chorus, which was:

"Salmon come up! Salmon go down!
Salmon come twist your tail around!
Of all the fishes of the sea
There's none so good as Salmon!"

"Thank you," said Alice, feeling very glad that the figure was over.

"Shall we try the second figure?" said the Gryphon, "or would you
prefer a song?"

"Oh, a song, please!" Alice replied, so eagerly, that the Gryphon
said, in a rather offended tone, "hm! no accounting for tastes!
Sing her 'Mock Turtle Soup', will you, old fellow!"

The Mock Turtle sighed deeply, and began, in a voice sometimes
choked with sobs, to sing this:

"Beautiful Soup, so rich and green,
Waiting in a hot tureen!
Who for such dainties would not stoop?
Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!
Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!

Beau—ootiful Soo—oop!
Beau—ootiful Soo—oop!
Soo—oop of the e—e—evening,
Beautiful beautiful Soup!

"Chorus again!" cried the Gryphon, and the Mock Turtle had just
begun to repeat it, when a cry of "the trial's beginning!" was
heard in the distance.

"Come on!" cried the Gryphon, and, taking Alice by the hand, he
hurried off, without waiting for the end of the song.

"What trial is it?" panted Alice as she ran, but the Gryphon only
answered "come on!" and ran the faster, and more and more
faintly came, borne on the breeze that followed them, the
melancholy words:

"Soo—oop of the e—e—evening,
Beautiful beautiful Soup!"

The King and Queen were seated on their throne when they
arrived, with a great crowd assembled around them: the Knave
was in custody: and before the King stood the white rabbit, with
a trumpet in one hand, and a scroll of parchment in the other.

"Herald! read the accusation!" said the King.

On this the white rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and
then unrolled the parchment scroll, and read as follows:

"The Queen of Hearts she made some tarts
All on a summer day:
The Knave of Hearts he stole those tarts,
And took them quite away!"

"Now for the evidence," said the King, "and then the sentence."

"No!" said the Queen, "first
the sentence, and then the
evidence!"

"Nonsense!" cried Alice, so
loudly that everybody
jumped, "the idea of
having the sentence first!"

"Hold your tongue!" said
the Queen.

"I won't!" said Alice, "you're
nothing but a pack of
cards! Who cares for you?"

At this the whole pack rose up into the air, and came flying down
upon her: she gave a little scream of fright, and tried to beat
them off, and found herself lying on the bank, with her head in
the lap of her sister, who was gently brushing away some leaves
that had fluttered down from the trees on to her face.

"Wake up! Alice dear!" said her sister, "what a nice long sleep
you've had!"

"Oh, I've had such a curious dream!" said Alice, and she told her
sister all her Adventures Under Ground, as you have read them,
and when she had finished, her sister kissed her and said "it was
a curious dream, dear, certainly! But now run in to your tea: it's
getting late."

So Alice ran off, thinking while she ran (as well she might) what a
wonderful dream it had been.

But her sister sat there some while longer, watching the setting
sun, and thinking of little Alice and her Adventures, till she too
began dreaming after a fashion, and this was her dream:

She saw an ancient city, and a quiet river winding near it along
the plain, and up the stream went slowly gliding a boat with a
merry party of children on board—she could hear their voices
and laughter like music over the water—and among them was
another little Alice, who sat listening with bright eager eyes to a
tale that was being told, and she listened for the words of the
tale, and lo! it was the dream of her own little sister. So the boat
wound slowly along, beneath the bright summer-day, with its
merry crew and its music of voices and laughter, till it passed
round one of the many turnings of the stream, and she saw it no
more.

Then she thought, (in a dream within the dream, as it were,) how
this same little Alice would, in the after-time, be herself a grown
woman: and how she would keep, through her riper years, the
simple and loving heart of her childhood: and how she would
gather around her other little children, and make their eyes
bright and eager with many a wonderful tale, perhaps even with

these very adventures of the little Alice of long-ago: and how she
would feel with all their simple sorrows, and find a pleasure in all
their simple joys, remembering her own child-life, and the happy
summer days.

happy summer days.

THE END.

POSTSCRIPT.
The profits, if any, of this book will be given to Children's Hospitals
and Convalescent Homes for Sick Children; and the accounts, down
to June 30 in each year, will be published in the St. James's Gazette,
on the second Tuesday of the following December.

P.P.S.—The thought, so prettily expressed by the little boy, is also to
be found in Longfellow's "Hiawatha," where he appeals to those who
believe

"That the feeble hands and helpless,
Groping blindly in the darkness,
Touch God's right hand in that darkness,
And are lifted up and strengthened."

"Who will Riddle me the How and the
Why?"
So questions one of England's sweetest singers. The "How?" has
already been told, after a fashion, in the verses prefixed to "Alice in
Wonderland"; and some other memories of that happy summer day
are set down, for those who care to see them, in this little book—the
germ that was to grow into the published volume. But the "Why?"
cannot, and need not, be put into words. Those for whom a child's
mind is a sealed book, and who see no divinity in a child's smile,
would read such words in vain: while for any one that has ever loved
one true child, no words are needed. For he will have known the awe
that falls on one in the presence of a spirit fresh from God's hands,
on whom no shadow of sin, and but the outermost fringe of the
shadow of sorrow, has yet fallen: he will have felt the bitter contrast
between the haunting selfishness that spoils his best deeds and the
life that is but an overflowing love—for I think a child's first attitude
to the world is a simple love for all living things: and he will have
learned that the best work a man can do is when he works for love's
sake only, with no thought of name, or gain, or earthly reward. No
deed of ours, I suppose, on this side the grave, is really unselfish: yet
if one can put forth all one's powers in a task where nothing of
reward is hoped for but a little child's whispered thanks, and the airy
touch of a little child's pure lips, one seems to come somewhere near
to this.

There was no idea of publication in my mind when I wrote this little
book: that was wholly an afterthought, pressed on me by the
"perhaps too partial friends" who always have to bear the blame
when a writer rushes into print: and I can truly say that no praise of

theirs has ever given me one hundredth part of the pleasure it has
been to think of the sick children in hospitals (where it has been a
delight to me to send copies) forgetting, for a few bright hours, their
pain and weariness—perhaps thinking lovingly of the unknown
writer of the tale—perhaps even putting up a childish prayer (and
oh, how much it needs!) for one who can but dimly hope to stand,
some day, not quite out of sight of those pure young faces, before
the great white throne. "I am very sure," writes a lady-visitor at a
Home for Sick Children, "that there will be many loving earnest
prayers for you on Easter morning from the children."

I would like to quote further from her letters, as embodying a
suggestion that may perhaps thus come to the notice of some one
able and willing to carry it out.

"I want you to send me one of your Easter Greetings for a very dear
child who is dying at our Home. She is just fading away, and 'Alice'
has brightened some of the weary hours in her illness, and I know
that letter would be such a delight to her—especially if you would
put 'Minnie' at the top, and she could know you had sent it for her.
She knows you, and would so value it.... She suffers so much that I
long for what I know would so please her." ... "Thank you very much
for sending me the letter, and for writing Minnie's name.... I am quite
sure that all these children will say a loving prayer for the 'Alice-man'
on Easter Day: and I am sure the letter will help the little ones to the
real Easter joy. How I do wish that you, who have won the hearts and
confidence of so many children, would do for them what is so very
near my heart, and yet what no one will do, viz. write a book for
children about God and themselves, which is not goody, and which
begins at the right end, about religion, to make them see what it
really is. I get quite miserable very often over the children I come
across: hardly any of them have an idea of really knowing that God

