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 what is the use of a book,” thought
Alice, “without pictures or conversation?”
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 would be worth the trouble of
getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit
with pink eyes ran close by her.
There was nothing so very remarkable in that; nor did Alice
think it so very much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to
itself “Oh dear! Oh 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,
and 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, burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it,
and was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under
the hedge.
In another 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 to be a very 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 was going to 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 noticedanything: then she looked at the sides of the well, and noticed
that they were filled with cupboards and book-shelves: here and
there she saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs. She took down a jar
from 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 very 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
school-room, and though this was not a very good opportunity for
showing off her knowledge, as there was no one to listen to her,
still it was good practice to say it over) “—yes, that’s about the
right distance—but then I wonder what Latitude or Longitude I’ve
got to?” (Alice had no idea what Latitude was, or Longitude either,
but 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 seem to come out among the
people that walk with their heads downwards! The antipathies, I
think—” (she was rather glad there was no one listening, this time,
as it didn’t sound at all the right word) “—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 girlthink 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’ll miss me very much to-night, I should
think!” (Dinah was the cat.) “I hope they’ll remember her saucer of
milk at tea-time. Dinah, my dear! I wish you were down here with
me! 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. But do cats eat bats,
I wonder?” And here Alice began to get rather sleepy, and went 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, you see, 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, tell me the truth:
did you ever eat a bat?” when suddenly, thump! thump! down she came
upon a heap of sticks and dry leaves, and the fall was over.
Alice was not a bit hurt, and she jumped up on to her feet in a
moment: 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 was just in time to hear it say, as it
turned a corner, “Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it’s getting!”
She was close behind it when she turned the corner, but the Rabbit
was no longer to be seen: she found herself in a long, low hall,
which was lit up by a row of lamps hanging from the roof.
There were doors all round the hall, but they were all locked;
and when Alice had been all the way down one side and up the other,
trying every door, 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


she was ever to get out again.
Suddenly she came upon a little three-legged table, all made of
solid glass: there was nothing on it except a tiny golden key, and
Alice’s first thought was that this might belong to one of the
doors of the hall; but, alas! either the locks were too large, or
the key was too small, but at any rate it would not open any of
them. However, on the second time round, she came upon a low
curtain she had not noticed before, and behind it was a little door
about fifteen inches high: she tried the little golden key in the
lock, and to her great delight it fitted!
Alice opened the door and found that it led into a small
passage, not much larger than a rat-hole: she knelt down and looked
along the passage 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 though the doorway; “and even if my head would go
through,” thought poor Alice, “it would be of very little use
without my shoulders. Oh, how I wish I could shut up like a
telescope! I think I could, if I only know how to begin.” For, you
see, so many out-of-the-way things had happened lately, that Alice
had begun to think that very few things indeed were really
impossible.
There seemed to be no use in waiting by the little door, 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 people up like
telescopes: this time she found a little bottle on it (“which
certainly was not here 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 the wise little
Alice was not going to do that in a hurry. “No, I’ll look first,”
she said, “and see whether it’s marked ‘poison’ or not”; for she
had read several nice little stories about children who had gothad read several nice little stories about children who had got
burnt, and eaten up by wild beasts, and other unpleasant things,
all because they would not remember the simple rules their friends
had taught them: such as, that a red-hot poker will burn you if
your hold it too long; and that, if you cut your finger very deeply
with a knife, it usually bleeds; and she had never forgotten that,
if you drink much from a bottle marked “poison,” it is almost
certain to disagree with you, sooner or later.
However, this bottle was not marked “poison,” so Alice ventured
to taste 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!”
And so it was indeed: she was now only ten inches high, and her
face brightened up at the thought that she was now the right size
for going though the little door into that lovely garden. First,
however, she waited for a few minutes to see if 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. I wonder what I should be like then?”
And she tried to fancy what the flame of a candle looks like after
the candle is blown out, for she could not remember ever having
seen such a thing.
After a while, finding that nothing more happened, 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 it, she found she
could not possibly reach it: she could see it quite plainly 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.out with trying, the poor little thing sat down and cried.
“Come, there’s no use in crying like that!” said Alice to
herself rather sharply. “I advise you to leave off this minute!”
She generally gave herself very good advice (though she very seldom
followed it), and sometimes she scolded herself so severely as to
bring tears into her eyes; and once she remembered trying to box
her own ears for having cheated herself in a game of croquet she
was playing against 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 eye fell on a little glass box that was lying under the
table: she opened it, and found in it a very small cake, on which
the words “EAT ME” were beautifully marked in currants. “Well, I’ll
eat it,” said Alice, “and if it makes me grow larger, I can reach
the key; and if it makes me grow 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?”, holding her hand on the top of her head to feel which
way it was growing; and she 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 so much into the way of
expecting nothing but out-of-the-way things to happen, that it
seemed quite dull and stupid for life 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 much
surprised, that for the moment she quite forgot how to speak good
English). “Now I’m opening out like the largest telescope that ever
was! Good-bye, feet!” (for when she looked down at her feet, they
seemed to be 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 sha’n’t be able! I shall
be a great deal too far off to trouble myself about you: you must
manage the best way you can—but I must be kind to them,” thought
Alice, “or perhaps they wo’n’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.
 ? Hearthrug,
 ? near the Fender,
 ? (with Alice’s love).
Oh dear, what nonsense I’m talking!”
Just then her head struck against the roof of the hall: in fact
she was now 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 began to cry
again.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” said Alice, “a great girl
like you,” (she might well say this), “to go on crying in this way!
Stop this moment, I tell you!” But she went on all the same,
shedding gallons of tears, until there was a large pool all around
her, about four inches deep and reaching half down the hall.
After a time she heard a little pattering of feet in the
distance, and she hastily dried her eyes to see what was coming. It
was the White Rabbit returning, splendidly dressed, with a pair of
white kid-gloves in one hand and a large fan in the other: he camewhite kid-gloves in one hand and a large fan in the other: he came
trotting along in a great hurry, muttering to himself, as he came,
“Oh! The Duchess, the Duchess! Oh! Wo’n’t she be savage if I’ve
kept her waiting!” Alice felt so desperate that she was ready to
ask help of any one: so, when the Rabbit came near her, she began,
in a low, timid voice, “If you please, Sir——” The Rabbit started
violently, dropped the white kid-gloves and the fan, and skurried
away into the darkness as hard as he could go.
Alice took up the fan and gloves, and, as the hall was very hot,
she kept fanning herself all the time she went on talking. “Dear,
dear! How queer everything is to-day! And yesterday things went on
just as usual. I wonder if I’ve been changed in the night? Let me
think: was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I
can remember feeling a little different. But if I’m not the same,
the next question is, ‘Who in the world am I?’ Ah, that’s the great
puzzle!” And she began thinking over all the children she knew that
were of the same age as herself, to see if she could have been
changed for any of them.
“I'm sure I’m not Ada,” 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 Mabel, 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—oh dear! I shall never get
to twenty at that rate! However, the Multiplication-Table doesn’t
signify: let’s try Geography. London is the capital of Paris, and
Paris is the capital of Rome, and Rome—no, that’s all wrong, I’m
certain! I must have been changed for Mabel! I’ll try and say ‘How
doth the little—’,” and she crossed her hands on her lap, as if she
were saying lessons, and began to repeat it, but her voice soundedwere saying lessons, and began to repeat it, but her voice sounded
hoarse and strange, and the words did not come the same as they
used to do:—
“How doth the little crocodile
 ? Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
 ? On every golden scale!
