such as gunpowder and sealing-wax. And here I must leave you.’ They had just come to the end of the wood.

Alice could only look puzzled: she was thinking of the pudding.

‘You are sad,’ the Knight said in an anxious tone: ‘let me sing you a song to comfort you.’

‘Is it very long?’ Alice asked, for she had heard a good deal of poetry that day.

‘It’s long,’ said the Knight, ‘but very, very beautiful. Everybody that hears me sing it — either it brings the tears into their eyes, or else — ’

‘Or else what?’ said Alice, for the Knight had made a sudden pause.

‘Or else it doesn’t,