Follies, foibles, and fascinating bits on the history of Finance.

Hello and welcome to Bonkers, where we take the plain facts, add a splash of humour, and make even the driest topics juicier than a ripe melon at a greengrocer. Today’s topic? Asset bubbles! Yes, those odd financial phenomena where people collectively decide that something as mundane as a tulip is worth more than their entire life savings.

CHAPTER XII.Alice’s Evidence “Here!” cried Alice, quite forgetting in the flurry of the moment how large she had grown in the last few minutes, and she jumped up in such a hurry that she tipped over the jury-box with the edge of her skirt, upsetting all the jurymen on to the heads of the crowd below, and there they lay sprawling about, reminding her very much of a globe of goldfish she had accidentally upset the week before. “Oh, I beg your pardon!” she exclaimed in a tone of great dismay, and began picking them up again as quickly as she could, for the accident of the goldfish kept running in her head, and she had a vague sort of idea that they must be collected at once and put back into the jury-box, or they would die. “The trial cannot proceed,” said the King in a very grave voice, “until all the jurymen are back in their proper places—all,” he repeated with great emphasis, looking hard at Alice as he said so. Alice looked at the jury-box, and saw that, in her haste, she had put the Lizard in head downwards, and the poor little thing was waving its tail about in a melancholy way, being quite unable to move. She soon got it out again, and put it right; “not that it signifies much,” she said to herself; “I should think it would be quite as much use in the trial one way up as the other.” As soon as the jury had a little recovered from the shock of being upset, and their slates and pencils had been found and handed back to them, they set to work very diligently to write out a history of the accident, all except the Lizard, who seemed too much overcome to do anything but sit with its mouth open, gazing up into the roof of the court. “What do you know about this business?” the King said to Alice. “Nothing,” said Alice. “Nothing whatever?” persisted the King. “Nothing whatever,” said Alice. “That’s very important,” the King said, turning to the jury. They were just beginning to write this down on their slates, when the White Rabbit interrupted: “Unimportant, your Majesty means, of course,” he said in a very respectful tone, but frowning and making faces at him as he spoke. “Unimportant, of course, I meant,” the King hastily said, and went on to himself in an undertone, “important—unimportant—unimportant—important—” as if he were trying which word sounded best. Some of the jury wrote it down “important,” and some “unimportant.” Alice could see this, as she was near enough to look over their slates; “but it doesn’t matter a bit,” she thought to herself. At this moment the King, who had been for some time busily writing in his note-book, cackled out “Silence!” and read out from his book, “Rule Forty-two. All persons more than a mile high to leave the court.” Everybody looked at Alice. “I’m not a mile high,” said Alice. “You are,” said the King. “Nearly two miles high,” added the Queen. “Well, I shan’t go, at any rate,” said Alice: “besides, that’s not a regular rule: you invented it just now.” “It’s the oldest rule in the book,” said the King. “Then it ought to be Number One,” said Alice. The King turned pale, and shut his note-book hastily. “Consider your verdict,” he said to the jury, in a low, trembling voice. “There’s more evidence to come yet, please your Majesty,” said the White Rabbit, jumping up in a great hurry; “this paper has just been picked up.” “What’s in it?” said the Queen. “I haven’t opened it yet,” said the White Rabbit, “but it seems to be a letter, written by the prisoner to—to somebody.” “It must have been that,” said the King, “unless it was written to nobody, which isn’t usual, you know.” “Who is it directed to?” said one of the jurymen. “It isn’t directed at all,” said the White Rabbit; “in fact, there’s nothing written on the outside.” He unfolded the paper as he spoke, and added “It isn’t a letter, after all: it’s a set of verses.” “Are they in the prisoner’s handwriting?” asked another of the jurymen. “No, they’re not,” said the White Rabbit, “and that’s the queerest thing about it.” (The jury a

