Project Gutenberg's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll

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Title: Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
       Illustrated by Arthur Rackham. With a Proem by Austin Dobson

Author: Lewis Carroll

Illustrator: Arthur Rackham

Release Date: May 19, 2009 [EBook #28885]

Language: English


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ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND

[Illustration: "Alice"]

[Illustration:

          ALICE'S·ADVENTURES
          IN·WONDERLAND
          BY·LEWIS·CARROLL
          ILLUSTRATED·BY
          ARTHUR·RACKHAM

          WITH A PROEM BY AUSTIN DOBSON

          LONDON·WILLIAM·HEINEMANN
          NEW·YORK·DOUBLEDAY·PAGE·&·Co]

          PRINTED IN ENGLAND

          _'Tis two score years since CARROLL'S art,
             With topsy-turvy magic,
           Sent ALICE wondering through a part
             Half-comic and half-tragic._

          _Enchanting ALICE! Black-and-white
             Has made your deeds perennial;
           And naught save "Chaos and old Night"
             Can part you now from TENNIEL;_

          _But still you are a Type, and based
             In Truth, like LEAR and HAMLET;
           And Types may be re-draped to taste
             In cloth-of-gold or camlet._

          _Here comes afresh Costumier, then;
             That Taste may gain a wrinkle
           From him who drew with such deft pen
             The rags of RIP VAN WINKLE!_

                                   _AUSTIN DOBSON._



          All in the golden afternoon
            Full leisurely we glide;
          For both our oars, with little skill,
            By little arms are plied,
          While little hands make vain pretence
            Our wanderings to guide.

          Ah, cruel Three! In such an hour,
            Beneath such dreamy weather,
          To beg a tale of breath too weak
            To stir the tiniest feather!
          Yet what can one poor voice avail
            Against three tongues together?

          Imperious Prima flashes forth
            Her edict "to begin it"--
          In gentler tone Secunda hopes
            "There will be nonsense in it!"--
          While Tertia interrupts the tale
            Not _more_ than once a minute.

          Anon, to sudden silence won,
            In fancy they pursue
          The dream-child moving through a land
            Of wonders wild and new,
          In friendly chat with bird or beast--
            And half believe it true.

          And ever, as the story drained
            The wells of fancy dry.
          And faintly strove that weary one
            To put the subject by,
          "The rest next time--" "It _is_ next time!"
            The happy voices cry.

          Thus grew the tale of Wonderland:
            Thus slowly, one by one,
          Its quaint events were hammered out--
            And now the tale is done,
          And home we steer, a merry crew,
            Beneath the setting sun.

          Alice! a childish story take,
            And with a gentle hand
          Lay it where Childhood's dreams are twined
            In Memory's mystic band,
          Like pilgrim's wither'd wreath of flowers
            Pluck'd in a far-off land.


CHAPTER XII

End:

There was dead silence in the court, whilst the White Rabbit read out
these verses:--

          "They told me you had been to her,
             And mentioned me to him:
           She gave me a good character,
             But said I could not swim.

           He sent them word I had not gone,
             (We know it to be true):
           If she should push the matter on,
             What would become of you?

           I gave her one, they gave him two,
             You gave us three or more;
           They all returned from him to you,
             Though they were mine before.

           If I or she should chance to be
             Involved in this affair,
           He trusts to you to set them free,
             Exactly as we were.

           My notion was that you had been
             (Before she had this fit)
           An obstacle that came between
             Him, and ourselves, and it.

           Don't let him know she liked them best,
             For this must ever be
           A secret, kept from all the rest,
             Between yourself and me."

"That's the most important piece of evidence we've heard yet," said the
King, rubbing his hands; "so now let the jury----"

"If any of them can explain it," said Alice, (she had grown so large in
the last few minutes that she wasn't a bit afraid of interrupting him,)
"I'll give him sixpence. _I_ don't believe there's an atom of meaning in
it."

The jury all wrote down on their slates, "_She_ doesn't believe there's
an atom of meaning in it," but none of them attempted to explain the
paper.

"If there's no meaning in it," said the King, "that saves a world of
trouble, you know, as we needn't try to find any. And yet I don't
know," he went on, spreading out the verses on his knee, and looking at
them with one eye; "I seem to see some meaning in them after all.
'----_said I could not swim_--' you can't swim can you?" he added,
turning to the Knave.

The Knave shook his head sadly. "Do I look like it?" he said. (Which he
certainly did _not_, being made entirely of cardboard.)

"All right, so far," said the King, as he went on muttering over the
verses to himself: "'_We know it to be true_--' that's the jury, of
course--'_If she should push the matter on_'--that must be the
Queen--'_What would become of you?_'--What, indeed!--'_I gave her one,
they gave him two_--' why, that must be what he did with the tarts, you
know----"

"But it goes on '_they all returned from him to you_,'" said Alice.

"Why, there they are!" said the King triumphantly, pointing to the tarts
on the table. "Nothing can be clearer than _that_. Then again--'_before
she had this fit_--' you never had _fits_, my dear, I think?" he said to
the Queen.

"Never!" said the Queen furiously, throwing an inkstand at the Lizard
as she spoke. (The unfortunate little Bill had left off writing on his
slate with one finger, as he found it made no mark; but he now hastily
began again, using the ink, that was trickling down his face, as long as
it lasted.)

"Then the words don't _fit_ you," said the King, looking round the court
with a smile. There was a dead silence.

"It's a pun!" the King added in an angry tone, and everybody laughed.

"Let the jury consider their verdict," the King said, for about the
twentieth time that day.

"No, no!" said the Queen. "Sentence first--verdict afterwards."

"Stuff and nonsense!" said Alice loudly. "The idea of having the
sentence first!"

"Hold your tongue!" said the Queen, turning purple.

"I won't!" said Alice.

"Off with her head!" the Queen shouted at the top of her voice. Nobody
moved.

"Who cares for _you_?" said Alice (she had grown to her full size by
this time). "You're nothing but a pack of cards!"

[Illustration: _At this the whole pack rose up into the air, and came
flying down upon her_]

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

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

"Oh, I've had such a curious dream!" said Alice, and she told her
sister, as well as she could remember them, all these strange Adventures
of hers that you have just been reading about; and when she had
finished, her sister kissed her, and said "It _was_ a curious dream,
dear, certainly: but now run in to your tea; it's getting late." So
Alice got up and ran off, thinking while she ran, as well she might,
what a wonderful dream it had been.




BUT her sister sat still just as she had left her, leaning her head,
watching the setting sun, and thinking of little Alice and all her
wonderful Adventures, till she too began dreaming after a fashion, and
this was her dream:

First, she dreamed of little Alice herself, and once again the tiny
hands were clasped upon her knee, and the bright eager eyes were looking
up into hers--she could hear the very tones of her voice, and see that
queer little toss of her head to keep back the wandering hair that
_would_ always get into her eyes--and still as she listened, or seemed
to listen, the whole place around her became alive with the strange
creatures of her little sister's dream.

The long grass rustled at her feet as the White Rabbit hurried by--the
frightened Mouse splashed his way through the neighbouring pool--she
could hear the rattle of the teacups as the March Hare and his friends
shared their never-ending meal, and the shrill voice of the Queen
ordering off her unfortunate guests to execution--once more the pig-baby
was sneezing on the Duchess' knee, while plates and dishes crashed
around it--once more the shriek of the Gryphon, the squeaking of the
Lizard's slate-pencil, and the choking of the suppressed guinea-pigs,
filled the air, mixed up with the distant sobs of the miserable Mock
Turtle.

So she sat on with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland,
though she knew she had but to open them again, and all would change to
dull reality--the grass would be only rustling in the wind, and the pool
rippling to the waving of the reeds--the rattling teacups would change
to the tinkling sheep-bells, and the Queen's shrill cries to the voice
of the shepherd boy--and the sneeze of the baby, the shriek of the
Gryphon, and all the other queer noises, would change (she knew) to the
confused clamour of the busy farm-yard--while the lowing of the cattle
in the distance would take the place of the Mock Turtle's heavy sobs.

Lastly, she pictured to herself how this same little sister of hers
would, in the after-time, be herself a grown woman; and how she would
keep, through all her riper years, the simple and loving heart of her
childhood: and how she would gather about her other little children,
and make _their_ eyes bright and eager with many a strange tale, perhaps
even with the dream of Wonderland of long ago: and how she would feel
with all their simple sorrows, and find a pleasure in all their simple
joys, remembering her own child-life, and the happy summer days.


THE END

