Produced by An Anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteer SYLVIE and BRUNO By Lewis Carroll Is all our Life, then but a dream Seen faintly in the goldern gleam Athwart Time's dark resistless stream? Bowed to the earth with bitter woe Or laughing at some raree-show We flutter idly to and fro. Man's little Day in haste we spend, And, from its merry noontide, send No glance to meet the silent end. CONTENTS SYLVIE AND BRUNO CHAPTER 1. LESS BREAD! MORE TAXES! CHAPTER 2. L'AMIE INCONNUE. CHAPTER 3. BIRTHDAY-PRESENTS. CHAPTER 4. A CUNNING CONSPIRACY. CHAPTER 5. A BEGGAR'S PALACE. CHAPTER 6. THE MAGIC LOCKET. CHAPTER 7. THE BARONS EMBASSY. CHAPTER 8. A RIDE ON A LION. CHAPTER 9. A JESTER AND A BEAR. CHAPTER 10. THE OTHER PROFESSOR. CHAPTER 11. PETER AND PAUL. CHAPTER 12. A MUSICAL GARDENER. CHAPTER 13. A VISIT TO DOGLAND. CHAPTER 14. FAIRY-SYLVIE. CHAPTER 15. BRUNO'S REVENGE. CHAPTER 16. A CHANGED CROCODILE. CHAPTER 17. THE THREE BADGERS. CHAPTER 18. QUEER STREET, NUMBER FORTY. CHAPTER 19. HOW TO MAKE A PHLIZZ. CHAPTER 20. LIGHT COME, LIGHT GO. CHAPTER 21. THROUGH THE IVORY DOOR. CHAPTER 22. CROSSING THE LINE. CHAPTER 23. AN OUTLANDISH WATCH. CHAPTER 24. THE FROGS' BIRTHDAY-TREAT. CHAPTER 25. LOOKING EASTWARD. PREFACE. SYLVIE AND BRUNO CHAPTER 1. LESS BREAD! MORE TAXES! --and then all the people cheered again, and one man, who was more excited than the rest, flung his hat high into the air, and shouted (as well as I could make out) “Who roar for the Sub-Warden?” Everybody roared, but whether it was for the Sub-Warden, or not, did not clearly appear: some were shouting “Bread!” and some “Taxes!”, but no one seemed to know what it was they really wanted. All this I saw from the open window of the Warden's breakfast-saloon, looking across the shoulder of the Lord Chancellor, who had sprung to his feet the moment the shouting began, almost as if he had been expecting it, and had rushed to the window which commanded the best view of the market-place. “What can it all mean?” he kept repeating to himself, as, with his hands clasped behind him, and his gown floating in the air, he paced rapidly up and down the room. “I never heard such shouting before--and at this time of the morning, too! And with such unanimity! Doesn't it strike you as very remarkable?” I represented, modestly, that to my ears it appeared that they were shouting for different things, but the Chancellor would not listen to my suggestion for a moment. “They all shout the same words, I assure you!” he said: then, leaning well out of the window, he whispered to a man who was standing close underneath, “Keep'em together, ca'n't you? The Warden will be here directly. Give'em the signal for the march up!” All this was evidently not meant for my ears, but I could scarcely help hearing it, considering that my chin was almost on the Chancellor's shoulder. The 'march up' was a very curious sight: