Then I told how for seven long years， in hope sometimes， sometimes in despair， yet persisting ever， I courted the fair Alice W. and， as much as children could understand， I explained to them what coyness， and difficulty， and denial meant in madness — when suddenly turning to Alice， the soul of the first Alice looked out at her eyes with such a reality of representment， that I became in doubt which of them stood there before me， or whose that bright hair was； and while stood gazing， both the children gradually grew fainter to my view， receding， and still receding， fill nothing at last but two mournful features were seen in the utter most distance， which， without speech， strangely impressed upon me the effects of speech： "We are not of Alice， nor of thee， nor are we children at all. The children of Alice call Barman father. We are nothing； less than nothing， and dreams. We are only what might have been， and must wait upon the tedious shores of Lethe millions of ages before we have existence， and a name" and immediately awaking， I found myself quietly seated in my bachelor armchair， where I had fallen asleep， with the faithful Bridget unchanged by my side — but John L.(or James Elia) was gone forever.
孩子們都愛聽長輩們年少時的故事，他們會對素未謀麵的叔公或老祖母展開想象。在一個夜晚，正是帶著這種精神，我的孩子們圍在我身邊，聽他們老祖母菲爾德的故事。菲爾德住在諾福克郡的一所大房子裏（要比我們現在住的大一百倍）。那是一個發生過悲劇的地方——至少當地人都這樣認為。孩子們最近從《林中的孩子》這首民謠中知道了諾福克郡大房子裏的故事。實際上，孩子們、凶殘叔叔和知更鳥的整個故事，竟然被雕刻在那所房子客廳的壁爐架上，直到一個愚蠢而又富有的人把它變成一塊現代的大理石。故事講到這裏時，艾麗絲臉上表現出酷似她親愛的母親的神情，溫柔得讓人不忍心再去責難。