“How cheerfully he seems to grin,
 ? How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcome 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 again as she went on, “I must be Mabel
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 Mabel,
I’ll stay down here! It’ll be no use their putting their heads down
and saying ‘Come up again, dear!’ I shall only look up and say ‘Who
am I then? Tell 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 very tired of
being all alone here!”
As she said this she looked down at her hands, and was surprised
to see that she had put on one of the Rabbit's little white
kid-gloves while she was talking. “How can I have done that?” she
thought. “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: she soon found out that the cause of this was
the fan she was holding, and she dropped it hastily, just in time
to save herself from shrinking away altogether.
“That was a narrow escape!” said Alice, a good deal frightened
at the sudden change, but very glad to find herself still in
existence. “And now for the garden!” And she ran with all speed
back to the little door; but, alas! the little door was shut again,
and the little golden key was lying on the glass table as before,


and the little golden key was lying on the glass table as before,
“and things are worse than ever,” thought the poor child, “for I
never was so small as this before, never! And I declare it’s too
bad, that it is!”
As she said these words her foot slipped, and in another moment,
splash! she was up to her chin in salt-water. Her first idea was
that she had somehow fallen into the sea, “and in that case I can
go back by railway,” she said to herself. (Alice had been to the
seaside once in her life, and had come to the general conclusion
that, wherever you go to on the English coast, you find a number of
bathing-machines in the sea, some children digging in the sand with
wooden spades, then a row of lodging-houses, and behind them a
railway station.) However, she soon made out that she was in the
pool of tears which she had wept when she was nine feet high.
“I wish I hadn’t cried so much!” said 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! That will be a queer
thing, to be sure! However, everything is queer to-day.”
Just then she heard something splashing about in the pool a
little way off, and she swam nearer to make out what it was: at
first she thought it must be a walrus or hippopotamus, but then she
remembered how small she was now, and she soon made out that it was
only a mouse, that had slipped in like herself.
“Would it be of any use, now,” thought Alice, “to speak to this
mouse? Everything is so out-of-the-way down here, that I should
think very likely it can talk: at any rate, there’s no harm in
trying.” So she began: “O Mouse, do you know the way out of this
pool? I am very tired of swimming about here, O Mouse!” (Alice
thought this must be the right way of speaking to a mouse: she had
never done such a thing before, but she remembered having seen, in
her brother’s Latin Grammar, “A mouse—of a mouse—to a mouse—a
mouse—O mouse!” The Mouse looked at her rather inquisitively, andmouse—O 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 in her French
lesson-book. The Mouse gave a sudden leap out of the water, and
seemed to quiver all over 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,” Alice went on, half to herself, as she
swam lazily about in the pool, “and 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 Alice again, for this time the
Mouse was bristling all over, and she felt certain it must be
really offended. “We wo’n’t talk about her any more if you’d rather
not.”
“We indeed!” cried the Mouse, who was trembling down to the end
of his tail. “As if I would talk on such a subject! Our family
always hated cats: nasty, low, vulgar things! Don’t let me hear the
name again!”
“I wo’n’t indeed!” said Alice, in a great hurry to change the
subject of conversation. “Are you—are you fond—of—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 curlylittle 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, you know, and he
says it's so useful, it’s worth a hundred pounds! He says it kills
all the rats and—oh dear!” cried Alice in a sorrowful tone. “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 wo’n’t talk about cats, or dogs either, if you don’t like
them!” When the Mouse heard this, it turned round and swam slowly
back to her: its face was quite pale (with passion, Alice thought),
and it said, in a low trembling voice, “Let us 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 crowded
with the birds and animals that had fallen into it: there were 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.


They were indeed a queer-looking party that assembled on the
bank—the birds with draggled feathers, the animals with their fur
clinging close to them, and all dripping wet, cross, and
uncomfortable.
The first question of course was, how to get dry again: they had
a consultation about this, and after a few minutes it seemed quite
natural to Alice to find herself talking familiarly with them, 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’m older than you, and must know better.” And this Alice
would not allow, without knowing how old it was, and, as the Lory
positively refused to tell its age, there was no more to be
said.
At last the Mouse, who seemed to be a person of authority among
them, called out, “Sit down, all of you, and listen to me! I’ll
soon make you dry enough!” They all sat down at once, in a large
ring, with the Mouse in the middle. Alice kept her eyes anxiously
fixed on it, for she felt sure she would catch a bad cold if she
did not get dry very soon.
“Ahem!” said the Mouse with an 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——’”
“Found what?” said the Duck.
“Found it,” the Mouse replied rather crossly: “of course you
know what ‘it’ means.”
“I know what ‘it’ means well enough, when I find a thing,” saidknow what ‘it’ means.”
“I know what ‘it’ means well enough, when I find a thing,” said
the Duck: “it’s generally a frog, or a worm. The question is, what
did the archbishop find?”
The Mouse did not notice this question, but hurriedly went on,
“‘—found it advisable to go with Edgar Atheling to meet William and
offer him the crown. William's conduct at first was moderate. But
the insolence of his Normans——’ How are you getting on now, my
dear?” it continued, turning to Alice as it spoke.
“As wet as ever,” said Alice in a melancholy tone: “it doesn’t
seem to dry me at all.”
“In that case,” said the Dodo solemnly, rising to its feet, “I
move that the meeting adjourn, for the immediate adoption of more
energetic remedies——”
“Speak English!” said the Eaglet. “I don't know the meaning of
half those long words, and, what’s more, I don’t believe you do
either!” And the Eaglet bent down its head to hide a smile: some of
the other birds tittered audibly.
“What I was going to say,” said the Dodo in an offended tone,
“was, that the best thing to get us dry would be a
Caucus-race.”
“What is a Caucus-race?” said Alice; not that she much wanted to
know, but the Dodo had paused as if it thought that somebody ought
to speak, and no one else seemed inclined to say anything.
“Why,” said the Dodo, “the best way to explain it is to do it.”
(And, as you might like to try the thing yourself, some winter-day,
I will tell you how the Dodo managed it.)
First it marked out a race-course, in a sort of circle, (“the
exact shape doesn’t matter,” it said,) and then all the party were
placed along the course, here and there. There was no “One, two,
three, and away!”, but they began running when they liked, and left
off when they liked, so that it was not easy to know when the race
was over. However, when they had been running half an hour or so,
and were quite dry again, the Dodo suddenly called out “The race is
over!”, and they all crowded round it, panting, and asking, “But
who has won?”over!”, and they all crowded round it, panting, and asking, “But
who has won?”
This question the Dodo could not answer without a great deal of
thought, and it sat for a long time with one finger pressed upon
its forehead (the position in which you usually see Shakespeare, in
the pictures of him), while the rest waited in silence. At last the
Dodo said, “Everybody has won, and all must have prizes.”
“But who is to give the prizes?” quite a chorus of voices
asked.
“Why, she, of course,” said the Dodo, pointing to Alice with one
finger; and the whole party at once crowded round her, calling out,
in a confused way, “Prizes! Prizes!”
Alice had no idea what to do, and in despair she put her hand in
her pocket, and pulled out a box of comfits (luckily the salt water
had not got into it), and handed them round as prizes. There was
exactly one a-piece, all round.
“But she must have a prize herself, you know,” said the
Mouse.
“Of course,” the Dodo replied very gravely. “What else have you
got in your pocket?” he went on, turning to Alice.
“Only a thimble,” said Alice sadly.
“Hand it over here,” said the Dodo.
Then they all crowded round her once more, while the Dodo
solemnly presented the thimble, saying “We beg your acceptance of
this elegant thimble”; and, when it had finished this short speech,
they all cheered.
Alice thought the whole thing very absurd, but they all looked
so grave that she did not dare to laugh; and, as she could not
think of anything to say, she simply bowed, and took the thimble,
looking as solemn as she could.
