some time busily writing in his note-book, cackled out ‘Silence!’ and read out from his book, ‘Rule Forty-two. ALL PERSONS MORE THAN A MILE HIGH TO LEAVE THE COURT.’ Everybody looked at Alice. ‘I’M not a mile high,’ said Alice. ‘You are,’ said the King. ‘Nearly two miles high,’ added the Queen. ‘Well, I shan’t go, at any rate,’ said Alice: ‘besides, that’s not a regular rule: you invented it just now.’ ‘It’s the oldest rule in the book,’ said the King. ‘Then it ought to be Number One,’ said Alice. The King turned pale, and shut his note-book hastily. ‘Consider your verdict,’ he said to the jury, in a low, trembling voice. ‘There’s more evidence to come yet, please your Majesty,’ said the White Rabbit, jumping up in a great hurry; ‘this paper has just been picked up.’ ‘What’s in it?’ said the Queen. ‘I haven’t opened it yet,’ said the White Rabbit, ‘but it seems to be a letter, written by the prisoner to--to somebody.’ ‘It must have been that,’ said the King, ‘unless it was written to nobody, which isn’t usual, you know.’ ‘Who is it directed to?’ said one of the jurymen. ‘It isn’t directed at all,’ said the White Rabbit; ‘in fact, there’s nothing written on the OUTSIDE.’ He unfolded the paper as he spoke, and added ‘It isn’t a letter, after all: it’s a set of verses.’ ‘Are they in the prisoner’s handwriting?’ asked another of the jurymen. ‘No, they’re not,’ said the White Rabbit, ‘and that’s the queerest thing about it.’ (The jury all looked puzzled.) ‘He must have imitated somebody else’s hand,’ said the King. (The jury all brightened up again.) ‘Please your Majesty,’ said the Knave, ‘I didn’t write it, and they can’t prove I did: there’s no name signed at the end.’ ‘If you didn’t sign it,’ said the King, ‘that only makes the matter worse. You MUST have meant some mischief, or else you’d have signed your name like an honest man.’ There was a general clapping of hands at this: it was the first really clever thing the King had said that day. ‘Tha