CHAPTER XI.Who Stole the Tarts? The King and Queen of Hearts were seated on their throne when they arrived, with a great crowd assembled about them—all sorts of little birds and beasts, as well as the whole pack of cards: the Knave was standing before them, in chains, with a soldier on each side to guard him; and near the King was the White Rabbit, with a trumpet in one hand, and a scroll of parchment in the other. In the very middle of the court was a table, with a large dish of tarts upon it: they looked so good, that it made Alice quite hungry to look at them—“I wish they’d get the trial done,” she thought, “and hand round the refreshments!” But there seemed to be no chance of this, so she began looking at everything about her, to pass away the time. Alice had never been in a court of justice before, but she had read about them in books, and she was quite pleased to find that she knew the name of nearly everything there. “That’s the judge,” she said to herself, “because of his great wig.” The judge, by the way, was the King; and as he wore his crown over the wig, (look at the frontispiece if you want to see how he did it,) he did not look at all comfortable, and it was certainly not becoming. “And that’s the jury-box,” thought Alice, “and those twelve creatures,” (she was obliged to say “creatures,” you see, because some of them were animals, and some were birds,) “I suppose they are the jurors.” She said this last word two or three times over to herself, being rather proud of it: for she thought, and rightly too, that very few little girls of her age knew the meaning of it at all. However, “jury-men” would have done just as well. The twelve jurors were all writing very busily on slates. “What are they doing?” Alice whispered to the Gryphon. “They can’t have anything to put down yet, before the trial’s begun.” “They’re putting down their names,” the Gryphon whispered in reply, “for fear they should forget them before the end of the trial.” “Stupid things!” Alice began in a loud, indignant voice, but she stopped hastily, for the White Rabbit cried out, “Silence in the court!” and the King put on his spectacles and looked anxiously round, to make out who was talking. Alice could see, as well as if she were looking over their shoulders, that all the jurors were writing down “stupid things!” on their slates, and she could even make out that one of them didn’t know how to spell “stupid,” and that he had to ask his neighbour to tell him. “A nice muddle their slates’ll be in before the trial’s over!” thought Alice. One of the jurors had a pencil that squeaked. This of course, Alice could not stand, and she went round the court and got behind him, and very soon found an opportunity of taking it away. She did it so quickly that the poor little juror (it was Bill, the Lizard) could not make out at all what had become of it; so, after hunting all about for it, he was obliged to write with one finger for the rest of the day; and this was of very little use, as it left no mark on the slate. “Herald, read the accusation!” said the King. On this the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and then unrolled the parchment scroll, and read as follows:— “The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts,    All on a summer day:The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts,    And took them quite away!” “Consider your verdict,” the King said to the jury. “Not yet, not yet!” the Rabbit hastily interrupted. “There’s a great deal to come before that!” “Call the first witness,” said the King; and the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and called out, “First witness!” The first witness was the Hatter. He came in with a teacup in one hand and a piece of bread-and-butter in the other. “I beg pardon, your Majesty,” he began, “for bringing these in: but I hadn’t quite finished my tea when I was sent for.” “You ought to have finished,” said the King. “When did you begin?” The Hatter looked at the March Hare, who had followed him into

CHAPTER X.The Lobster Quadrille The Mock Turtle sighed deeply, and drew the back of one flapper across his eyes. He looked at Alice, and tried to speak, but for a minute or two sobs choked his voice. “Same as if he had a bone in his throat,” said the Gryphon: and it set to work shaking him and punching him in the back. At last the Mock Turtle recovered his voice, and, with tears running down his cheeks, he went on again:— “You may not have lived much under the sea—” (“I haven’t,” said Alice)—“and perhaps you were never even introduced to a lobster—” (Alice began to say “I once tasted—” but checked herself hastily, and said “No, never”) “—so you can have no idea what a delightful thing a Lobster Quadrille is!” “No, indeed,” said Alice. “What sort of a dance is it?” “Why,” said the Gryphon, “you first form into a line along the sea-shore—” “Two lines!” cried the Mock Turtle. “Seals, turtles, salmon, and so on; then, when you’ve cleared all the jelly-fish out of the way—” “That generally takes some time,” interrupted the Gryphon. “—you advance twice—” “Each with a lobster as a partner!” cried the Gryphon. “Of course,” the Mock Turtle said: “advance twice, set to partners—” “—change lobsters, and retire in same order,” continued the Gryphon. “Then, you know,” the Mock Turtle went on, “you throw the—” “The lobsters!” shouted the Gryphon, with a bound into the air. “—as far out to sea as you can—” “Swim after them!” screamed the Gryphon. “Turn a somersault in the sea!” cried the Mock Turtle, capering wildly about. “Change lobsters again!” yelled the Gryphon at the top of its voice. “Back to land again, and that’s all the first figure,” said the Mock Turtle, suddenly dropping his voice; and the two creatures, who had been jumping about like mad things all this time, sat down again very sadly and quietly, and looked at Alice. “It must be a very pretty dance,” said Alice timidly. “Would you like to see a little of it?” said the Mock Turtle. “Very much indeed,” said Alice. “Come, let’s try the first figure!” said the Mock Turtle to the Gryphon. “We can do without lobsters, you know. Which shall sing?” “Oh, you sing,” said the Gryphon. “I’ve forgotten the words.” So they began solemnly dancing round and round Alice, every now and then treading on her toes when they passed too close, and waving their forepaws to mark the time, while the Mock Turtle sang this, very slowly and sadly:— “Will you walk a little faster?” said a whiting to a snail.“There’s a porpoise close behind us, and he’s treading on my tail.See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance!They are waiting on the shingle—will you come and join the dance?Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, will you join the dance?Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, won’t you join the dance?“You can really have no notion how delightful it will beWhen they take us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out to sea!”But the snail replied “Too far, too far!” and gave a look askance—Said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join the dance.Would not, could not, would not, could not, would not join the dance.Would not, could not, would not, could not, could not join the dance.“What matters it how far we go?” his scaly friend replied.“There is another shore, you know, upon the other side.The further off from England the nearer is to France—Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance.Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, will you join the dance?Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, won’t you join the dance?” “Thank you, it’s a very interesting dance to watch,” said Alice, feeling very glad that it was over at last: “and I do so like that curious song about the whiting!” “Oh, as to the whiting,” said the Mock Turtle, “they—you’ve seen them, of course?” “Yes,” said Alice, “I’ve often seen them at dinn—” she checked herself hastily. “I don’t know where Dinn may be,” said the Mock Turtle, “but if you’ve seen them so often, of course you kno

