So Alice ran off , thinking while she ran -LRB- as well she might -RRB- what a wonderful dream it had been . * * * * * But her sister sat there some while longer , watching the setting sun , and thinking of little Alice and her Adventures , till she too began dreaming after a fashion , and this was her dream : She saw an ancient city , and a quiet river winding near it along the plain , and up the stream went slowly gliding a boat with a merry party of children on board -- she could hear their voices and laughter like music over the water -- and among them was another little Alice , who sat listening with bright eager eyes to a tale that was being told , and she listened for the words of the tale , and lo ! it was the dream of her own little sister . So the boat wound slowly along , beneath the bright summer-day , with its merry crew and its music of voices and laughter , till it passed round one of the many turnings of the stream , and she saw it no more . Then she thought , -LRB- in a dream within the dream , as it were , -RRB- how this same little Alice would , in the after-time , be herself a grown woman : and how she would keep , through her riper years , the simple and loving heart of her childhood : and how she would gather around her other little children , and make their eyes bright and eager with many a wonderful tale , perhaps even with these very adventures of the little Alice 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 . -LSB- Illustration -RSB- happy summer days . THE END . * * * * * POSTSCRIPT . The profits , if any , of this book will be given to Children 's Hospitals and Convalescent Homes for Sick Children ; and the accounts , down to June 30 in each year , will be published in the St. James 's Gazette , on the second Tuesday of the following December . P.P.S. -- The thought , so prettily expressed by the little boy , is also to be found in Longfellow 's `` Hiawatha , '' where he appeals to those who believe '' That the feeble hands and helpless , Groping blindly in the darkness , Touch GOD 'S right hand in that darkness , And are lifted up and strengthened . '' * * * * * `` Who will Riddle me the How and the Why ? '' So questions one of England 's sweetest singers . The `` How ? '' has already been told , after a fashion , in the verses prefixed to `` Alice in Wonderland '' ; and some other memories of that happy summer day are set down , for those who care to see them , in this little book -- the germ that was to grow into the published volume . But the `` Why ? '' can not , and need not , be put into words . Those for whom a child 's mind is a sealed book , and who see no divinity in a child 's smile , would read such words in vain : while for any one that has ever loved one true child , no words are needed . For he will have known the awe that falls on one in the presence of a spirit fresh from GOD 'S hands , on whom no shadow of sin , and but the outermost fringe of the shadow of sorrow , has yet fallen : he will have felt the bitter contrast between the haunting selfishness that spoils his best deeds and the life that is but an overflowing love -- for I think a child 's first attitude to the world is a simple love for all living things : and he will have learned that the best work a man can do is when he works for love 's sake only , with no thought of name , or gain , or earthly reward . No deed of ours , I suppose , on this side the grave , is really unselfish : yet if one can put forth all one 's powers in a task where nothing of reward is hoped for but a little child 's whispered thanks , and the airy touch of a little child 's pure lips , one seems to come somewhere near to this . There was no idea of publication in my mind when I wrote this little book : that was wholly an afterthought , pressed on me by the `` perhaps too partial friends '' who always have to bear the blame when a writer rushes into print : and I can truly say that no praise of theirs has ever given me one hundredth part of the pleasure it has been to think of the sick children in hospitals -LRB- where it has been a delight to me to send copies -RRB- forgetting , for a few bright hours , their pain and weariness -- perhaps thinking lovingly of the unknown writer of the tale -- perhaps even putting up a childish prayer -LRB- and oh , how much it needs ! -RRB-
for one who can but dimly hope to stand , some XXXXX , not quite out of sight of those pure young faces , before the great white throne .
Alice England P.P.S. afterthought day hours hundredth summer-day year years