The next thing was to eat the comfits: this caused some noise
and confusion, as the large birds complained that they could not
taste theirs, and the small ones choked and had to be patted on the
back. However, it was over at last, and they sat down again in a
ring, and begged the Mouse to tell them something more.
“You promised to tell me your history, you know,” said Alice,
“and why it is you hate—C and D,” she added in a whisper, half
afraid that it would be offended again.


afraid that it would be offended again.
“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; “but why do you call it sad?” And she
kept on puzzling about it while the Mouse was speaking, so that her
idea of the tale was something like this:—
“Fury said to a
mouse, That he
met in the
house,
‘Let us
both go to
law: I will
prosecute
you.—Come,
I’ll take no
denial: We
must have a
trial; For
really this
morning I’ve
nothing
to do.’
Said the
mouse to the
cur, ‘Such
a trial,
dear sir,
With
no jury
or judge,
would be
wasting
our
breath.’
‘I’ll be
judge, I’ll
be jury,’
Said
cunning
old Fury:
‘I’ll
try the
whole
cause,
and
condemn
you
to
death’.”
“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. “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 head impatiently, and walked a little
quicker.
“What a pity it wouldn’t stay!” sighed the Lory, as soon as it
was quite out of sight. And an old Crab took the opportunity of
saying to her 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 nobody in particular. “She’d soon fetch it back!”addressing nobody 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 ca’n’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 speech 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 doesn’t suit my throat!” And a Canary called out in a
trembling voice, to its children, “Come away, my dears! It’s high
time you were all in bed!” On various pretexts they all moved off,
and Alice was soon left alone.
“I wish I hadn’t mentioned Dinah!” she said to herself in a
melancholy tone. “Nobody seems to like her, down here, and I’m sure
she's the best cat in the world! Oh, my dear Dinah! I wonder if I
shall ever see you any more!” And here poor Alice began to cry
again, for she felt very lonely and low-spirited. In a little
while, however, she again heard a little pattering of footsteps in
the distance, and she looked up eagerly, half hoping that the Mouse
had changed his mind, and was coming back to finish his story.It was the White Rabbit, trotting slowly back again, and looking
anxiously about as it went, as if it had lost something; and she
heard it muttering to itself, “The Duchess! The Duchess! Oh my dear
paws! Oh my fur and whiskers! She’ll get 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 fan and the
pair of white kid-gloves, and she very good-naturedly began hunting
about for them, but they were nowhere to be seen—everything seemed
to have changed since her swim in the pool; and the great hall,
with the glass table and the little door, had vanished
completely.
Very soon the Rabbit noticed Alice, as she went hunting about,
and called out to her, in an angry tone, “Why, Mary Ann, what are
you doing out here? Run home this moment, and fetch me a pair of
gloves and a fan! Quick, now!” And Alice was so much frightened
that she ran off at once in the direction it pointed to, without
trying to explain the mistake it had made.
“He took me for his housemaid,” she said to herself as she ran.
“How surprised he’ll be when he finds out who I am! But I'd better
take him his fan and gloves—that is, if I can find them.” As she
said this, she came upon a neat little house, on the door of which
was a bright brass plate with the name “W. RABBIT” engraved upon
it. She went in without knocking, and hurried upstairs, in great
fear lest she should meet the real Mary Ann, and be turned out of
the house before she had found the fan and gloves.
“How queer it seems,” Alice said to herself, “to be going
messages for a rabbit! I suppose Dinah’ll be sending me on messages
next!” And she began fancying the sort of thing 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 mouse-hole
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!”


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, and on it (as she had hoped) a fan and two
or three pairs of tiny white kid-gloves: she took up the fan and a
pair of the 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 this time with the words “DRINK ME,” but
nevertheless 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 just see what this
bottle does. I do hope it’ll make me grow large again, for really
I’m quite tired of being such a tiny little thing!”
It did so indeed, and much sooner than she had expected: before
she had drunk half the bottle, she found her head pressing against
the ceiling, and had to stoop to save her neck from being broken.
She hastily put down the bottle, saying to herself “That’s quite
enough—I hope I shan't grow any more—As it is, I can't get out at
the door—I do wish I hadn't drunk quite so much!”
Alas! It was too late to wish that! She went on growing, and
growing, and very soon had to kneel down on the floor: in another
minute there was not even room 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, whatever
happens. 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 her 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 thatby 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 kind of thing never happened,
and now here I am in the middle of one! There ought 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,” she added 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 answered herself. “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, and stopped 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 up to the door, and tried to open it;
but, as the door opened inwards, and Alice’s elbow was pressed hard
against it, that 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 broken glass, from which she concluded that it was just
possible it had fallen into a cucumber-frame, or something of the
sort.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, “Sure then I’m here!
Digging for apples, yer honour!”
“Digging for apples, indeed!” said the Rabbit angrily. “Here!
Come and help me out of this!” (Sounds of more broken glass.)
“Now tell me, Pat, what’s that in the window?”
“Sure, it’s an arm, yer honour!” (He pronounced it “arrum.”)
“An arm, you goose! Who ever saw one that size? Why, it fills
the whole window!”
“Sure, it does, yer honour: but it’s an arm for all that.”
“Well, it’s got no business there, at any rate: go and take it
away!”
There was a long silence after this, and Alice could only hear
whispers now and then; such as, “Sure, 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 sounds of broken
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 stay 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—Bill! Fetch it here, lad!—Here, put ’em up at this corner—No,
tie ’em together first—they don't reach half 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 shan’t! You
do it!—That I wo’n’t, then!—Bill’s got to go down—Here, Bill! The
master says you’ve got to go down the chimney!”


master says you’ve got 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: this fireplace is narrow, to be
sure; 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 of what
sort it was) scratching and scrambling about in the chimney close
above her: then, saying to herself “This is Bill”, she gave one
sharp kick, and waited to see what would happen next.
The first thing she heard 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—“Hold up his
head—Brandy now—Don’t choke him—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), “Well, I hardly know—No more, thank ye; I’m better
now—but I’m a deal too flustered to tell you—all I know is,
something comes at me like a Jack-in-the-box, and up I goes like a
sky-rocket!”
“So you did, old fellow!” said the others.
“We must burn the house down!” said the Rabbit’s voice; and
Alice called out as loud as she could, “If you do. I’ll set Dinah
at you!”
There was a dead silence instantly, and Alice thought to
herself, “I wonder what they will do next! If they had any sense,
they’d take the roof off.” After a minute or two, they began moving
about again, and Alice heard the Rabbit say, “A barrowful will do,
to begin with.”
“A barrowful of what?” thought Alice. But she had not long to
doubt, for the next moment a shower of little pebbles came rattling
in at the window, and some of them hit her in the face. “I’ll put a
stop to this,” she said to herself, and shouted out, “You'd better
not do that again!” which produced another dead silence.
Alice noticed, with some surprise, that the pebbles were allAlice noticed, with some surprise, that the pebbles were all
turning into little cakes as they lay on the floor, and a bright
idea came into her head. “If I eat one of these cakes,” she
thought, “it’s sure to make some change in my size; and, as it
ca’n’t possibly make me larger, it must make me smaller, I
suppose.”
So she swallowed one of the cakes, and was delighted to find
that she began shrinking directly. As soon as she was small enough
to get through the door, she ran out of the house, and found quite
a crowd of little animals and birds waiting outside. The poor
little Lizard, Bill, was in the middle, being held up by two
guinea-pigs, who were giving it something out of a bottle. They all
made a rush at Alice the moment she appeared; but she ran off as
hard as she could, and soon found herself safe in a thick wood.
