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“Or else what?” said Alice, for the Knight had made a sudden pause.

“Or else it doesn‘t, you know. The name of the song is called ‘Haddocks’ Eyes.’ ”

“Oh, that’s the name of the song, is it?” Alice said, trying to feel interested.

“No, you don’t understand,” the Knight said, looking a little vexed. “That’s what the name is called. The name really is ‘The Aged Aged Man.’ ”

“Then I ought to have said ‘That’s what the song is called’?” Alice corrected herself.

“No, you oughtn’t: that’s quite another thing! The song is called ‘Ways And Means’: but that’s only what it’s called, you know!”

“Well, what is the song, then?” said Alice, who was by this time completely bewildered.

“I was coming to that.” the Knight said. “The song really is ‘A-sitting On A Gate’: and the tune’s my own invention.”

So saying, he stopped his horse and let the reins fall on its neck: then, slowly beating time with one hand, and with a faint smile lighting up his gentle foolish face, as if he enjoyed the music of his song, he began.

Of all the strange things that Alice saw in her journey Through The Looking-Glass, this was the one that she always remembered most clearly. Years afterwards she could bring the whole scene back again, as if it had been only yesterday—the mild blue eyes and kindly smile of the Knight—the setting sun gleaming through his hair, and shining on his armour in a blaze of light that quite dazzled her—the horse quietly moving about, with the reins hanging loose on his neck. cropping the grass at her feet—and the black shadows of the forest behind—all this she took in like a picture, as, with one hand shading her eyes, she leant against a tree, watching the strange pair, and listening, in a half-dream. to the melancholy music of the song.

“But the tune isn’t his own invention,” she said to herself: “it’s ‘I give thee all, I can no more.’ ” She stood and listened very attentively, but no tears came into her eyes.

“I’ll tell thee everything I can:

There’s little to relate.

I saw an aged aged man,

A-sitting on a gate.

‘Who are you, aged man?’ I said.

‘And how is it you live?’

And his answer trickled through my head,

Like water through a sieve.

“He said ‘I look for butterflies

That sleep among the wheat:

I make them into mutton-pies,

And sell them in the street.

I sell them unto men,’ he said.

‘Who sail on stormy seas;

And that’s the way I get my bread—

A trifle, if you please.’

“But I was thinking of a plan

To dye one’s whiskers green,

And always use so large a fan

That they could not be seen.

So, having no reply to give

To what the old man said,

I cried ‘Come, tell me how you live!’

And thumped him on the head.

“His accents mild took up the tale:

He said ‘I go my ways,

And when I find a mountain-rill,

I set it in a blaze;

And thence they make a stuff they call

Rowland’s Macassar-Oil—

Yet twopence-halfpenny is all

They give me for my toil.’

“But I was thinking of a way

To feed oneself on batter,

And so go on from day to day

Getting a little fatter.

I shook him well from side to side,

Until his face was blue:

‘Come, tell me how you live,’ I cried,

‘And what it is you do!’

“He said ‘I hunt for haddocks’ eyes

Among the heather bright,

And work them into waistcoat-buttons

In the silent night.

And these I do not sell for gold

Or coin of silvery shine,

But for a copper halfpenny,

And that will purchase nine.

“ ‘I sometimes dig for buttered rolls,

Or set limed twigs for crabs:

I sometimes search the grassy knolls

For wheels of Hansom-cabs.

And that’s the way’ (he gave a wink)

‘By which I get my wealth—

And very gladly will I drink

Your Honour’s noble health.’

“I heard him then, for I had just

Completed my design

To keep the Menai bridge from rust

By boiling it in wine.

I thanked him much for telling me

The way he got his wealth,

But chiefly for his wish that he

Might drink my noble health.

“And now, if e’er by chance I put

My fingers into glue,

Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot