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 one 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, and he went on muttering

over the verses to himself:  `"WE KNOW IT TO BE TRUE--" that's

the jury, of course-- "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 offended 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!'

  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 left her, leaning her

head on her hand, 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 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's 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 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 thy 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