'and How, Who Am I?

And Ever, As The Story Drained The Wells Of Fancy Dry, And Faintly Strove That Weary One To Put The Subject By, "the Rest Next Time--" "it Is Next Time!" The Happy Voice Cry. Thus Grew The Tale Of Wonderland

When, As A Child, I First Opened My Eyes On A Sunday-morning, A Feeling Of Dismal Anicipation, Which Began At Least On The Friday,culminated. I Knew What Was Before Me, And My Wish, If Not My Word, Was "would God It Were Evening!" It Was No Day Of Rest, But A Day Of Texts, Of Catechisms (watts'), Of Tracts About Converted Swearers, Godly Charwomen, And Edifying Deaths Of Sinners Saved.... There Was But One Rosy Spot, In The Distance, All That Day: And That Was "bed-time," Which Never Could Come Too Early!

Who Can Tell Whether The Parallelogram, Which In Our Ignorance We Have Defined And Drawn, And The Whole Of Whose Properties We Profess To Know, May Not Be All The While Panting For Exterior Angles, Sympathetic With The Interior, Or Sullenly Repining At The Fact That It Cannot Be Inscribed In A Circle?

Well That Was The Silliest Tea Party I Ever Went To! I Am Never Going Back There Again!

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 !