CHAPTER III

Looking-Glass Insects


Of course the first thing to do was to make a grand survey of the
country she was going to travel through. 'It's something very
like learning geography,' thought Alice, as she stood on tiptoe in
hopes of being able to see a little further. 'Principal rivers--
there ARE none. Principal mountains--I'm on the only one, but I
don't think it's got any name. Principal towns--why, what ARE
those creatures, making honey down there? They can't be bees--
nobody ever saw bees a mile off, you know--' and for some time she
stood silent, watching one of them that was bustling about among
the flowers, poking its proboscis into them, 'just as if it was a
regular bee,' thought Alice.

However, this was anything but a regular bee: in fact it was
an elephant--as Alice soon found out, though the idea quite
took her breath away at first. 'And what enormous flowers they
must be!' was her next idea. 'Something like cottages with the
roofs taken off, and stalks put to them--and what quantities of
honey they must make! I think I'll go down and--no, I won't
JUST yet,' she went on, checking herself just as she was
beginning to run down the hill, and trying to find some excuse
for turning shy so suddenly. 'It'll never do to go down among
them without a good long branch to brush them away--and what
fun it'll be when they ask me how I like my walk. I shall say--
"Oh, I like it well enough--"' (here came the favourite little
toss of the head), '"only it was so dusty and hot, and the
elephants did tease so!"'

'I think I'll go down the other way,' she said after a pause:
'and perhaps I may visit the elephants later on. Besides, I do
so want to get into the Third Square!'

So with this excuse she ran down the hill and jumped over the
first of the six little brooks.

* * * * * * *

* * * * * *

* * * * * * *

'Tickets, please!' said the Guard, putting his head in at the
window. In a moment everybody was holding out a ticket: they
were about the same size as the people, and quite seemed to fill
the carriage.

'Now then! Show your ticket, child!' the Guard went on,
looking angrily at Alice. And a great many voices all said
together ('like the chorus of a song,' thought Alice), 'Don't
keep him waiting, child! Why, his time is worth a thousand
pounds a minute!'

'I'm afraid I haven't got one,' Alice said in a frightened tone:
'there wasn't a ticket-office where I came from.' And again
the chorus of voices went on. 'There wasn't room for one where
she came from. The land there is worth a thousand pounds an inch!'

'Don't make excuses,' said the Guard: 'you should have bought
one from the engine-driver.' And once more the chorus of voices
went on with 'The man that drives the engine. Why, the smoke
alone is worth a thousand pounds a puff!'

Alice thought to herself, 'Then there's no use in speaking.'
The voices didn't join in this time, as she hadn't spoken, but to
her great surprise, they all THOUGHT in chorus (I hope you
understand what THINKING IN CHORUS means--for I must confess
that _I_ don't), 'Better say nothing at all. Language is worth a
thousand pounds a word!'

'I shall dream about a thousand pounds tonight, I know I
shall!' thought Alice.

All this time the Guard was looking at her, first through a
telescope, then through a microscope, and then through an opera-
glass. At last he said, 'You're travelling the wrong way,' and
shut up the window and went away.

'So young a child,' said the gentleman sitting opposite to her
(he was dressed in white paper), 'ought to know which way she's
going, even if she doesn't know her own name!'

A Goat, that was sitting next to the gentleman in white, shut
his eyes and said in a loud voice, 'She ought to know her way to
the ticket-office, even if she doesn't know her alphabet!'

There was a Beetle sitting next to the Goat (it was a very
queer carriage-full of passengers altogether), and, as the rule
seemed to be that they should all speak in turn, HE went on with
'She'll have to go back from here as luggage!'

Alice couldn't see who was sitting beyond the Beetle, but a
hoarse voice spoke next. 'Change engines--' it said, and was
obliged to leave off.

'It sounds like a horse,' Alice thought to herself. And an
extremely small voice, close to her ear, said, 'You might make a
joke on that--something about "horse" and "hoarse," you know.'

Then a very gentle voice in the distance said, 'She must be
labelled "Lass, with care," you know--'

And after that other voices went on (What a number of people
there are in the carriage!' thought Alice), saying, 'She must go
by post, as she's got a head on her--' 'She must be sent as a
message by the telegraph--' 'She must draw the train herself
the rest of the way--' and so on.

But the gentleman dressed in white paper leaned forwards and
whispered in her ear, 'Never mind what they all say, my dear, but
take a return-ticket every time the train stops.'

'Indeed I shan't!' Alice said rather impatiently. 'I don't
belong to this railway journey at all--I was in a wood just now
--and I wish I could get back there.'

'You might make a joke on THAT,' said the little voice close to
her ear: 'something about "you WOULD if you could," you know.'

'Don't tease so,' said Alice, looking about in vain to see
where the voice came from; 'if you're so anxious to have a joke
made, why don't you make one yourself?'

The little voice sighed deeply: it was VERY unhappy,
evidently, and Alice would have said something pitying to comfort
it, 'If it would only sigh like other people!' she thought. But
this was such a wonderfully small sigh, that she wouldn't have
heard it at all, if it hadn't come QUITE close to her ear. The
consequence of this was that it tickled her ear very much, and
quite took off her thoughts from the unhappiness of the poor
little creature.

'I know you are a friend, the little voice went on; 'a dear
friend, and an old friend. And you won't hurt me, though I AM an
insect.'

'What kind of insect?' Alice inquired a little anxiously. What
she really wanted to know was, whether it could sting or not, but
she thought this wouldn't be quite a civil question to ask.

'What, then you don't--' the little voice began, when it was
drowned by a shrill scream from the engine, and everybody jumped
up in alarm, Alice among the rest.

The Horse, who had put his head out of the window, quietly drew
it in and said, 'It's only a brook we have to jump over.'
Everybody seemed satisfied with this, though Alice felt a little
nervous at the idea of trains jumping at all. 'However, it'll
take us into the Fourth Square, that's some comfort!' she said to
herself. In another moment she felt the carriage rise straight
up into the air, and in her fright she caught at the thing
nearest to her hand, which happened to be the Goat's beard.

* * * * * * *

* * * * * *

* * * * * * *

But the beard seemed to melt away as she touched it, and she
found herself sitting quietly under a tree--while the Gnat (for
that was the insect she had been talking to) was balancing itself
on a twig just over her head, and fanning her with its wings.

It certainly was a VERY large Gnat: 'about the size of a
chicken,' Alice thought. Still, she couldn't feel nervous with
it, after they had been talking together so long.

'--then you don't like all insects?' the Gnat went on, as
quietly as if nothing had happened.

'I like them when they can talk,' Alice said. 'None of them
ever talk, where _I_ come from.'

'What sort of insects do you rejoice in, where YOU come from?'
the Gnat inquired.

'I don't REJOICE in insects at all,' Alice explained, 'because
I'm rather afraid of them--at least the large kinds. But I can
tell you the names of some of them.'

'Of course they answer to their names?' the Gnat remarked
carelessly.

'I never knew them do it.'

'What's the use of their having names the Gnat said, 'if they
won't answer to them?'

'No use to THEM,' said Alice; 'but it's useful to the people
who name them, I suppose. If not, why do things have names at
all?'

'I can't say,' the Gnat replied. 'Further on, in the wood
down there, they've got no names--however, go on with your list
of insects: you're wasting time.'

'Well, there's the Horse-fly,' Alice began, counting off the
names on her fingers.

'All right,' said the Gnat: 'half way up that bush, you'll see
a Rocking-horse-fly, if you look. It's made entirely of wood,
and gets about by swinging itself from branch to branch.'

'What does it live on?' Alice asked, with great curiosity.

'Sap and sawdust,' said the Gnat. 'Go on with the list.'

Alice looked up at the Rocking-horse-fly with great interest,
and made up her mind that it must have been just repainted, it
looked so bright and sticky; and then she went on.

'And there's the Dragon-fly.'

'Look on the branch above your head,' said the Gnat, 'and there
you'll find a snap-dragon-fly. Its body is made of plum-pudding,
its wings of holly-leaves, and its head is a raisin burning in
brandy.'

'And what does it live on?'

'Frumenty and mince pie,' the Gnat replied; 'and it makes its
nest in a Christmas box.'

'And then there's the Butterfly,' Alice went on, after she had
taken a good look at the insect with its head on fire, and had
thought to herself, 'I wonder if that's the reason insects are so
fond of flying into candles--because they want to turn into
Snap-dragon-flies!'

'Crawling at your feet,' said the Gnat (Alice drew her feet
back in some alarm), 'you may observe a Bread-and-Butterfly. Its
wings are thin slices of Bread-and-butter, its body is a crust,
and its head is a lump of sugar.'

'And what does IT live on?'

'Weak tea with cream in it.'

A new difficulty came into Alice's head. 'Supposing it
couldn't find any?' she suggested.

'Then it would die, of course.'

'But that must happen very often,' Alice remarked thoughtfully.

'It always happens,' said the Gnat.

After this, Alice was silent for a minute or two, pondering.
The Gnat amused itself meanwhile by humming round and round her
head: at last it settled again and remarked, 'I suppose you
don't want to lose your name?'

'No, indeed,' Alice said, a little anxiously.

'And yet I don't know,' the Gnat went on in a careless tone:
'only think how convenient it would be if you could manage to go
home without it! For instance, if the governess wanted to call
you to your lessons, she would call out "come here--," and
there she would have to leave off, because there wouldn't be any
name for her to call, and of course you wouldn't have to go, you
know.'

'That would never do, I'm sure,' said Alice: 'the governess
would never think of excusing me lessons for that. If she
couldn't remember my name, she'd call me "Miss!" as the servants
do.'

'Well. if she said "Miss," and didn't say anything more,' the
Gnat remarked, 'of course you'd miss your lessons. That's a
joke. I wish YOU had made it.'

'Why do you wish _I_ had made it?' Alice asked. 'It's a very
bad one.'

But the Gnat only sighed deeply, while two large tears came
rolling down its cheeks.

'You shouldn't make jokes,' Alice said, 'if it makes you so
unhappy.'

Then came another of those melancholy little sighs, and this
time the poor Gnat really seemed to have sighed itself away, for,
when Alice looked up, there was nothing whatever to be seen on
the twig, and, as she was getting quite chilly with sitting still
so long, she got up and walked on.

She very soon came to an open field, with a wood on the other
side of it: it looked much darker than the last wood, and Alice
felt a LITTLE timid about going into it. However, on second
thoughts, she made up her mind to go on: 'for I certainly won't
go BACK,' she thought to herself, and this was the only way to
the Eighth Square.

'This must be the wood, she said thoughtfully to herself,
'where things have no names. I wonder what'll become of MY name
when I go in? I shouldn't like to lose it at all--because
they'd have to give me another, and it would be almost certain to
be an ugly one. But then the fun would be trying to find the
creature that had got my old name! That's just like the
advertisements, you know, when people lose dogs--"ANSWERS TO
THE NAME OF 'DASH:' HAD ON A BRASS COLLAR"--just fancy calling
everything you met "Alice," till one of them answered! Only they
wouldn't answer at all, if they were wise.'

She was rambling on in this way when she reached the wood: it
looked very cool and shady. 'Well, at any rate it's a great
comfort,' she said as she stepped under the trees, 'after being
so hot, to get into the--into WHAT?' she went on, rather
surprised at not being able to think of the word. 'I mean to get
under the--under the--under THIS, you know!' putting her
hand on the trunk of the tree. 'What DOES it call itself, I
wonder? I do believe it's got no name--why, to be sure it
hasn't!'

She stood silent for a minute, thinking: then she suddenly
began again. 'Then it really HAS happened, after all! And now,
who am I? I WILL remember, if I can! I'm determined to do it!'
But being determined didn't help much, and all she could say,
after a great deal of puzzling, was, 'L, I KNOW it begins with L!'

Just then a Fawn came wandering by: it looked at Alice with
its large gentle eyes, but didn't seem at all frightened. 'Here
then! Here then!' Alice said, as she held out her hand and tried
to stroke it; but it only started back a little, and then stood
looking at her again.

'What do you call yourself?' the Fawn said at last. Such a
soft sweet voice it had!

'I wish I knew!' thought poor Alice. She answered, rather
sadly, 'Nothing, just now.'

'Think again,' it said: 'that won't do.'

Alice thought, but nothing came of it. 'Please, would you tell
me what YOU call yourself?' she said timidly. 'I think that
might help a little.'

'I'll tell you, if you'll move a little further on,' the Fawn said.
'I can't remember here.'

So they walked on together though the wood, Alice with her arms
clasped lovingly round the soft neck of the Fawn, till they came
out into another open field, and here the Fawn gave a sudden
bound into the air, and shook itself free from Alice's arms.
'I'm a Fawn!' it cried out in a voice of delight, 'and, dear me!
you're a human child!' A sudden look of alarm came into its
beautiful brown eyes, and in another moment it had darted away at
full speed.

Alice stood looking after it, almost ready to cry with vexation
at having lost her dear little fellow-traveller so suddenly.
'However, I know my name now.' she said, 'that's SOME comfort.
Alice--Alice--I won't forget it again. And now, which of
these finger-posts ought I to follow, I wonder?'

It was not a very difficult question to answer, as there was
only one road through the wood, and the two finger-posts both
pointed along it. 'I'll settle it,' Alice said to herself, 'when
the road divides and they point different ways.'

But this did not seem likely to happen. She went on and on, a
long way, but wherever the road divided there were sure to be two
finger-posts pointing the same way, one marked 'TO TWEEDLEDUM'S
HOUSE' and the other 'TO THE HOUSE OF TWEEDLEDEE.'

'I do believe,' said Alice at last, 'that they live in the same
house! I wonder I never thought of that before--But I can't
stay there long. I'll just call and say "how d'you do?" and ask
them the way out of the wood. If I could only get to the Eighth
Square before it gets dark!' So she wandered on, talking to
herself as she went, till, on turning a sharp corner, she came
upon two fat little men, so suddenly that she could not help
starting back, but in another moment she recovered herself,
feeling sure that they must be.