“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 again; 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 about
anxiously among the trees, 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 touch her. “Poor
little thing!” said Alice, in a coaxing tone, and she tried hard to
whistle to it; but she was terribly frightened all the time at the
thought that it might be hungry, in which case it would be very
likely to eat her up 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, with a yelp of delight, and
rushed at the stick, and made believe to worry it; then Alicerushed 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 on the other side, the puppy made
another rush at the stick, and tumbled head over heels in its hurry
to get hold of it: 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 began 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:
so she set off at once, and ran till she was quite tired and out of
breath, and till the puppy’s bark sounded quite faint in the
distance.
“And yet what a dear little puppy it was!” said Alice, as she
leant against a buttercup to rest herself, and fanned herself with
one of the leaves. “I should have liked teaching it tricks very
much, if—if I’d only been the right size to do it! Oh dear! 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 she did not see
anything that looked like the right thing to eat or drink under the
circumstances. There was a large mushroom growing 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 that she
might as well 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, that was sitting on the top, with its arms folded,caterpillar, that was sitting on the top, with its arms folded,
quietly smoking a long hookah, and taking not the smallest notice
of her or of anything else.


The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in
silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth,
and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.
“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 then.”
“What do you mean by that?" said the Caterpillar, sternly.
“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 ca’n’t put it more clearly,” Alice replied, very
politely, “for I ca’n’t understand it myself, to begin with; and
being so many different sizes in a 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 will some day, you
know—and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you'll
feel it a little queer, wo’n’t you?”
“Not a bit,” said the Caterpillar.
“Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,” said Alice: “all
I know is, it would feel very 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's
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 could not
think of any good reason, and as the Caterpillar seemed to be in a
very unpleasant state of mind, she turned away.
“Come back!” the Caterpillar called after her. “I’ve something
important to say!”
This sounded promising, certainly. 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.“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 it might tell her something worth
hearing. For some minutes it puffed away 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?”
“I’m afraid I am, sir,” said Alice. “I ca’n’t remember things as
I used—and I don't keep the same size for ten minutes
together!”
“Ca’n’t remember what things?” said the Caterpillar.
“Well, I’ve tried to say ‘How doth the little busy bee,’ but it
all came different!” Alice replied in a very melancholy voice.
“Repeat, ‘You are old, Father William,’ ” said the
Caterpillar.
Alice folded her hands, and began:—
“You are old, Father William,” the young man said,
 ? “And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head—
 ? Do you think, at your age, it is right?”
“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.”
“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?”
“In my youth,” said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
 ? “I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment—one shilling the box—
 ? Allow me to sell you a couple?”
“You are old,” said the youth, “and your jaws are too weak
 ? For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak—
 ? Pray, how did you manage to do it?”
“In my youth,” said his father, “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.”
“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—? 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?”
“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.”
“I don’t know,” said the Caterpillar.
Alice said nothing: she had never been so much contradicted in
her life before, and she felt that she was losing her temper.
“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 angrily,
rearing itself upright 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 patiently until it chose to speak again.
In a minute or two the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its
mouth, and yawned once or twice, and shook itself. Then it got down
off the mushroom, and crawled away in the grass, merely remarking,
as it went, “One side will make you grow taller, and the other side
will make you grow shorter.”
“One side of what? The other side of what?” thought Alice to
herself.
“Of the mushroom,” said the Caterpillar, just as if she had
asked it aloud; and in another moment it was out of sight.


asked it aloud; and in another moment it was out of sight.
Alice remained looking thoughtfully at the mushroom for a
minute, trying to make out which were the two sides of it; and, as
it was perfectly round, she found this a very difficult question.
However, at last she stretched her arms round it as far as they
would go, and broke off a bit of the edge with each hand.
“And now which is which?” she said to herself, and nibbled a
little of the right-hand bit to try the effect. The next moment she
felt a violent blow underneath her chin: it had struck her
foot!
She was a good deal frightened by this very sudden change, but
she felt that there was no time to be lost, as she was shrinking
rapidly: so she set to work at once to eat some of the other bit.
Her chin was pressed so closely against her foot, that there was
hardly room to open her mouth; but she did it at last, and managed
to swallow a morsel of the left-hand bit.
* * * * * * *
* * * * * *
* * * * * * *
“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 found: all she could see, when she
looked down, was 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 shaking among the distant green
leaves.
As there seemed to be no chance of getting her hands up to her
head, she tried to get her head down to them, and was delighted to
find that her neck would bend about easily in any direction, like a
serpent. She had just succeeded in curving it down into a graceful
zigzag, and was going to dive in among the leaves, which she found
to be nothing but the tops of the trees under which she had been
wandering, when a sharp hiss made her draw back in a hurry: a largewandering, when a sharp hiss made her draw back in a hurry: a large
pigeon had flown into her face, and was beating her violently with
its wings.
“Serpent!” screamed the Pigeon.
“I’m not a serpent!” said Alice indignantly. “Let me alone!”
“Serpent, I say again!” repeated the Pigeon, but in a more
subdued tone, and added with a kind of sob, “I’ve tried every way,
and nothing seems to suit them!”
“I haven’t the least idea what you're talking about,” 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
those serpents! There’s no pleasing them!”
Alice was more and more puzzled, but she thought there was no
use in saying anything more till the Pigeon had finished.
“As if it wasn’t trouble enough hatching the eggs,” said the
Pigeon; “but I must be on the look-out for serpents, night and day!
Why, I haven’t had a wink of sleep these three weeks!”
“I’m very sorry you've been annoyed,” said Alice, who was
beginning to see its meaning.
“And just as I’d taken the highest tree in the wood,” continued
the Pigeon, raising its voice to a shriek, “and just as I was
thinking I should be free of them at last, they must needs come
wriggling down from the sky! Ugh, Serpent!”
“But I’m not a serpent, I tell you!” said Alice. “I’m a——I’m
a——”
“Well! What are you?” said the Pigeon. “I can 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, that
day.
“A likely story indeed!” said the Pigeon, in a tone of the
deepest contempt. “I've seen a good many little girls in my time,
but never one with such a neck as that! No, no! You're a serpent;
and there's no use denying it. I suppose you'll be telling me next
that you never tasted an egg!”
“I have tasted eggs, certainly,” said Alice, who was a very
truthful child; “but little girls eat eggs quite as much as
serpents do, you know.”
“I don’t believe it,” said the Pigeon; “but if they do, why thenserpents do, you know.”
“I don’t believe it,” said the Pigeon; “but if they do, why then
they’re a kind of serpent: that’s all I can say.”
This was such a new idea to Alice, that she was quite silent for
a minute or two, which gave the Pigeon the opportunity of adding
“You’re looking for eggs, I know that well enough; and what does it
matter to me whether you're a little girl or a serpent?”
“It matters a good deal to me,” said Alice hastily; “but I’m not
looking for eggs, as it happens; and, if I was, I shouldn’t want
yours: I don’t like them raw.”
“Well, be off, then!” said the Pigeon in a sulky tone, as it
settled down again into its nest. Alice crouched down among the
trees as well as she could, for her neck kept getting entangled
among the branches, and every now and then she had to stop and
untwist it. After a while she remembered that she still held the
pieces of mushroom in her hands, and she 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 height.
It was so long since she had been anything near the right size,
that it felt quite strange at first; but she got used to it in a
few minutes, and began talking to herself, as usual, “Come, 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 back to my right size: the next thing is, to get
into that beautiful garden—how is that to be done, I wonder?” As
she said this, she came suddenly upon an open place, with a little
house in it about four feet high. “Whoever lives there,” thought
Alice, “it’ll never do to come upon them this size: why, I should
frighten them out of their wits!” So she began nibbling at the
right-hand bit again, and did not venture to go near the house till
she had brought herself down to nine inches high.