CHAPTER IX.The Mock Turtle’s Story “You can’t think how glad I am to see you again, you dear old thing!” said the Duchess, as she tucked her arm affectionately into Alice’s, and they walked off together. Alice was very glad to find her in such a pleasant temper, and thought to herself that perhaps it was only the pepper that had made her so savage when they met in the kitchen. “When I’m a Duchess,” she said to herself, (not in a very hopeful tone though), “I won’t have any pepper in my kitchen at all. Soup does very well without—Maybe it’s always pepper that makes people hot-tempered,” she went on, very much pleased at having found out a new kind of rule, “and vinegar that makes them sour—and camomile that makes them bitter—and—and barley-sugar and such things that make children sweet-tempered. I only wish people knew that: then they wouldn’t be so stingy about it, you know—” She had quite forgotten the Duchess by this time, and was a little startled when she heard her voice close to her ear. “You’re thinking about something, my dear, and that makes you forget to talk. I can’t tell you just now what the moral of that is, but I shall remember it in a bit.” “Perhaps it hasn’t one,” Alice ventured to remark. “Tut, tut, child!” said the Duchess. “Everything’s got a moral, if only you can find it.” And she squeezed herself up closer to Alice’s side as she spoke. Alice did not much like keeping so close to her: first, because the Duchess was very ugly; and secondly, because she was exactly the right height to rest her chin upon Alice’s shoulder, and it was an uncomfortably sharp chin. However, she did not like to be rude, so she bore it as well as she could. “The game’s going on rather better now,” she said, by way of keeping up the conversation a little. “’Tis so,” said the Duchess: “and the moral of that is—‘Oh, ’tis love, ’tis love, that makes the world go round!’” “Somebody said,” Alice whispered, “that it’s done by everybody minding their own business!” “Ah, well! It means much the same thing,” said the Duchess, digging her sharp little chin into Alice’s shoulder as she added, “and the moral of that is—‘Take care of the sense, and the sounds will take care of themselves.’” “How fond she is of finding morals in things!” Alice thought to herself. “I dare say you’re wondering why I don’t put my arm round your waist,” the Duchess said after a pause: “the reason is, that I’m doubtful about the temper of your flamingo. Shall I try the experiment?” “He might bite,” Alice cautiously replied, not feeling at all anxious to have the experiment tried. “Very true,” said the Duchess: “flamingoes and mustard both bite. And the moral of that is—‘Birds of a feather flock together.’” “Only mustard isn’t a bird,” Alice remarked. “Right, as usual,” said the Duchess: “what a clear way you have of putting things!” “It’s a mineral, I think,” said Alice. “Of course it is,” said the Duchess, who seemed ready to agree to everything that Alice said; “there’s a large mustard-mine near here. And the moral of that is—‘The more there is of mine, the less there is of yours.’” “Oh, I know!” exclaimed Alice, who had not attended to this last remark, “it’s a vegetable. It doesn’t look like one, but it is.” “I quite agree with you,” said the Duchess; “and the moral of that is—‘Be what you would seem to be’—or if you’d like it put more simply—‘Never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise.’” “I think I should understand that better,” Alice said very politely, “if I had it written down: but I can’t quite follow it as you say it.” “That’s nothing to what I could say if I chose,” the Duchess replied, in a pleased tone. “Pray don’t trouble yourself to say it any longer than that,” said Alice. “Oh, don’t talk about trouble!” said the Duchess. “I make you a present of everything I’ve said as yet.” “A chea

