So they went up to the Mock Turtle, who looked at them with large eyes full of tears.

“This here young lady,” said the Gryphon, “she wants for to know your history.”

“Once,” said the Mock Turtle at last, with a deep sigh, “I was a real turtle.  When we were little, we went to school in the sea.  The master was an old turtle.  We had the best of educations.  Reeling and Writhing, of course, to begin with, and then the different branches of Arithmetic—­Ambition, Distraction, Uglification, and Derision.”

“I never heard of ‘Uglification,’” Alice ventured to say.  “What is it?”

The Gryphon lifted up both its paws in surprise.

“Never heard of uglifying!” it exclaimed.  “You know what to beautify is, I suppose?”

“Yes,” said Alice doubtfully, “it means to—­make—­anything—­prettier.”

“Well, then,” the Gryphon went on, “if you don’t know what to uglify is, you are a simpleton.”

Alice did not feel encouraged to ask any more questions about it, so she turned to the Mock Turtle, and said, “What else had you to learn?”

“Well, there was Mystery,” the Mock Turtle replied, counting out the subjects on his flappers—­“Mystery, ancient and modern, with Seaography; then Drawling—­the Drawing-master was an old conger-eel, that used to come once a week; he taught us Drawling, Stretching, and Fainting in Coils.  The Classical master taught Laughing and Grief, they used to say.”

“And how many hours a day did you do lessons?” said Alice, in a hurry to change the subject.

“Ten hours the first day,” said the Mock Turtle; “nine the next, and so on.”

“What a curious plan!” exclaimed Alice.

“That’s the reason they’re called lessons,” the Gryphon remarked; “because they lessen from day to day.”

This was quite a new idea to Alice, and she thought it over a little before she made her next remark.  “Then the eleventh day must have been a holiday?”

“Of course it was,” said the Mock Turtle.

“And how did you manage on the twelfth?” Alice went on eagerly.

“That’s enough about lessons,” the Gryphon interrupted, in a very decided tone.  “Tell her something about the games.”

The Mock Turtle sighed deeply, and drew the back of one flapper across his eyes.

“Would you like to see a little of a Lobster Quadrille?” said he to Alice.

“Very much indeed,” said Alice.

“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 fore-paws to mark the time while the Mock Turtle sang this, very slowly and sadly.