For a minute or two she stood looking at the house, and
wondering what to do next, when suddenly a footman in livery came
running out of the wood—(she considered him to be a footman because
he was in livery: otherwise, judging by his face only, she would
have called him a fish)—and rapped loudly at the door with his
knuckles. It was opened by another footman in livery, with a round
face, and large eyes like a frog; and both footmen, Alice noticed,
had powdered hair that curled all over their heads. She felt very
curious to know what it was all about, and crept a little way out
of the wood to listen.
The Fish-Footman began by producing from under his arm a great
letter, nearly as large as himself, and this he handed over to the
other, saying, in a solemn tone, “For the Duchess. An invitation
from the Queen to play croquet.” The Frog-Footman repeated, in the
same solemn tone, only changing the order of the words a little,
“From the Queen. An invitation for the Duchess to play
croquet.”
Then they both bowed low, and their curls got entangled
together.
Alice laughed so much at this, that she had to run back into the
wood for fear of their hearing her; and, when she next peeped out,
the Fish-Footman was gone, and the other was sitting on the ground
near the door, staring stupidly up into the sky.
Alice went timidly up to the door, and knocked.
“There’s no sort of use in knocking,” said the Footman, “and
that for two reasons. First, because I’m on the same side of the
door as you are: secondly, because they’re making such a noise
inside, no one could possibly hear you.” And certainly there was a
most extraordinary noise going on within—a constant howling and
sneezing, and every now and then a great crash, as if a dish or
kettle had been broken to pieces.
“Please, then,” said Alice, “how am I to get in?”
“There might be some sense in your knocking,” the Footman went
on, without attending to her, “if we had the door between us. For
instance, if you were inside, you might knock, and I could let youinstance, if you were inside, you might knock, and I could let you
out, you know.” He was looking up into the sky all the time he was
speaking, and this Alice thought decidedly uncivil. “But perhaps he
ca’n’t help it,” she said to herself; “his eyes are so very nearly
at the top of his head. But at any rate he might answer
questions.—How am I to get in?” she repeated, aloud.
“I shall sit here,” the Footman remarked, “till to-morrow——”
At this moment the door of the house opened, and a large plate
came skimming out, straight at the Footman’s head: it just grazed
his nose, and broke to pieces against one of the trees behind
him.
“——or next day, maybe,” the Footman continued in the same tone,
exactly as if nothing had happened.
“How am I to get in?” asked Alice again, in a louder tone.
“Are you to get in at all?” said the Footman. “That’s the first
question, you know.”
It was, no doubt: only Alice did not like to be told so. “It’s
really dreadful,” she muttered to herself, “the way all the
creatures argue. It’s enough to drive one crazy!”
The Footman seemed to think this a good opportunity for
repeating his remark, with variations. “I shall sit here,” he said,
“on and off, for days and days.”
“But what am I to do?” said Alice.
“Anything you like,” said the Footman, and began whistling.
“Oh, there’s no use in talking to him,” said Alice desperately:
“he’s perfectly idiotic!” And she opened the door and went in.
The door led right into a large kitchen, which was full of smoke
from one end to the other: the Duchess was sitting on a
three-legged stool in the middle, nursing a baby: the cook was
leaning over the fire, stirring a large cauldron which seemed to be
full of soup.
“There’s certainly too much pepper in that soup!” Alice said to
herself, as well as she could for sneezing.
There was certainly too much of it in the air. Even the Duchess
sneezed occasionally; and as for the baby, it was sneezing and
howling alternately without a moment’s pause. The only things inhowling alternately without a moment’s pause. The only things in
the kitchen that did not sneeze, were the cook, and a large cat,
which was lying on the hearth and grinning from ear to ear.
“Please would you tell me,” said Alice, a little timidly, for
she was not quite sure whether it was good manners for her to speak
first, “why your cat grins like that?”
“It’s a Cheshire-Cat,” said the Duchess, “and that’s why.
Pig!”
She said the last word with such sudden violence that Alice
quite jumped; but she saw in another moment that it was addressed
to the baby, and not to her, so she took courage, and went on
again:—
“I didn’t know that Cheshire-Cats always grinned; in fact, I
didn’t know that cats could grin.”
“They all can,” said the Duchess; “and most of ’em do.”
“I don’t know of any that do,” Alice said very politely, feeling
quite pleased to have got into a conversation.
“You don’t know much,” said the Duchess; “and that’s a
fact.”
Alice did not at all like the tone of this remark, and thought
it would be as well to introduce some other subject of
conversation. While she was trying to fix on one, the cook took the
cauldron of soup off the fire, and at once set to work throwing
everything within her reach at the Duchess and the baby—the
fire-irons came first; then followed a shower of saucepans, plates,
and dishes. The Duchess took no notice of them even when they hit
her; and the baby was howling so much already, that it was quite
impossible to say whether the blows hurt it or not.
“Oh, please mind what you’re doing!” cried Alice, jumping up and
down in an agony of terror. “Oh, there goes his precious nose!”, as
an unusually large saucepan flew close by it, and very nearly
carried it off.
“If everybody minded their own business,” the Duchess said, in a
hoarse growl, “the world would go round a deal faster than it
does.”
“Which would not be an advantage,” said Alice, who felt very
glad to get an opportunity of showing off a little of her
knowledge. “Just think of what work it would make with the day and


knowledge. “Just think of what work it would make with the day and
night! You see the earth takes twenty-four hours to turn round on
its axis——”
“Talking of axes,” said the Duchess, “chop off her head!”
Alice glanced rather anxiously at the cook, to see if she meant
to take the hint; but the cook was busily stirring the soup, and
seemed not to be listening, so she went on again: “Twenty-four
hours, I think; or is it twelve? I——”
“Oh, don’t bother me!” said the Duchess. “I never could abide
figures!” And with that she began nursing her child again, singing
a sort of lullaby to it as she did so, and giving it a violent
shake at the end of every line:—
 ? “Speak roughly to your little boy,
 ? And beat him when he sneezes:
 ? He only does it to annoy,
 ? Because he knows it teases.”
CHORUS
(in which the cook and the baby joined):—
 ? “Wow! Wow! Wow!”
While the Duchess sang the second verse of the song, she kept
tossing the baby violently up and down, and the poor little thing
howled so, that Alice could hardly hear the words:—
 ?
 ? “I speak severely to my boy,
 ? I beat him when he sneezes;
 ? For he can thoroughly enjoy
 ? The pepper when he pleases!”
CHORUS
 ? “Wow! wow! wow!”
“Here! You may nurse it a bit, if you like!” the Duchess said to
Alice, flinging the baby at her as she spoke. “I must go and get
ready to play croquet with the Queen,” and she hurried out of the
room. The cook threw a frying-pan after her as she went, but it
just missed her.
Alice caught the baby with some difficulty, as it was a
queer-shaped little creature, and held out its arms and legs in all
directions, “just like a star-fish,” thought Alice. The poor little
thing was snorting like a steam-engine when she caught it, and kept
doubling itself up and straightening itself out again, so that
altogether, for the first minute or two, it was as much as she
could do to hold it.
As soon as she had made out the proper way of nursing it (which
was to twist it up into a sort of knot, and then keep tight hold ofwas to twist it up into a sort of knot, and then keep tight hold of
its right ear and left foot, so as to prevent its undoing itself),
she carried it out into the open air. “If I don’t take this child
away with me,” thought Alice, “they’re sure to kill it in a day or
two. Wouldn’t it be murder to leave it behind?” She said the last
words out loud, and the little thing grunted in reply (it had left
off sneezing by this time). “Don’t grunt,” said Alice; “that’s not
at all a proper way of expressing yourself.”
The baby grunted again, and Alice looked very anxiously into its
face to see what was the matter with it. There could be no doubt
that it had a very turn-up nose, much more like a snout than a real
nose: also its eyes were getting extremely small for a baby:
altogether Alice did not like the look of the thing at all. “But
perhaps it was only sobbing,” she thought, and looked into its eyes
again, to see if there were any tears.
No, there were no tears. “If you’re going to turn into a pig, my
dear,” said Alice, seriously, “I’ll have nothing more to do with
you. Mind now!” The poor little thing sobbed again (or grunted, it
was impossible to say which), and they went on for some while in
silence.
Alice was just beginning to think to herself, “Now, what am I to
do with this creature, when I get it home?” when it grunted again,
so violently, that she looked down into its face in some alarm.
This time there could be no mistake about it: it was neither more
nor less than a pig, and she felt that it would be quite absurd for
her to carry it any further.
So she set the little creature down, and felt quite relieved to
see it trot away quietly into the wood. “If it had grown up,” she
said to herself, “it would have made a dreadfully ugly child: but
it makes rather a handsome pig, I think.” And she began thinking
over other children she knew, who might do very well as pigs, and
was just saying to herself “if one only knew the right way to
change them——” when she was a little startled by seeing thechange them——” when she was a little startled by seeing the
Cheshire-Cat sitting on a bough of a tree a few yards off.
The Cat only grinned when it saw Alice. It looked good-natured,
she thought: still it had very long claws and a great many teeth,
so she felt that it ought to be treated with respect.
“Cheshire Puss,” she began, rather timidly, as she did not at
all know whether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a
little wider. “Come, it’s pleased so far,” thought Alice, and she
went on. “Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from
here?”
“That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,” said the
Cat.
“I don’t much care where——” said Alice.
“Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,” said the Cat.
“——so long as I get somewhere,” Alice added as an
explanation.
“Oh, you’re sure to do that,” said the Cat, “if you only walk
long enough.”
Alice felt that this could not be denied, so she tried another
question. “What sort of people live about here?”
“In that direction,” the Cat said, waving its right paw round,
“lives a Hatter: and in that direction,” waving the other paw,
“lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they’re both mad.”
“But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked.
“Oh, you ca’n’t help that,” said the Cat: “we’re all mad here.
I’m mad. You’re mad.”
“How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice.
“You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come
here.”
Alice didn’t think that proved it at all: however, she went on:
“And how do you know that you’re mad?”
“To begin with,” said the Cat, “a dog’s not mad. You grant
that?”
“I suppose so,” said Alice.
“Well, then,” the Cat went on, “you see, a dog growls when it’s
angry, and wags its tail when it’s pleased. Now I growl when I’m
pleased, and wag my tail when I’m angry. Therefore I’m mad.”
“I call it purring, not growling,” said Alice.
“Call it what you like,” said the Cat. “Do you play croquet with
the Queen to-day?”
“I should like it very much,” said Alice, “but I haven’t been
invited yet.”


the Queen to-day?”
“I should like it very much,” said Alice, “but I haven’t been
invited yet.”
“You’ll see me there,” said the Cat, and vanished.
Alice was not much surprised at this, she was getting so used to
queer things happening. While she was looking at the place where it
had been, it suddenly appeared again.
“By-the-bye, what became of the baby?” said the Cat. “I’d nearly
forgotten to ask.”
“It turned into a pig,” Alice quietly said, just as if the Cat
had come back in a natural way.
“I thought it would,” said the Cat, and vanished again.
Alice waited a little, half expecting to see it again, but it
did not appear, and after a minute or two she walked on in the
direction in which the March Hare was said to live. “I’ve seen
hatters before,” she said to herself: “the March Hare will be much
the most interesting, and perhaps, as this is May, it wo’n’t be
raving mad—at least not so mad as it was in March.” As she said
this, she looked up, and there was the Cat again, sitting on a
branch of a tree.
“Did you say ‘pig’, or ‘fig’?” said the Cat.
“I said ‘pig’,” replied Alice; “and I wish you wouldn’t keep
appearing and vanishing so suddenly: you make one quite giddy.”
“All right,” said the Cat; and this time it vanished quite
slowly, beginning with the end of the tail, and ending with the
grin, which remained some time after the rest of it had gone.
“Well! I’ve often seen a cat without a grin,” thought Alice;
“but a grin without a cat! It’s the most curious thing I ever saw
in all my life!”
She had not gone much farther before she came in sight of the
house of the March Hare: she thought it must be the right house,
because the chimneys were shaped like ears and the roof was
thatched with fur. It was so large a house, that she did not like
to go nearer till she had nibbled some more of the left-hand bit of
mushroom, and raised herself to about two feet high: even then she
walked up towards it rather timidly, saying to herself “Suppose it
should be raving mad after all! I almost wish I’d gone to see theshould be raving mad after all! I almost wish I’d gone to see the
Hatter instead!”There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house,
and the March Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it: a Dormouse
was sitting between them, fast asleep, and the other two were using
it as a cushion, resting their elbows on it, and talking over its
head. “Very uncomfortable for the Dormouse,” thought Alice; “only
as it’s asleep, I suppose it doesn’t mind.”
The table was a large one, but the three were all crowded
together at one corner of it. “No room! No room!” they cried out
when they saw Alice coming. “There’s plenty of room!” said Alice
indignantly, and she sat down in a large arm-chair at one end of
the table.
“Have some wine,” the March Hare said in an encouraging
tone.
Alice looked all round the table, but there was nothing on it
but tea. “I don’t see any wine,” she remarked.
“There isn’t any,” said the March Hare.
“Then it wasn’t very civil of you to offer it,” said Alice
angrily.
“It wasn’t very civil of you to sit down without being invited,”
said the March Hare.
“I didn’t know it was your table,” said Alice: “it’s laid for a
great many more than three.”
“Your hair wants cutting,” said the Hatter. He had been looking
at Alice for some time with great curiosity, and this was his first
speech.
“You should learn not to make personal remarks,” Alice said with
some severity: “it’s very rude.”
The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all he
said was “Why is a raven like a writing-desk?”
“Come, we shall have some fun now!” thought Alice. “I’m glad
they’ve begun asking riddles—I believe I can guess that,” she added
aloud.
“Do you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it?”
said the March Hare.
“Exactly so,” said Alice.
“Then you should say what you mean,” the March Hare went on.
“I do,” Alice hastily replied; “at least—at least I mean what I
say—that’s the same thing, you know.”
“Not the same thing a bit!” said the Hatter. “You might just as
well say that ‘I see what I eat’ is the same thing as ‘I eat what I
see’!”well say that ‘I see what I eat’ is the same thing as ‘I eat what I
see’!”
“You might just as well say,” added the March Hare, “that ‘I
like what I get’ is the same thing as ‘I get what I like’!”
“You might just as well say,” added the Dormouse, who seemed to
be talking in its sleep, “that ‘I breathe when I sleep’ is the same
thing as ‘I sleep when I breathe’!”
“It is the same thing with you,” said the Hatter, and here the
conversation dropped, and the party sat silent for a minute, while
Alice thought over all she could remember about ravens and
writing-desks, which wasn’t much.
The Hatter was the first to break the silence. “What day of the
month is it?” he said, turning to Alice: he had taken his watch out
of his pocket, and was looking at it uneasily, shaking it every now
and then, and holding it to his ear.
Alice considered a little, and then said “The fourth.”
“Two days wrong!” sighed the Hatter. “I told you butter wouldn’t
suit the works!” he added looking angrily at the March Hare.
