Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
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 am
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,” 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 wanted much 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?”
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.
“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!”
“And who is Dinah, if I might venture to ask the question?” said the
Lory.
Alice replied eagerly, for she was always ready to talk about her pet:
“Dinah’s our cat. And she’s such a capital one for catching mice you
can’t think! And oh, I wish you could see her after the birds! Why,
she’ll eat a little bird as soon as look at it!”
This 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.
CHAPTER IV.
The Rabbit Sends in a Little Bill
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 see that the mouse doesn’t get out.’ Only I
don’t think,” Alice went on, “that they’d let Dinah stop in the house
if it began ordering people about like that!”
By this time she had found her way into a tidy little room with a table
in the window, 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