loves them, or of loving and confiding in Him. They will love and trust
me, and be sure that I want them to be happy, and will not let them
suffer more than is necessary: but as for going to Him in the same
way, they would never think of it. They are dreadfully afraid of Him, if
they think of Him at all, which they generally only do when they have
been naughty, and they look on all connected with Him as very grave
and dull: and, when they are full of fun and thoroughly happy, I am
sure they unconsciously hope He is not looking. I am sure I don't
wonder they think of Him in this way, for people never talk of Him in
connection with what makes their little lives the brightest. If they are
naughty, people put on solemn faces, and say He is very angry or
shocked, or something which frightens them: and, for the rest, He is
talked about only in a way that makes them think of church and
having to be quiet. As for being taught that all Joy and all Gladness
and Brightness is His Joy—that He is wearying for them to be happy,
and is not hard and stern, but always doing things to make their
days brighter, and caring for them so tenderly, and wanting them to
run to Him with all their little joys and sorrows, they are not taught
that. I do so long to make them trust Him as they trust us, to feel
that He will 'take their part' as they do with us in their little woes,
and to go to Him in their plays and enjoyments and not only when
they say their prayers. I was quite grateful to one little dot, a short
time ago, who said to his mother 'when I am in bed, I put out my
hand to see if I can feel Jesus and my angel. I thought perhaps in
the dark they'd touch me, but they never have yet.' I do so want
them to want to go to Him, and to feel how, if He is there, it must be
happy."

Let me add—for I feel I have drifted into far too serious a vein for a
preface to a fairy-tale—the deliciously naïve remark of a very dear
child-friend, whom I asked, after an acquaintance of two or three
days, if she had read 'Alice' and the 'Looking-Glass.' "Oh yes," she

replied readily, "I've read both of them! And I think" (this more slowly
and thoughtfully) "I think 'Through the Looking-Glass' is more stupid
than 'Alice's Adventures.' Don't you think so?" But this was a question
I felt it would be hardly discreet for me to enter upon.

LEWIS CARROLL.

Dec. 1886.

AN EASTER GREETING

TO

EVERY CHILD WHO LOVES

"Alice."
Dear Child,

Please to fancy, if you can, that you are reading a real letter, from a
real friend whom you have seen, and whose voice you can seem to
yourself to hear wishing you, as I do now with all my heart, a happy
Easter.

Do you know that delicious dreamy feeling when one first wakes on a
summer morning, with the twitter of birds in the air, and the fresh
breeze coming in at the open window—when, lying lazily with eyes
half shut, one sees as in a dream green boughs waving, or waters
rippling in a golden light? It is a pleasure very near to sadness,
bringing tears to one's eyes like a beautiful picture or poem. And is
not that a Mother's gentle hand that undraws your curtains, and a
Mother's sweet voice that summons you to rise? To rise and forget, in
the bright sunlight, the ugly dreams that frightened you so when all
was dark—to rise and enjoy another happy day, first kneeling to
thank that unseen Friend, who sends you the beautiful sun?

Are these strange words from a writer of such tales as "Alice"? And is
this a strange letter to find in a book of nonsense? It may be so.
Some perhaps may blame me for thus mixing together things grave
and gay; others may smile and think it odd that any one should
speak of solemn things at all, except in church and on a Sunday: but
I think—nay, I am sure—that some children will read this gently and
lovingly, and in the spirit in which I have written it.

For I do not believe God means us thus to divide life into two halves
—to wear a grave face on Sunday, and to think it out-of-place to

even so much as mention Him on a week-day. Do you think He cares
to see only kneeling figures, and to hear only tones of prayer—and
that He does not also love to see the lambs leaping in the sunlight,
and to hear the merry voices of the children, as they roll among the
hay? Surely their innocent laughter is as sweet in His ears as the
grandest anthem that ever rolled up from the "dim religious light" of
some solemn cathedral?

And if I have written anything to add to those stores of innocent and
healthy amusement that are laid up in books for the children I love
so well, it is surely something I may hope to look back upon without
shame and sorrow (as how much of life must then be recalled!) when
my turn comes to walk through the valley of shadows.

This Easter sun will rise on you, dear child, feeling your "life in every
limb," and eager to rush out into the fresh morning air—and many
an Easter-day will come and go, before it finds you feeble and gray-
headed, creeping wearily out to bask once more in the sunlight—but
it is good, even now, to think sometimes of that great morning when
the "Sun of Righteousness shall arise with healing in his wings."

Surely your gladness need not be the less for the thought that you
will one day see a brighter dawn than this—when lovelier sights will
meet your eyes than any waving trees or rippling waters—when
angel-hands shall undraw your curtains, and sweeter tones than
ever loving Mother breathed shall wake you to a new and glorious
day—and when all the sadness, and the sin, that darkened life on
this little earth, shall be forgotten like the dreams of a night that is
past!