“It was the best butter,” the March Hare meekly replied.
“Yes, but some crumbs must have got in as well,” the Hatter
grumbled: “you shouldn’t have put it in with the bread-knife.”
The March Hare took the watch and looked at it gloomily: then he
dipped it into his cup of tea, and looked at it again: but he could
think of nothing better to say than his first remark, “It was the
best butter, you know.”
Alice had been looking over his shoulder with some curiosity.
“What a funny watch!” she remarked. “It tells the day of the month,
and doesn’t tell what o’clock it is!”
“Why should it?” muttered the Hatter. “Does your watch tell you
what year it is?”
“Of course not,” Alice replied very readily: “but that’s because
it stays the same year for such a long time together.”
“Which is just the case with mine,” said the Hatter.
Alice felt dreadfully puzzled. The Hatter’s remark seemed to her
to have no sort of meaning in it, and yet it was certainly English.
“I don’t quite understand you,” she said, as politely as she
could.


“I don’t quite understand you,” she said, as politely as she
could.
“The Dormouse is asleep again,” said the Hatter, and he poured a
little hot tea upon its nose.
The Dormouse shook its head impatiently, and said, without
opening its eyes, “Of course, of course: just what I was going to
remark myself.”
“Have you guessed the riddle yet?” the Hatter said, turning to
Alice again.
“No, I give it up,” Alice replied: “what’s the answer?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” said the Hatter.
“Nor I,” said the March Hare.
Alice sighed wearily. “I think you might do something better
with the time,” she said, “than waste it in asking riddles that
have no answers.”
“If you knew Time as well as I do,” said the Hatter, “you
wouldn’t talk about wasting it. It’s him.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Alice.
“Of course you don’t!” the Hatter said, tossing his head
contemptuously. “I dare say you never even spoke to Time!”
“Perhaps not,” Alice cautiously replied; “but I know I have to
beat time when I learn music.”
“Ah! that accounts for it,” said the Hatter. “He wo’n’t stand
beating. Now, if you only kept on good terms with him, he’d do
almost anything you liked with the clock. For instance, suppose it
were nine o’clock in the morning, just time to begin lessons: you’d
only have to whisper a hint to Time, and round goes the clock in a
twinkling! Half-past one, time for dinner!”
(“I only wish it was,” the March Hare said to itself in a
whisper.)
“That would be grand, certainly,” said Alice thoughtfully: “but
then—I shouldn’t be hungry for it, you know.”
“Not at first, perhaps,” said the Hatter: “but you could keep it
to half-past one as long as you liked.”
“Is that the way you manage?” Alice asked.
The Hatter shook his head mournfully. “Not I!” he replied. “We
quarreled last March——just before he went mad, you know——”
(pointing with his teaspoon at the March Hare,) “——it was at the
great concert given by the Queen of Hearts, and I had to sing
‘Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!
How I wonder what you’re at!’
You know the song, perhaps?”‘Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!
How I wonder what you’re at!’
You know the song, perhaps?”
“I’ve heard something like it,” said Alice.
“It goes on, you know,” the Hatter continued, “in this way:—
"Up above the world you fly,
Like a tea-tray in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle——’”
Here the Dormouse shook itself, and began singing in its sleep
“Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle——” and went on so long that
they had to pinch it to make it stop.
“Well, I’d hardly finished the first verse,” said the Hatter,
“when the Queen jumped up and bawled out, ‘He’s murdering the time!
Off with his head!’”
“How dreadfully savage!” exclaimed Alice.
“And ever since that,” the Hatter went on in a mournful tone,
“he wo’n’t do a thing I ask! It's always six o’clock now.”
A bright idea came into Alice’s head. “Is that the reason so
many tea-things are put out here?” she asked.
“Yes, that’s it,” said the Hatter with a sigh: “it’s always
tea-time, and we’ve no time to wash the things between whiles.”
“Then you keep moving round, I suppose?” said Alice.
“Exactly so,” said the Hatter: “as the things get used up.”
“But what happens when you come to the beginning again?” Alice
ventured to ask.
“Suppose we change the subject,” the March Hare interrupted,
yawning. “I’m getting tired of this. I vote the young lady tells us
a story.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know one,” said Alice, rather alarmed at the
proposal.
“Then the Dormouse shall!” they both cried. “Wake up, Dormouse!”
And they pinched it on both sides at once.
The Dormouse slowly opened its eyes. “I wasn’t asleep,” it said
in a hoarse, feeble voice, “I heard every word you fellows were
saying.”
“Tell us a story!” said the March Hare.
“Yes, please do!” pleaded Alice.
“And be quick about it,” added the Hatter, “or you’ll be asleep
again before it’s done.”
“Once upon a time there were three little sisters,” the Dormouse
began in a great hurry; “and their names were Elsie, Lacie, and
Tillie; and they lived at the bottom of a well——”
“What did they live on?” said Alice, who always took a great“What did they live on?” said Alice, who always took a great
interest in questions of eating and drinking.
“They lived on treacle,” said the Dormouse, after thinking a
minute or two.
“They couldn’t have done that, you know,” Alice gently remarked.
“They’d have been ill.”
“So they were,” said the Dormouse; “very ill.”
Alice tried to fancy to herself what such an extraordinary way
of living would be like, but it puzzled her too much: so she went
on: “But why did they live at the bottom of a well?”
“Take some more tea,” the March Hare said to Alice, very
earnestly.
“I’ve had nothing yet,” Alice replied in an offended tone: “so I
ca’n’t take more.”
“You mean you ca’n’t take less,” said the Hatter: “it’s very
easy to take more than nothing.”
“Nobody asked your opinion,” said Alice.
“Who’s making personal remarks now?” the Hatter asked
triumphantly.
Alice did not quite know what to say to this: so she helped
herself to some tea and bread-and-butter, and then turned to the
Dormouse, and repeated her question. “Why did they live at the
bottom of a well?”
The Dormouse again took a minute or two to think about it, and
then said, “It was a treacle-well.”
“There’s no such thing!” Alice was beginning very angrily, but
the Hatter and the March Hare went “Sh! Sh!” and the Dormouse
sulkily remarked, “If you ca’n’t be civil, you’d better finish the
story for yourself.”
“No, please go on!” Alice said very humbly. “I wo’n’t interrupt
you again. I dare say there may be one.”
“One, indeed!” said the Dormouse indignantly. However, he
consented to go on. “And so these three little sisters—they were
learning to draw, you know——”
“What did they draw?” said Alice, quite forgetting her
promise.
“Treacle,” said the Dormouse, without considering at all, this
time.
“I want a clean cup,” interrupted the Hatter: “let’s all move
one place on.”
He moved on as he spoke, and the Dormouse followed him: the
March Hare moved into the Dormouse’s place, and Alice rather
unwillingly took the place of the March Hare. The Hatter was the


unwillingly took the place of the March Hare. The Hatter was the
only one who got any advantage from the change; and Alice was a
good deal worse off than before, as the March Hare had just upset
the milk-jug into his plate.
Alice did not wish to offend the Dormouse again, so she began
very cautiously: “But I don’t understand. Where did they draw the
treacle from?”
“You can draw water out of a water-well,” said the Hatter; “so I
should think you could draw treacle out of a treacle-well—eh,
stupid?”
“But they were in the well,” Alice said to the Dormouse, not
choosing to notice this last remark.
“Of course they were”, said the Dormouse: “well in.”
This answer so confused poor Alice, that she let the Dormouse go
on for some time without interrupting it.
“They were learning to draw,” the Dormouse went on, yawning and
rubbing its eyes, for it was getting very sleepy; “and they drew
all manner of things—everything that begins with an M——”
“Why with an M?” said Alice.