CHAPTER VIII.The Queen’s Croquet-Ground A large rose-tree stood near the entrance of the garden: the roses growing on it were white, but there were three gardeners at it, busily painting them red. Alice thought this a very curious thing, and she went nearer to watch them, and just as she came up to them she heard one of them say, “Look out now, Five! Don’t go splashing paint over me like that!” “I couldn’t help it,” said Five, in a sulky tone; “Seven jogged my elbow.” On which Seven looked up and said, “That’s right, Five! Always lay the blame on others!” “You’d better not talk!” said Five. “I heard the Queen say only yesterday you deserved to be beheaded!” “What for?” said the one who had spoken first. “That’s none of your business, Two!” said Seven. “Yes, it is his business!” said Five, “and I’ll tell him—it was for bringing the cook tulip-roots instead of onions.” Seven flung down his brush, and had just begun “Well, of all the unjust things—” when his eye chanced to fall upon Alice, as she stood watching them, and he checked himself suddenly: the others looked round also, and all of them bowed low. “Would you tell me,” said Alice, a little timidly, “why you are painting those roses?” Five and Seven said nothing, but looked at Two. Two began in a low voice, “Why the fact is, you see, Miss, this here ought to have been a red rose-tree, and we put a white one in by mistake; and if the Queen was to find it out, we should all have our heads cut off, you know. So you see, Miss, we’re doing our best, afore she comes, to—” At this moment Five, who had been anxiously looking across the garden, called out “The Queen! The Queen!” and the three gardeners instantly threw themselves flat upon their faces. There was a sound of many footsteps, and Alice looked round, eager to see the Queen. First came ten soldiers carrying clubs; these were all shaped like the three gardeners, oblong and flat, with their hands and feet at the corners: next the ten courtiers; these were ornamented all over with diamonds, and walked two and two, as the soldiers did. After these came the royal children; there were ten of them, and the little dears came jumping merrily along hand in hand, in couples: they were all ornamented with hearts. Next came the guests, mostly Kings and Queens, and among them Alice recognised the White Rabbit: it was talking in a hurried nervous manner, smiling at everything that was said, and went by without noticing her. Then followed the Knave of Hearts, carrying the King’s crown on a crimson velvet cushion; and, last of all this grand procession, came THE KING AND QUEEN OF HEARTS. Alice was rather doubtful whether she ought not to lie down on her face like the three gardeners, but she could not remember ever having heard of such a rule at processions; “and besides, what would be the use of a procession,” thought she, “if people had all to lie down upon their faces, so that they couldn’t see it?” So she stood still where she was, and waited. When the procession came opposite to Alice, they all stopped and looked at her, and the Queen said severely “Who is this?” She said it to the Knave of Hearts, who only bowed and smiled in reply. “Idiot!” said the Queen, tossing her head impatiently; and, turning to Alice, she went on, “What’s your name, child?” “My name is Alice, so please your Majesty,” said Alice very politely; but she added, to herself, “Why, they’re only a pack of cards, after all. I needn’t be afraid of them!” “And who are these?” said the Queen, pointing to the three gardeners who were lying round the rose-tree; for, you see, as they were lying on their faces, and the pattern on their backs was the same as the rest of the pack, she could not tell whether they were gardeners, or soldiers, or courtiers, or three of her own children. “How should I know?” said Alice, surprised at her own courage. “It’s no business of mine.” The Queen turned crimson with fury, and, after glaring at her for a moment like a wild beast

