and - and barley-sugar and such things that make children sweet-tempered. I only wish people knew _that_: then they wouldn't be so stingy about it, you know -" hot, sour, bitter, sweet . . , , , ("" - "" "" - ""), . , , ( - "", "" .) . IV " " "The Rabbit Sends in a Little Bill". _Bill_, . . (, _bill_ - "", "" - .) , _a Little Bill_ " ", " " (, .). , (__, __, ). , , - " ", - . . * * * . , , , , , , , , . ; - , , . , , , , -, . - , , . " " , : {W. Weaver. Alice in Many Tongues, p. 80. : J. M. Shaw. The Parodies of Lewis Carroll and Their Originals. December, 1960, Florida State University Library. . .}. , , , , , , "", , . : " , , -. - , , , , , . , - , , . , , , , , , , , , ... , : " . , - " {Ibid., p. 85.}. "" , , " ", . . , . ', . . -. V " " " " {. . "", . 41.}. "" . . : . , , . . , , , . , , . . [...] . . ( ) , , , , , . . . , , - " " { (William Roscoe, 1753-1831) - " " (The Butterfly's Ball, 1806), . XIX . ; , , . .}, XIX . , , , {, . . , , , .}. . -, . , , . , . , : 167 ., , . . , . " ", , , , . - : "You are old, father William", the young man cried, "The jew locks that are left you are grey; You are hale, father William, a hearty old man, Now tell me the reason, I pray". "In the days of my youth", father William replied, "I remember'd that youth would fly fast, And abus'd not my health and my vigour at first, That I never might need them at last..." : "You are old, father William", the young man said, "And your hair has become very white; And yet yon incessantly stand on your head - Do you think, at your age, it is right?" "In my youtn", father William replied to his son, "I feared it might injure the brain; But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none. Why, I do it again and again..." . . : - , - , - . . , , ? - , - , - . , , , ... , "", , . . "" . "", "" . . . - ... - , - , - . , . , ? - , - . - : . , ... "", " " , . , , , . "" . - " " . . "- , - . - , __ , - . - . - , , - ". "", , , . "" , . . , , "" . , , , , . , - "" . , , , . "", - , . "First, the fish must be caught". That is easy: a baby, I think, could have caught it. "Next, the fish must be bought". That is easy: a penny, I think, would have bought it. "Now cook me the fish!" That is easy, and will not take more than a minute. "Let it lie in a dish!" That is easy, because it already is in it. "Bring it here! Let me sup!" It is easy to set such a dish on the table, - "Take the dish-cover up!" Ah, that is so hard that I fear I'm unable! For it holds it like glue - Holds the lid to the dish, while it lies in the middle: Which is easiest to do U_n-d_i_s_h-c_o_v_e_r the fish, or d_i_s_h__o_v_e_r the riddle? ( . - . .) , - , , , "" . . . : . . . . . ? , - . " !" . . " !" , , ! - - _____ ____ _______? ( . - . .) : _, , _ un-dish-cover dishcover. . . . , , , - 1960 . . , , , , ! , , . , , , . ! , . . . 1967 . {. . 219.}. , . - ""; , . , , , . - , , , , - ; , . "They told me you had been to her, And mentioned me to him: She gave me a good character, But said I could not swim. He sent them word I had not gone (We know it to be true): If she should push the matter on. What would become of you? I gave her one, they gave him two, You gave us three or more; They all returned from him to yon, Though they were mine before. If I or she should chance to be Involved in this affair, He trusts to you to set them free, Exactly as we were. My notion was that you had been (Before she had this fit) An obstacle that came between Him, and ourselves, and it. Don't let him know she liked them best, For this must ever be A secret, kept from all the rest, Between yourself and me". (. XII " ", " "). , "" . , , , . , "" . . , , , "" "" . "", . - , - , , . - "Jabberwocky" - . - . . , . , , , . , , . . . , . : , , , . , , . " " . , , , , . : "- "_, , _..." - . - __, ? - , , - . ( , , , , , ). - "_ _..." - . - - __, ? - , - . , , , : - ! ! - -, , - . - _ _, __! . . - ! - . ". , "" . . - "", "" , , - . , , , : A boat, beneath a sunny sky Lingering onward dreamily In an evening of July - Children three that nestle near. Eager eye and willing ear, Pleased a simple tale to hear - Long has paled that sunny sky: Echoes fade and memories die: Autumn frosts have slain July. Still she haunts me, phantomwise, Alice moving under skies Never seen by waking eyes. Children yet, the tale to hear, Eager eye and willing ear, Lovingly shall nestle near. In a Wonderland they lie, Dreaming as the days go by, Dreaming as the summers die: Ever drifting down the stream - Lingering in the golden gleam - Life, what is it but a dream? . , . , . "", , , , . , , . . - . * * * "... , . , !". , . , ( ) , , ... "" - , , , , , , . , .