ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND

Lewis Carroll

THE MILLENNIUM FULCRUM EDITION 3.0




CHAPTER I. Down the Rabbit-Hole

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 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 fortunately 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 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 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, 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 schoolroom, 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 downward! 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 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 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 solid
glass; there was nothing on it except a tiny golden key, and Alice's
first thought was that it 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 through 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 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 histories 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 you 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, toffee, 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
through 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 is 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.

'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 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.

  *    *    *    *    *    *    *

    *    *    *    *    *    *

  *    *    *    *    *    *    *




CHAPTER II. The Pool of Tears

'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_ shan'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 won't walk the way I want
to go! Let me see: I'll give them a new pair of boots every Christmas.'

And she went on planning to herself how she would manage it. 'They must
go by the carrier,' she thought; 'and how funny it'll seem, sending
presents to one's own feet! And how odd the directions will look!

     ALICE'S RIGHT FOOT, ESQ.
       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 round 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 came trotting along in a great
hurry, muttering to himself as he came, 'Oh! the Duchess, the Duchess!
Oh! won'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 can'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 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 spread 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 avoid 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 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, 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: 'Ou 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 won'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 won'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 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 can'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
won'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.




CHAPTER III. A Caucus-Race and a Long Tale

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 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
SYLVIE and BRUNO  by  LEWIS CARROLL



Is all our Life, then but a dream
Seen faintly in the goldern gleam
Athwart Time's dark resistless stream?

Bowed to the earth with bitter woe
Or laughing at some raree-show
We flutter idly to and fro.

Man's little Day in haste we spend,
And, from its merry noontide, send
No glance to meet the silent end.





CONTENTS

Preface  [Moved to the end]

CHAPTER 1  Less Bread!  More Taxes!
CHAPTER 2  L'amie Inconnue
CHAPTER 3  Birthday Presents
CHAPTER 4  A Cunning Conspiracy
CHAPTER 5  A Beggar's Palace
CHAPTER 6  The Magic Locket
CHAPTER 7  The Barons Embassy
CHAPTER 8  A Ride on a Lion
CHAPTER 9  A Jester and a Bear
CHAPTER 10 The Other Professor
CHAPTER 11 Peter and Paul
CHAPTER 12 A Musical Gardener
CHAPTER 13 A Visit to Dogland
CHAPTER 14 Fairy-Sylvie
CHAPTER 15 Bruno's Revenge
CHAPTER 16 A Changed Crocodile
CHAPTER 17 The Three Badgers
CHAPTER 18 Queer Street, number forty
CHAPTER 19 How to make a Phlizz
CHAPTER 20 Light come, light go
CHAPTER 21 Through the Ivory Door
CHAPTER 22 Crossing the Line
CHAPTER 23 An outlandish watch
CHAPTER 24 The Frogs' Birthday-treat
CHAPTER 25 Looking Easward
Preface  [Moved to the end]






SYLVIE AND BRUNO


CHAPTER 1.

LESS BREAD!  MORE TAXES!

--and then all the people cheered again, and one man, who was more
excited than the rest, flung his hat high into the air, and shouted
(as well as I could make out) "Who roar for the Sub-Warden?"  Everybody
roared, but whether it was for the Sub-Warden, or not, did not clearly
appear: some were shouting "Bread!" and some "Taxes!", but no one
seemed to know what it was they really wanted.

All this I saw from the open window of the Warden's breakfast-saloon,
looking across the shoulder of the Lord Chancellor, who had sprung to
his feet the moment the shouting began, almost as if he had been
expecting it, and had rushed to the window which commanded the best
view of the market-place.

"What can it all mean?" he kept repeating to himself, as, with his
hands clasped behind him, and his gown floating in the air, he paced
rapidly up and down the room.  "I never heard such shouting before--
and at this time of the morning, too!  And with such unanimity!
Doesn't it strike you as very remarkable?"

I represented, modestly, that to my ears it appeared that they were
shouting for different things, but the Chancellor would not listen to
my suggestion for a moment.  "They all shout the same words, I assure
you!" he said: then, leaning well out of the window, he whispered to a
man who was standing close underneath, "Keep'em together, ca'n't you?
The Warden will be here directly.  Give'em the signal for the march up!"
All this was evidently not meant for my ears, but I could scarcely help
hearing it, considering that my chin was almost on the Chancellor's
shoulder.

The 'march up' was a very curious sight:

[Image...The march-up]

a straggling procession of men, marching two and two, began from the
other side of the market-place, and advanced in an irregular zig-zag
fashion towards the Palace, wildly tacking from side to side, like a
sailing vessel making way against an unfavourable wind so that the head
of the procession was often further from us at the end of one tack than
it had been at the end of the previous one.

Yet it was evident that all was being done under orders, for I noticed
that all eyes were fixed on the man who stood just under the window,
and to whom the Chancellor was continually whispering.  This man held
his hat in one hand and a little green flag in the other: whenever he
waved the flag the procession advanced a little nearer, when he dipped
it they sidled a little farther off, and whenever he waved his hat they
all raised a hoarse cheer.  "Hoo-roah!" they cried, carefully keeping
time with the hat as it bobbed up and down.  "Hoo-roah! Noo! Consti!
Tooshun! Less! Bread! More! Taxes!"

"That'll do, that'll do!" the Chancellor whispered.  "Let 'em rest a bit
till I give you the word.  He's not here yet!"  But at this moment the
great folding-doors of the saloon were flung open, and he turned with a
guilty start to receive His High Excellency.  However it was only Bruno,
and the Chancellor gave a little gasp of relieved anxiety.

"Morning!" said the little fellow, addressing the remark, in a general
sort of way, to the Chancellor and the waiters.  "Doos oo know where
Sylvie is?  I's looking for Sylvie!"

"She's with the Warden, I believe, y'reince!" the Chancellor replied
with a low bow.  There was, no doubt, a certain amount of absurdity in
applying this title (which, as of course you see without my telling
you, was nothing but 'your Royal Highness' condensed into one syllable)
to a small creature whose father was merely the Warden of Outland:
still, large excuse must be made for a man who had passed several years
at the Court of Fairyland, and had there acquired the almost impossible
art of pronouncing five syllables as one.

But the bow was lost upon Bruno, who had run out of the room, even
while the great feat of The Unpronounceable Monosyllable was being
triumphantly performed.

Just then, a single voice in the distance was understood to shout
"A speech from the Chancellor!"  "Certainly, my friends!" the Chancellor
replied with extraordinary promptitude.  "You shall have a speech!"
Here one of the waiters, who had been for some minutes busy making a
queer-looking mixture of egg and sherry, respectfully presented it on a
large silver salver.  The Chancellor took it haughtily, drank it off
thoughtfully, smiled benevolently on the happy waiter as he set down
the empty glass, and began.  To the best of my recollection this is what
he said.

"Ahem! Ahem! Ahem! Fellow-sufferers, or rather suffering fellows--"
("Don't call 'em names!" muttered the man under the window.
"I didn't say felons!" the Chancellor explained.)
"You may be sure that I always sympa--"
("'Ear, 'ear!" shouted the crowd, so loudly as quite to drown the
orator's thin squeaky voice) "--that I always sympa--" he repeated.
("Don't simper quite so much!" said the man under the window.
"It makes yer look a hidiot!"  And, all this time, "'Ear, 'ear!" went
rumbling round the market-place, like a peal of thunder.)
"That I always sympathise!" yelled the Chancellor, the first moment
there was silence.  "But your true friend is the Sub-Warden!
Day and night he is brooding on your wrongs--I should say your rights--
that is to say your wrongs--no, I mean your rights--"
("Don't talk no more!" growled the man under the window.
"You're making a mess of it!") At this moment the Sub-Warden entered
the saloon.  He was a thin man, with a mean and crafty face, and a
greenish-yellow complexion; and he crossed the room very slowly,
looking suspiciously about him as if be thought there might be a
savage dog hidden somewhere.  "Bravo!" he cried, patting the Chancellor
on the back.  "You did that speech very well indeed.
Why, you're a born orator, man!"

"Oh, that's nothing! the Chancellor replied, modestly, with downcast
eyes.  "Most orators are born, you know."

The Sub-Warden thoughtfully rubbed his chin.  "Why, so they are!" he
admitted.  "I never considered it in that light.  Still, you did it very
well.  A word in your ear!"

The rest of their conversation was all in whispers: so, as I could hear
no more, I thought I would go and find Bruno.

I found the little fellow standing in the passage, and being addressed
by one of the men in livery, who stood before him, nearly bent double
from extreme respectfulness, with his hands hanging in front of him
like the fins of a fish.  "His High Excellency," this respectful man was
saying, "is in his Study, y'reince!"  (He didn't pronounce this quite so
well as the Chancellor.) Thither Bruno trotted, and I thought it well
to follow him.

The Warden, a tall dignified man with a grave but very pleasant face,
was seated before a writing-table, which was covered with papers, and
holding on his knee one of the sweetest and loveliest little maidens it
has ever been my lot to see.  She looked four or five years older than
Bruno, but she had the same rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, and the
same wealth of curly brown hair.  Her eager smiling face was turned
upwards towards her father's, and it was a pretty sight to see the
mutual love with which the two faces--one in the Spring of Life,
the other in its late Autumn--were gazing on each other.

"No, you've never seen him," the old man was saying: "you couldn't,
you know, he's been away so long--traveling from land to land,
and seeking for health, more years than you've been alive, little Sylvie!"
Here Bruno climbed upon his other knee, and a good deal of kissing,
on a rather complicated system, was the result.

"He only came back last night," said the Warden, when the kissing was
over: "he's been traveling post-haste, for the last thousand miles or
so, in order to be here on Sylvie's birthday.  But he's a very early
riser, and I dare say he's in the Library already.  Come with me and see
him.  He's always kind to children.  You'll be sure to like him."

"Has the Other Professor come too?"  Bruno asked in an awe-struck voice.

"Yes, they arrived together.  The Other Professor is--well, you won't
like him quite so much, perhaps.  He's a little more dreamy, you know."

"I wiss Sylvie was a little more dreamy," said Bruno.

"What do you mean, Bruno?" said Sylvie.

Bruno went on addressing his father.  "She says she ca'n't, oo know.
But I thinks it isn't ca'n't, it's wo'n't."

"Says she ca'n't dream!" the puzzled Warden repeated.

"She do say it," Bruno persisted.  "When I says to her 'Let's stop
lessons!', she says 'Oh, I ca'n't dream of letting oo stop yet!'"

"He always wants to stop lessons," Sylvie explained, "five minutes
after we begin!"

"Five minutes' lessons a day!" said the Warden.  "You won't learn much
at that rate, little man!"

"That's just what Sylvie says," Bruno rejoined.  "She says I wo'n't
learn my lessons.  And I tells her, over and over, I ca'n't learn 'em.
And what doos oo think she says?  She says 'It isn't ca'n't, it's
wo'n't!'"

"Let's go and see the Professor," the Warden said, wisely avoiding
further discussion.  The children got down off his knees, each secured a
hand, and the happy trio set off for the Library--followed by me.
I had come to the conclusion by this time that none of the party
(except, for a few moments, the Lord Chancellor) was in the least able
to see me.

"What's the matter with him?"  Sylvie asked, walking with a little extra
sedateness, by way of example to Bruno at the other side, who never
ceased jumping up and down.

[Image...Visiting the profesor]

"What was the matter--but I hope he's all right now--was lumbago,
and rheumatism, and that kind of thing.  He's been curing himself,
you know: he's a very learned doctor.  Why, he's actually invented
three new diseases, besides a new way of breaking your collar-bone!"

"Is it a nice way?" said Bruno.

"Well, hum, not very," the Warden said, as we entered the Library.
"And here is the Professor.  Good morning, Professor!  Hope you're quite
rested after your journey!"

A jolly-looking, fat little man, in a flowery dressing-gown, with a
large book under each arm, came trotting in at the other end of the
room, and was going straight across without taking any notice of the
children.  "I'm looking for Vol.  Three," he said.
"Do you happen to have seen it?"

"You don't see my children, Professor!" the Warden exclaimed, taking
him by the shoulders and turning him round to face them.

The Professor laughed violently: then he gazed at them through his
great spectacles, for a minute or two, without speaking.

At last he addressed Bruno.  "I hope you have had a good night, my child?"
Bruno looked puzzled.  "I's had the same night oo've had," he replied.
"There's only been one night since yesterday!"

It was the Professor's turn to look puzzled now.
He took off his spectacles, and rubbed them with his handkerchief.
Then he gazed at them again.  Then he turned to the Warden.
"Are they bound?" he enquired.

"No, we aren't," said Bruno, who thought himself quite able to answer
this question.

The Professor shook his head sadly.  "Not even half-bound?"

"Why would we be half-bound?" said Bruno.

"We're not prisoners!"