CHAPTER VI.Pig and Pepper For a minute or two she stood looking at the house, and wondering what to do next, when suddenly a footman in livery came running out of the wood—(she considered him to be a footman because he was in livery: otherwise, judging by his face only, she would have called him a fish)—and rapped loudly at the door with his knuckles. It was opened by another footman in livery, with a round face, and large eyes like a frog; and both footmen, Alice noticed, had powdered hair that curled all over their heads. She felt very curious to know what it was all about, and crept a little way out of the wood to listen. The Fish-Footman began by producing from under his arm a great letter, nearly as large as himself, and this he handed over to the other, saying, in a solemn tone, “For the Duchess. An invitation from the Queen to play croquet.” The Frog-Footman repeated, in the same solemn tone, only changing the order of the words a little, “From the Queen. An invitation for the Duchess to play croquet.” Then they both bowed low, and their curls got entangled together. Alice laughed so much at this, that she had to run back into the wood for fear of their hearing her; and when she next peeped out the Fish-Footman was gone, and the other was sitting on the ground near the door, staring stupidly up into the sky. Alice went timidly up to the door, and knocked. “There’s no sort of use in knocking,” said the Footman, “and that for two reasons. First, because I’m on the same side of the door as you are; secondly, because they’re making such a noise inside, no one could possibly hear you.” And certainly there was a most extraordinary noise going on within—a constant howling and sneezing, and every now and then a great crash, as if a dish or kettle had been broken to pieces. “Please, then,” said Alice, “how am I to get in?” “There might be some sense in your knocking,” the Footman went on without attending to her, “if we had the door between us. For instance, if you were inside, you might knock, and I could let you out, you know.” He was looking up into the sky all the time he was speaking, and this Alice thought decidedly uncivil. “But perhaps he can’t help it,” she said to herself; “his eyes are so very nearly at the top of his head. But at any rate he might answer questions.—How am I to get in?” she repeated, aloud. “I shall sit here,” the Footman remarked, “till tomorrow—” At this moment the door of the house opened, and a large plate came skimming out, straight at the Footman’s head: it just grazed his nose, and broke to pieces against one of the trees behind him. “—or next day, maybe,” the Footman continued in the same tone, exactly as if nothing had happened. “How am I to get in?” asked Alice again, in a louder tone. “Are you to get in at all?” said the Footman. “That’s the first question, you know.” It was, no doubt: only Alice did not like to be told so. “It’s really dreadful,” she muttered to herself, “the way all the creatures argue. It’s enough to drive one crazy!” The Footman seemed to think this a good opportunity for repeating his remark, with variations. “I shall sit here,” he said, “on and off, for days and days.” “But what am I to do?” said Alice. “Anything you like,” said the Footman, and began whistling. “Oh, there’s no use in talking to him,” said Alice desperately: “he’s perfectly idiotic!” And she opened the door and went in. The door led right into a large kitchen, which was full of smoke from one end to the other: the Duchess was sitting on a three-legged stool in the middle, nursing a baby; the cook was leaning over the fire, stirring a large cauldron which seemed to be full of soup. “There’s certainly too much pepper in that soup!” Alice said to herself, as well as she could for sneezing. There was certainly too much of it in the air. Even the Duchess sneezed occasionally; and as for the baby, it was sneezing and howling alternately without a moment’s pause. The only things in the kitchen th

CHAPTER V.Advice from a Caterpillar The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice. “Who are you?” said the Caterpillar. This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, “I—I hardly know, sir, just at present—at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.” “What do you mean by that?” said the Caterpillar sternly. “Explain yourself!” “I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, sir,” said Alice, “because I’m not myself, you see.” “I don’t see,” said the Caterpillar. “I’m afraid I can’t put it more clearly,” Alice replied very politely, “for I can’t understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.” “It isn’t,” said the Caterpillar. “Well, perhaps you haven’t found it so yet,” said Alice; “but when you have to turn into a chrysalis—you will some day, you know—and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you’ll feel it a little queer, won’t you?” “Not a bit,” said the Caterpillar. “Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,” said Alice; “all I know is, it would feel very queer to me.” “You!” said the Caterpillar contemptuously. “Who are you?” Which brought them back again to the beginning of the conversation. Alice felt a little irritated at the Caterpillar’s making such very short remarks, and she drew herself up and said, very gravely, “I think, you ought to tell me who you are, first.” “Why?” said the Caterpillar. Here was another puzzling question; and as Alice could not think of any good reason, and as the Caterpillar seemed to be in a very unpleasant state of mind, she turned away. “Come back!” the Caterpillar called after her. “I’ve something important to say!” This sounded promising, certainly: Alice turned and came back again. “Keep your temper,” said the Caterpillar. “Is that all?” said Alice, swallowing down her anger as well as she could. “No,” said the Caterpillar. Alice thought she might as well wait, as she had nothing else to do, and perhaps after all it might tell her something worth hearing. For some minutes it puffed away without speaking, but at last it unfolded its arms, took the hookah out of its mouth again, and said, “So you think you’re changed, do you?” “I’m afraid I am, sir,” said Alice; “I can’t remember things as I used—and I don’t keep the same size for ten minutes together!” “Can’t remember what things?” said the Caterpillar. “Well, I’ve tried to say “How doth the little busy bee,” but it all came different!” Alice replied in a very melancholy voice. “Repeat, “You are old, Father William,’” said the Caterpillar. Alice folded her hands, and began:— “You are old, Father William,” the young man said,    “And your hair has become very white;And yet you incessantly stand on your head—    Do you think, at your age, it is right?”“In my youth,” Father William replied to his son,    “I feared it might injure the brain;But, now that I’m perfectly sure I have none,    Why, I do it again and again.”“You are old,” said the youth, “as I mentioned before,    And have grown most uncommonly fat;Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door—    Pray, what is the reason of that?”“In my youth,” said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,    “I kept all my limbs very suppleBy the use of this ointment—one shilling the box—    Allow me to sell you a couple?”“You are old,” said the youth, “and your jaws are too weak    For anything tougher than suet;Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak—    Pray, how did you manage to do it?”“In my youth,” said his father, “I took to the law,    And argued each case with my wife;And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,    Has lasted the rest of my life.”“You are old,” said the youth, “one would hardly suppose    That your eye was as steady as ever;Yet you balanced an

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 drunk half the bottle, she found her head pressing against the ceiling, and had to stoop to save her neck from being broken. She hastily put down the bottle, saying to herself “That’s quite enough—I hope I shan’t grow any more—As it is, I can’t get out at the door—I do wish I hadn’t drunk quite so much!” Alas! it was too late to wish that! She went on growing, and growing, and very soon had to kneel down on the floor: in another minute there was not even room for this, and she tried the effect of lying down with one elbow against the door, and the other arm curled round her head. Still she went on growing, and, as a last resource, she put one arm out of the window, and one foot up the chimney, and said to herself “Now I can do no more, whatever happens. What will become of me?” Luckily for Alice, the little magic bottle had now had its full effect, and she grew no larger: still it was very uncomfortable, and, as there seemed to be no sort of chance of her ever getting out of the room again, no wonder she felt unhappy. “It was much pleasanter at home,” thought poor Alice, “when one wasn’t always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about by mice and rabbits.

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 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

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’sall 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

Milton's Musings Presents Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland Chapter 1 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 conversations?” 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 underneath, 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

If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too: If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;     If you can dream-and not make dreams your master; If you can think-and not make thoughts your aim, If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same: If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;     If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings, And never breathe a word about your loss: If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"     If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings-nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much: If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And-which is more-you'll be a man, my son!

HE AD-DRESSING OF CATS You've read of several kinds of Cat,And my opinion now is thatYou should need no interpreterTo understand their character.You now have learned enough to seeThat Cats are much like you and meAnd other people whom we findPossessed of various types of mind.For some are sane and some are madAnd some are good and some are badAnd some are better, some are worse—But all may be described in verse.You've seen them both at work and games,And learnt about their proper names,Their habits and their habitat:But        How would you ad-dress a Cat? So first, your memory I'll jog,And say: A CAT IS NOT A DOG. Now Dogs pretend they like to fight;They often bark, more seldom bite;But yet a Dog is, on the whole,What you would call a simple soul.Of course I'm not including Pekes,And such fantastic canine freaks.The usual Dog about the TownIs much inclined to play the clown,And far from showing too much prideIs frequently undignified.He's very easily taken in—Just chuck him underneath the chinOr slap his back or shake his paw,And he will gambol and guffaw.He's such an easy-going lout,He'll answer any hail or shout. Again I must remind you thatA Dog's a Dog—A CAT'S A CAT. With Cats, some say, one rule is true:Don't speak till you are spoken to.Myself, I do not hold with that—I say, you should ad-dress a Cat.But always keep in mind that heResents familiarity.I bow, and taking off my hat,Ad-dress him in this form: O CAT!But if he is the Cat next door,Whom I have often met before(He comes to see me in my flat)I greet him with an OOPS A CAT!I think I've heard them call him James—But we've not got so far as names. Before a Cat will condescendTo treat you as a trusted friend,Some little token of esteemIs needed, like a dish of cream;And you might now and then supplySome caviare, or Strassburg Pie,Some potted grouse, or salmon paste—He's sure to have his personal taste.(I know a Cat, who makes a habitOf eating nothing else but rabbit,And when he's finished, licks his pawsSo's not to waste the onion sauce.)A Cat's entitled to expectThese evidences of respect.And so in time you reach your aim,And finally call him by his NAME. So this is this, and that is that:And there's how you AD-DRESS A CAT.