Your affectionate
friend,

LEWIS CARROLL.

Easter, 1876.

CHRISTMAS GREETINGS.
[FROM A FAIRY TO A CHILD.]

Lady dear, if Fairies may
For a moment lay aside
Cunning tricks and elfish play,
'Tis at happy Christmas-tide.

We have heard the children say—
Gentle children, whom we love—
Long ago, on Christmas Day,
Came a message from above.

Still, as Christmas-tide comes round,
They remember it again—
Echo still the joyful sound
"Peace on earth, good-will to men!"

Yet the hearts must childlike be
Where such heavenly guests abide:
Unto children, in their glee,
All the year is Christmas-tide!

Thus, forgetting tricks and play
For a moment, Lady dear,
We would wish you, if we may,
Merry Christmas, glad New Year!

LEWIS CARROLL.
Christmas, 1867.

WORKS BY LEWIS CARROLL.
PUBLISHED BY

MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON.

ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND. With Forty-two
Illustrations by Tenniel. (First published in 1865.) Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt
edges, price 6s. Seventy-eighth Thousand.
AVENTURES D'ALICE AU PAYS DES MERVEILLES. Traduit de
l'Anglais par Henri Bué. Ouvrage illustré de 42 Vignettes par John Tenniel.
(First published in 1869.) Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt edges, price 6s.
Alice's Abenteuer im Wunderland. Aus dem Englischen, von Antonie
Zimmermann. Mitt 42 Illustrationen von John Tenniel. (First published in
1869.) Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt edges, price 6s.
LE AVVENTURE D'ALICE NEL PAESE DELLE MERAVIGLIE.
Tradotte dall' Inglese da T. Pietrocòla-Rossetti. Con 42 Vignette di
Giovanni Tenniel. (First published in 1872.) Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt edges,
price 6s.
THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS AND WHAT ALICE FOUND
THERE. With Fifty Illustrations by Tenniel. (First published in 1871.)
Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt edges, price 6s. Fifty sixth Thousand.
RHYME? AND REASON? With Sixty-five Illustrations by Arthur B.
Frost, and Nine by Henry Holiday. (This book, first published in 1883, is a
reprint, with a few additions, of the comic portion of "Phantasmagoria and
other Poems," published in 1869, and of "The Hunting of the Snark,"
published in 1876. Mr. Frost's pictures are new.) Crown 8vo, cloth, coloured
edges, price 6s. Fifth Thousand.

WORKS BY LEWIS CARROLL.
PUBLISHED BY

MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON.

A TANGLED TALE. Reprinted from The Monthly Packet. With Six
Illustrations by Arthur B. Frost. (First published in 1885.) Crown 8vo,
cloth, gilt edges, 4s. 6d. Third Thousand.
THE GAME OF LOGIC. (With an Envelope containing a card diagram
and nine counters—four red and five grey.) Crown 8vo, cloth, price 3s.
N.B.—The Envelope, etc., may be had separately at 3d. each.
ALICE'S ADVENTURES UNDER GROUND. Being a Facsimile of the
original MS. Book, afterwards developed into "Alice's Adventures in
Wonderland." With Thirty-seven Illustrations by the Author. Crown 8vo,
cloth, gilt edges. 4s.
THE NURSERY ALICE. A selection of twenty of the pictures in "Alice's
Adventures in Wonderland," enlarged and coloured under the Artist's
superintendence, with explanations. [In preparation.

N.B. In selling the above-mentioned books to the Trade, Messrs. Macmillan
and Co. will abate 2d. in the shilling (no odd copies), and allow 5 per cent.
discount for payment within six months, and 10 per cent. for cash. In selling
them to the Public (for cash only) they will allow 10 per cent. discount.

Mr. Lewis Carroll, having been requested to allow "An Easter Greeting"
(a leaflet, addressed to children, first published in 1876, and frequently
given with his books) to be sold separately, has arranged with Messrs.
Harrison, of 59, Pall Mall, who will supply a single copy for 1d., or 12 for
9d., or 100 for 5s.

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