But the Professor had forgotten all about them by this time, and was
speaking to the Warden again.  "You'll be glad to hear," he was saying,
"that the Barometer's beginning to move--"

"Well, which way?" said the Warden--adding, to the children,
"Not that I care, you know.  Only he thinks it affects the weather.
He's a wonderfully clever man, you know.  Sometimes he says things that
only the Other Professor can understand.  Sometimes he says things that
nobody can understand!  Which way is it, Professor?  Up or down?"

"Neither!" said the Professor, gently clapping his hands.  "It's going
sideways--if I may so express myself."

"And what kind of weather does that produce?" said the Warden.
"Listen, children!  Now you'll hear something worth knowing!"

"Horizontal weather," said the Professor, and made straight for the
door, very nearly trampling on Bruno, who had only just time to get out
of his way.

"Isn't he learned?" the Warden said, looking after him with admiring
eyes.  "Positively he runs over with learning!"

"But he needn't run over me!" said Bruno.

The Professor was back in a moment: he had changed his dressing-gown
for a frock-coat, and had put on a pair of very strange-looking boots,
the tops of which were open umbrellas.  "I thought you'd like to see
them," he said.  "These are the boots for horizontal weather!"

[Image...Boots for horizontal weather]

"But what's the use of wearing umbrellas round one's knees?"

"In ordinary rain," the Professor admitted, "they would not be of much
use.  But if ever it rained horizontally, you know, they would be
invaluable--simply invaluable!"

"Take the Professor to the breakfast-saloon, children," said the
Warden.  "And tell them not to wait for me.  I had breakfast early,
as I've some business to attend to." The children seized the Professor's
hands, as familiarly as if they had known him for years, and hurried
him away.  I followed respectfully behind.


CHAPTER 2.

L'AMIE INCONNUE.

As we entered the breakfast-saloon, the Professor was saying "--and
he had breakfast by himself, early: so he begged you wouldn't wait for
him, my Lady.  This way, my Lady," he added, "this way!"  And then, with
(as it seemed to me) most superfluous politeness, he flung open the
door of my compartment, and ushered in "--a young and lovely lady!"
I muttered to myself with some bitterness.  "And this is, of course,
the opening scene of Vol. I.  She is the Heroine.  And I am one of those
subordinate characters that only turn up when needed for the
development of her destiny, and whose final appearance is outside the
church, waiting to greet the Happy Pair!"

"Yes, my Lady, change at Fayfield," were the next words I heard
(oh that too obsequious Guard!), "next station but one." And the door
closed, and the lady settled down into her corner, and the monotonous
throb of the engine (making one feel as if the train were some gigantic
monster, whose very circulation we could feel) proclaimed that we were
once more speeding on our way.  "The lady had a perfectly formed nose,"
I caught myself saying to myself, "hazel eyes, and lips--" and here
it occurred to me that to see, for myself, what "the lady" was really
like, would be more satisfactory than much speculation.

I looked round cautiously, and--was entirely disappointed of my
hope.  The veil, which shrouded her whole face, was too thick for me to
see more than the glitter of bright eyes and the hazy outline of what
might be a lovely oval face, but might also, unfortunately, be an
equally unlovely one.  I closed my eyes again, saying to myself
"--couldn't have a better chance for an experiment in Telepathy!
I'll think out her face, and afterwards test the portrait with the
original."

At first, no result at all crowned my efforts, though I 'divided my
swift mind,' now hither, now thither, in a way that I felt sure would
have made AEneas green with envy: but the dimly-seen oval remained as
provokingly blank as ever--a mere Ellipse, as if in some mathematical
diagram, without even the Foci that might be made to do duty as a nose
and a mouth.  Gradually, however, the conviction came upon me that I
could, by a certain concentration of thought, think the veil away,
and so get a glimpse of the mysterious face--as to which the two
questions, "is she pretty?" and "is she plain?", still hung suspended,
in my mind, in beautiful equipoise.

Success was partial--and fitful--still there was a result: ever and
anon, the veil seemed to vanish, in a sudden flash of light: but,
before I could fully realise the face, all was dark again.  In each such
glimpse, the face seemed to grow more childish and more innocent:
and, when I had at last thought the veil entirely away, it was,
unmistakeably, the sweet face of little Sylvie!

"So, either I've been dreaming about Sylvie," I said to myself,
"and this is the reality.  Or else I've really been with Sylvie,
and this is a dream!  Is Life itself a dream, I wonder?"