SKIMBLESHANKS: THE RAILWAY CAT There's a whisper down the line at 11.39When the Night Mail's ready to depart,Saying 'Skimble where is Skimble has he gone to hunt the thimble?We must find him or the train can't start.'All the guards and all the porters and the stationmaster's daughtersThey are searching high and low,Saying 'Skimble where is Skimble for unless he's very nimbleThen the Night Mail just can't go.'At 11.42 then the signal's nearly dueAnd the passengers are frantic to a man—Then Skimble will appear and he'll saunter to the rear:He's been busy in the luggage van!        He gives one flash of his glass-green eyes            And the signal goes 'All Clear!'        And we're off at last for the northern part            Of the Northern Hemisphere! You may say that by and large it is Skimble who's in chargeOf the Sleeping Car Express.From the driver and the guards to the bagmen playing cardsHe will supervise them all, more or less.Down the corridor he paces and examines all the facesOf the travellers in the First and in the Third;He establishes control by a regular patrolAnd he'd know at once if anything occurred.He will watch you without winking and he sees what you are thinkingAnd it's certain that he doesn't approveOf hilarity and riot, so the folk are very quietWhen Skimble is about and on the move.        You can play no pranks with Skimbleshanks!            He's a Cat that cannot be ignored;        So nothing goes wrong on the Northern Mail            When Skimbleshanks is aboard. Oh it's very pleasant when you have found your little denWith your name written up on the door.And the berth is very neat with a newly folded sheetAnd there's not a speck of dust on the floor.There is every sort of light—you can make it dark or bright;There's a handle that you turn to make a breeze.There's a funny little basin you're supposed to wash your face inAnd a crank to shut the window if you sneeze.Then the guard looks in politely and will ask you very brightly'Do you like your morning tea weak or strong?'But Skimble's just behind him and was ready to remind him,For Skimble won't let anything go wrong.        And when you creep into your cosy berth            And pull up the counterpane,        You ought to reflect that it's very nice        To know that you won't be bothered by mice—        You can leave all that to the Railway Cat,            The Cat of the Railway Train! In the watches of the night he is always fresh and bright;Every now and then he has a cup of teaWith perhaps a drop of Scotch while he's keeping on the watch,Only stopping here and there to catch a flea.You were fast asleep at Crewe and so you never knewThat he was walking up and down the station;You were sleeping all the while he was busy at Carlisle,Where he greets the stationmaster with elation.But you saw him at Dumfries, where he speaks to the policeIf there's anything they ought to know about:When you get to Gallowgate there you do not have to wait—For Skimbleshanks will help you to get out!        He gives you a wave of his long brown tail            Which says: 'I'll see you again!        You'll meet without fail on the Midnight Mail            The Cat of the Railway Train.'

BUSTOPHER JONES: THE CAT ABOUT TOWN Bustopher Jones is not skin and bones—In fact, he's remarkably fat.He doesn't haunt pubs—he has eight or nine clubs,For he's the St. James's Street Cat!He's the Cat we all greet as he walks down the streetIn his coat of fastidious black:No commonplace mousers have such well-cut trousersOr such an impeccable back.In the whole of St. James's the smartest of names isThe name of this Brummell of Cats;And we're all of us proud to be nodded or bowed toBy Bustopher Jones in white spats! His visits are occasional to the Senior EducationalAnd it is against the rulesFor any one Cat to belong both to thatAnd the Joint Superior Schools.For a similar reason, when game is in seasonHe is found, not at Fox's, but Blimp's;He is frequently seen at the gay Stage and ScreenWhich is famous for winkles and shrimps.In the season of venison he gives his ben'sonTo the Pothunter's succulent bones;And just before noon's not a moment too soonTo drop in for a drink at the Drones.When he's seen in a hurry there's probably curryAt the Siamese—or at the Glutton;If he looks full of gloom then he's lunched at the TombOn cabbage, rice pudding and mutton. So, much in this way, passes Bustopher's day—At one club or another he's found.It can be no surprise that under our eyesHe has grown unmistakably round.He's a twenty-five pounder, or I am a bounder,And he's putting on weight every day:But he's so well preserved because he's observedAll his life a routine, so he'll say.Or, to put it in rhyme: 'I shall last out my time'Is the word of this stoutest of Cats.It must and it shall be Spring in Pall MallWhile Bustopher Jones wears white spats!