“Why not?” said the March Hare.
Alice was silent.
The Dormouse had closed its eyes by this time, and was going off
into a doze; but, on being pinched by the Hatter, it woke up again
with a little shriek, and went on: “——that begins with an M, such
as mouse-traps, and the moon, and memory, and muchness—you know you
say things are ‘much of a muchness’—did you ever see such a thing
as a drawing of a muchness!”
“Really, now you ask me,” said Alice, very much confused, “I
don’t think——”
“Then you shouldn’t talk,” said the Hatter.
This piece of rudeness was more than Alice could bear: she got
up in great disgust, and walked off: the Dormouse fell asleep
instantly, and neither of the others took the least notice of her
going, though she looked back once or twice, half hoping that they
would call after her: the last time she saw them, they were trying
to put the Dormouse into the teapot.
“At any rate I’ll never go there again!” said Alice, as she
picked her way through the wood. “It's the stupidest tea-party I
ever was at in all my life!”picked her way through the wood. “It's the stupidest tea-party I
ever was at in all my life!”
Just as she said this, she noticed that one of the trees had a
door leading right into it. “That’s very curious!” she thought.
“But everything’s curious to-day. I think I may as well go in at
once.” 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 went to work
nibbling at the mushroom (she had kept a piece of it in her pocket)
till she was about a foot high: then she walked down the little
passage: and then—she found herself at last in the beautiful
garden, among the bright flower-beds and the cool fountains.A large rose-tree stood near the entrance of the garden: the
roses growing on it were white, but there were three gardeners at
it, busily painting them red. Alice thought this a very curious
thing, and she went nearer to watch them, and, just as she came up
to them, she heard one of them say “Look out now, 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 looked up 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 you deserved to be beheaded.”
“What for?” said the one who had spoken first.
“That’s none of your business, Two!” said Seven.
“Yes, it is his business!” said Five. “And I’ll tell him—it was
for bringing the cook tulip-roots instead of onions.”
Seven flung down his brush, and had just begun “Well, of all the
unjust things——” when his eye chanced to fall upon Alice, as she
stood watching them, and he checked himself suddenly: the others
looked round also, and all of them bowed low.
“Would you tell me, please,” said Alice, a little timidly, “why
you are painting those roses?”
Five and Seven said nothing, but looked at Two. Two began, in a
low voice, “Why, the fact is, you see, Miss, this here 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, you know. So you see, Miss, we’re doing our best, afore
she comes, to——” At this moment, Five, who had been anxiously
looking 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, oblong and flat, with their hands and
feet at the corners: next the ten courtiers: these were ornamented
all over with diamonds, and walked two and two, as the soldiersall over 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, and among them 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 crimson velvet cushion; and, last of all this grand
procession, came THE KING AND THE QUEEN OF HEARTS.
Alice was rather doubtful whether she ought not to lie down on
her face like the three gardeners, but she could not remember ever
having heard of such a rule at processions; “and besides, what
would be the use of a procession,” thought she, “if people had all
to lie down upon their faces, so that they couldn’t see it?” So she
stood where she was, and waited.
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, tossing her head impatiently; and,
turning to Alice, she went on: “What’s your name, child?”
“My name is Alice, so please your Majesty,” said Alice very
politely; but she added, to herself, “Why, they’re only a pack of
cards, after all. I needn’t be afraid of them!”
“And who are these?” said the Queen, pointing to the three
gardeners who were lying round the rose-tree; for, you see, 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 moment like a wild beast, began screaming “Off with her head!
Off with——”


for a moment like a wild beast, began screaming “Off with her head!
Off with——”
“Nonsense!” said Alice, very loudly and decidedly, and the Queen
was silent.
The King laid his hand upon her arm, and timidly said “Consider,
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, in a very humble tone,
going down on one knee as he spoke, “we were trying—”
“I see!” said the Queen, who had meanwhile been examining the
roses. “Off with their heads!” and the procession moved on, three
of the soldiers remaining behind to execute the unfortunate
gardeners, who ran to Alice for protection.
“You sha’n’t be beheaded!” said Alice, and she put them into a
large flower-pot that stood near. The three soldiers wandered about
for a minute or two, looking for them, and then quietly marched off
after the others.
“Are their heads off?” shouted the Queen.
“Their heads are gone, if it please your Majesty!” the soldiers
shouted in reply.
“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.
“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 voice at her side. She
was walking by the White Rabbit, who was peeping anxiously into her
face.
“Very,” said Alice. “Where’s the Duchess?”
“Hush! Hush!” said the Rabbit in a low hurried tone. He looked
anxiously over his shoulder as he spoke, and then raised himselfanxiously over his shoulder as he spoke, and then raised himself
upon tiptoe, put his mouth close to her ear, and whispered “She’s
under sentence of execution.”
“What for?” said Alice.
“Did you say ‘What a pity!’?” the Rabbit asked.
“No, I didn’t,” said Alice. “I don’t think it’s at all a pity. I
said ‘What for?’”
“She boxed the Queen’s ears—” the Rabbit began. Alice gave a
little scream of laughter. “Oh, hush!” the Rabbit whispered in a
frightened tone. “The Queen will hear you! You see she came rather
late, and the Queen said—”
“Get to your places!” shouted the Queen in a voice of thunder,
and people began running about in all directions, tumbling up
against each other: however, they got settled down in a minute or
two, and the game began.
Alice thought she had never seen such a curious croquet-ground
in her life: it was all ridges and furrows: the croquet balls were
live hedgehogs, and the mallets live flamingoes, and the soldiers
had to double themselves up and stand on their hands and feet, to
make the arches.
The chief difficulty Alice found at first was in managing her
flamingo: she succeeded in getting its body tucked away,
comfortably enough, under her arm, with its legs hanging down, but
generally, just as she had got its neck nicely straightened out,
and was going to give the hedgehog a blow with its head, it would
twist itself round and look up in 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 provoking 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 furrow in the 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,indeed.
The players all played at once, without waiting for turns,
quarreling all the while, and fighting for the hedgehogs; and in a
very short time the Queen was in a furious passion, and went
stamping about, and shouting “Off with his head!” or “Off with her
head!” about once in a minute.
Alice began to feel very uneasy: to be sure, she had not as yet
had any dispute with the Queen, but she knew that it might happen
any minute, “and then,” thought she, “what would become of me?
They’re dreadfully fond of beheading people here: the great wonder
is, that there’s any one left alive!”
She was looking about for some way of escape, and wondering
whether she could get away without being seen, when she noticed a
curious appearance in the air: it puzzled her very much at first,
but after watching it a minute or two she made it out to be a grin,
and she said to herself “It’s the Cheshire-Cat: now I shall have
somebody to talk to.”
“How are you getting on?” said the Cat, as soon as there was
mouth enough for it to speak with.
Alice waited till the eyes appeared, and then nodded. “It’s no
use speaking to it,” she thought, “till its ears have come, or at
least one of them.” In another minute the whole head appeared, and
then Alice put down her flamingo, and began an account of the game,
feeling very glad she had someone to listen to her. The Cat seemed
to think that there was enough of it now in sight, and no more of
it appeared.
“I don’t think they play at all fairly,” Alice began, in rather
a complaining tone, “and they all quarrel so dreadfully one ca’n’t
hear oneself speak—and they don’t seem to have any rules in
particular: at least, if there are, nobody attends to them—and
you’ve no idea how confusing it is all the things being alive: for
instance, there’s the arch I’ve got to go through next walking
about at the other end of the ground—and I should have croqueted
the Queen’s hedgehog just now, only it ran away when it saw mine
coming!”
“How do you like the Queen?” said the Cat in a low voice.