To occupy the time, I got out the letter, which had caused me to take
this sudden railway-journey from my London home down to a strange
fishing-town on the North coast, and read it over again:-

    "DEAR OLD FRIEND,

    "I'm sure it will be as great a pleasure to me, as it can possibly
    be to you, to meet once more after so many years: and of course I
    shall be ready to give you all the benefit of such medical skill as
    I have: only, you know, one mustn't violate professional etiquette!
    And you are already in the hands of a first-rate London doctor,
    with whom it would be utter affectation for me to pretend to compete.        (I make no doubt he
is right in saying the heart is affected:
    all your symptoms point that way.) One thing, at any rate, I have
    already done in my doctorial capacity--secured you a bedroom on the
    ground-floor, so that you will not need to ascend the stairs at all.

    "I shalt expect you by last train on Friday, in accordance with your
    letter: and, till then, I shalt say, in the words of the old song,
    'Oh for Friday nicht!  Friday's lang a-coming!'

    "Yours always,

    "ARTHUR FORESTER.

    "P.S.  Do you believe in Fate?"

This Postscript puzzled me sorely.  "He is far too sensible a man,"
I thought, "to have become a Fatalist.  And yet what else can he mean by
it?"  And, as I folded up the letter and put it away, I inadvertently
repeated the words aloud.  "Do you believe in Fate?"

The fair 'Incognita' turned her head quickly at the sudden question.
"No, I don't!" she said with a smile.  "Do you?"

"I--I didn't mean to ask the question!"  I stammered, a little taken
aback at having begun a conversation in so unconventional a fashion.

The lady's smile became a laugh--not a mocking laugh, but the laugh
of a happy child who is perfectly at her ease.  "Didn't you?" she said.
"Then it was a case of what you Doctors call 'unconscious cerebration'?"

"I am no Doctor," I replied.  "Do I look so like one?  Or what makes you
think it?"

She pointed to the book I had been reading, which was so lying that its
title, "Diseases of the Heart," was plainly visible.

"One needn't be a Doctor," I said, "to take an interest in medical
books.  There's another class of readers, who are yet more deeply
interested--"

"You mean the Patients?" she interrupted, while a look of tender pity
gave new sweetness to her face.  "But," with an evident wish to avoid a
possibly painful topic, "one needn't be either, to take an interest in
books of Science.  Which contain the greatest amount of Science,
do you think, the books, or the minds?"

"Rather a profound question for a lady!"  I said to myself, holding,
with the conceit so natural to Man, that Woman's intellect is
essentially shallow.  And I considered a minute before replying.
"If you mean living minds, I don't think it's possible to decide.
There is so much written Science that no living person has ever read:
and there is so much thought-out Science that hasn't yet been written.
But, if you mean the whole human race, then I think the minds have it:
everything, recorded in books, must have once been in some mind,
you know."

"Isn't that rather like one of the Rules in Algebra?" my Lady enquired.
("Algebra too!"  I thought with increasing wonder.) "I mean, if we
consider thoughts as factors, may we not say that the Least Common
Multiple of all the minds contains that of all the books; but not the
other way?"

"Certainly we may!"  I replied, delighted with the illustration.
"And what a grand thing it would be," I went on dreamily, thinking aloud
rather than talking, "if we could only apply that Rule to books!
You know, in finding the Least Common Multiple, we strike out a quantity
wherever it occurs, except in the term where it is raised to its
highest power.  So we should have to erase every recorded thought,
except in the sentence where it is expressed with the greatest
intensity."

My Lady laughed merrily.  "Some books would be reduced to blank paper,
I'm afraid!" she said.

"They would.  Most libraries would be terribly diminished in bulk.
But just think what they would gain in quality!"

"When will it be done?" she eagerly asked.  "If there's any chance of it
in my time, I think I'll leave off reading, and wait for it!"

"Well, perhaps in another thousand years or so--"

"Then there's no use waiting!", said my Lady.  "Let's sit down.
Uggug, my pet, come and sit by me!"

"Anywhere but by me!" growled the Sub-warden.  "The little wretch always
manages to upset his coffee!"

I guessed at once (as perhaps the reader will also have guessed, if,
like myself, he is very clever at drawing conclusions) that my Lady was
the Sub-Warden's wife, and that Uggug (a hideous fat boy, about the
same age as Sylvie, with the expression of a prize-pig) was their son.
Sylvie and Bruno, with the Lord Chancellor, made up a party of seven.

[Image...A portable plunge-bath]

"And you actually got a plunge-bath every morning?" said the Sub-Warden,