GUS: THE THEATRE CAT Gus is the Cat at the Theatre Door.His name, as I ought to have told you before,Is really Asparagus. That's such a fussTo pronounce, that we usually call him just Gus.His coat's very shabby, he's thin as a rake,And he suffers from palsy that makes his paw shake.Yet he was, in his youth, quite the smartest of Cats—But no longer a terror to mice and to rats.For he isn't the Cat that he was in his prime;Though his name was quite famous, he says, in its time.And whenever he joins his friends at their club(Which takes place at the back of the neighbouring pub)He loves to regale them, if someone else pays,With anecdotes drawn from his palmiest days.For he once was a Star of the highest degree—He has acted with Irving, he's acted with Tree.And he likes to relate his success on the Halls,Where the Gallery once gave him seven cat-calls.But his grandest creation, as he loves to tell,Was Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell. 'I have played', so he says, 'every possible part,And I used to know seventy speeches by heart.I'd extemporize back-chat, I knew how to gag,And I knew how to let the cat out of the bag.I knew how to act with my back and my tail;With an hour of rehearsal, I never could fail.I'd a voice that would soften the hardest of hearts,Whether I took the lead, or in character parts.I have sat by the bedside of poor Little Nell;When the Curfew was rung, then I swung on the bell.In the Pantomime season I never fell flat,And I once understudied Dick Whittington's Cat.But my grandest creation, as history will tell,Was Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell.' Then, if someone will give him a toothful of gin,He will tell how he once played a part in East Lynne.At a Shakespeare performance he once walked on pat,When some actor suggested the need for a cat.He once played a Tiger—could do it again—Which an Indian Colonel pursued down a drain.And he thinks that he still can, much better than most,Produce blood-curdling noises to bring on the Ghost.And he once crossed the stage on a telegraph wire,To rescue a child when a house was on fire.And he says: 'Now, these kittens, they do not get trainedAs we did in the days when Victoria reigned.They never get drilled in a regular troupe,And they think they are smart, just to jump through a hoop.'And he'll say, as he scratches himself with his claws,'Well, the Theatre's certainly not what it was.These modern productions are all very well,But there's nothing to equal, from what I hear tell,        That moment of mystery        When I made historyAs Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell.'

MACAVITY: THE MYSTERY CAT Macavity's a Mystery Cat: he's called the Hidden Paw—For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law.He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad's despair:For when they reach the scene of crime—Macavity's not there! Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,And when you reach the scene of crime—Macavity's not there!You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air—But I tell you once and once again, Macavity's not there! Macavity's a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin;You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed;His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;And when you think he's half asleep, he's always wide awake. Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,For he's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square—But when a crime's discovered, then Macavity's not there! He's outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard's.And when the larder's looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke's been stifled,Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair—Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! Macavity's not there! And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty's gone astray,Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair—But it's useless to investigate—Macavity's not there!And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:'It must have been Macavity!'—but he's a mile away.You'll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs,Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums. Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.He always has an alibi, and one or two to spare:At whatever time the deed took place—MACAVITY WASN'T THERE!And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the timeJust controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!

MR. MISTOFFELEES You ought to know Mr. Mistoffelees!The Original Conjuring Cat—(There can be no doubt about that).Please listen to me and don't scoff. All hisInventions are off his own bat.There's no such Cat in the metropolis;He holds all the patent monopoliesFor performing surprising illusionsAnd creating eccentric confusions.    At prestidigitation        And at legerdemain    He'll defy examination        And deceive you again.The greatest magicians have something to learnFrom Mr. Mistoffelees' Conjuring Turn.Presto!    Away we go!        And we all say: OH!            Well I never!            Was there ever            A Cat so clever                As Magical Mr. Mistoffelees! He is quiet and small, he is blackFrom his ears to the tip of his tail;He can creep through the tiniest crack,He can walk on the narrowest rail.He can pick any card from a pack,He is equally cunning with dice;He is always deceiving you into believingThat he's only hunting for mice.    He can play any trick with a cork        Or a spoon and a bit of fish-paste;    If you look for a knife or a fork        And you think it is merely misplaced—You have seen it one moment, and then it is gawn!But you'll find it next week lying out on the lawn.    And we all say: OH!        Well I never!        Was there ever        A Cat so clever            As Magical Mr. Mistoffelees! His manner is vague and aloof,You would think there was nobody shyer—But his voice has been heard on the roofWhen he was curled up by the fire.And he's sometimes been heard by the fireWhen he was about on the roof—(At least we all heard that somebody purred)Which is incontestable proof    Of his singular magical powers:        And I have known the family to call    Him in from the garden for hours,        While he was asleep in the hall.And not long ago this phenomenal CatProduced seven kittens right out of a hat!    And we all said: OH!        Well I never!        Did you ever        Know a Cat so clever            As Magical Mr. Mistoffelees!