“UNERRINGLY SHE PINNED IT DOWN.”
“HE FALTERED ‘GIFTS MAY PASS AWAY.’”
| “The world is but a Thought,” said he: “The vast unfathomable sea Is but a Notion—unto me.” And darkly fell her answer dread Upon his unresisting head, Like half a hundredweight of lead. “The Good and Great must ever shun That reckless and abandoned one Who stoops to perpetrate a pun. “The man that smokes—that reads the Times— That goes to Christmas Pantomimes— Is capable of any crimes!” He felt it was his turn to speak, And, with a shamed and crimson cheek, Moaned “This is harder than Bezique!” But when she asked him “Wherefore so?” He felt his very whiskers glow, And frankly owned “I do not know.” |
“THIS IS HARDER THAN BEZIQUE!”
“HE SPAKE, NEGLECTING SOUND AND SENSE.”
| Then, having wholly overthrown His views, and stripped them to the bone, Proceeded to unfold her own. “Shall Man be Man? And shall he miss Of other thoughts no thought but this, Harmonious dews of sober bliss? “What boots it? Shall his fevered eye Through towering nothingness descry The grisly phantom hurry by? “And hear dumb shrieks that fill the air; See mouths that gape, and eyes that stare And redden in the dusky glare? “The meadows breathing amber light, The darkness toppling from the height, The feathery train of granite Night? “Shall he, grown gray among his peers, Through the thick curtain of his tears Catch glimpses of his earlier years, |
“SHALL MAN BE MAN?”
“HE SAT AND WATCHED THE COMING TIDE”
| He wondered at the waters clear, The breeze that whispered in his ear, The billows heaving far and near, And why he had so long preferred To hang upon her every word: “In truth,” he said, “it was absurd.” |
“HE GROANED AGHAST”
“TORTURED, UNAIDED, AND ALONE”
| But saddest, darkest was the sight, When the cold grasp of leaden Night Dashed him to earth, and held him tight. Tortured, unaided, and alone, Thunders were silence to his groan, Bagpipes sweet music to its tone: “What? Ever thus, in dismal round, Shall Pain and Mystery profound Pursue me like a sleepless hound, “With crimson-dashed and eager jaws, Me, still in ignorance of the cause, Unknowing what I broke of laws?” The whisper to his ear did seem Like echoed flow of silent stream, Or shadow of forgotten dream, The whisper trembling in the wind: “Her fate with thine was intertwined,” So spake it in his inner mind: |
“A SCARED DULLARD, GIBBERING LOW”
| “Each orbed on each a baleful star: Each proved the other’s blight and bar: Each unto each were best, most far: “Yea, each to each was worse than foe: Thou, a scared dullard, gibbering low, And she, an avalanche of woe!” |
[Why is it that Poetry has never yet been subjected to that process of Dilution which has proved so advantageous to her sister-art Music? The Diluter gives us first a few notes of some well-known Air, then a dozen bars of his own, then a few more notes of the Air, and so on alternately: thus saving the listener, if not from all risk of recognising the melody at all, at least from the too-exciting transports which it might produce in a more concentrated form. The process is termed “setting” by Composers, and any one, that has ever experienced the emotion of being unexpectedly set down in a heap of mortar, will recognise the truthfulness of this happy phrase.
For truly, just as the genuine Epicure lingers lovingly over a morsel of supreme Venison—whose every fibre seems to murmur “Excelsior!”—yet swallows, ere returning to the toothsome dainty, great mouthfuls of oatmeal-porridge and winkles: and just as the perfect Connoisseur in Claret permits himself but one delicate sip, and then tosses off a pint or more of boarding-school beer: so also——
| I never loved a dear Gazelle— Nor anything that cost me much: High prices profit those who sell, But why should I be fond of such? To glad me with his soft black eye My son comes trotting home from school; He’s had a fight, but can’t tell why— He always was a little fool! But, when he came to know me well, He kicked me out, her testy Sire: And when I stained my hair, that Belle, Might note the change, and thus admire And love me, it was sure to dye A muddy green or staring blue: Whilst one might trace, with half an eye, The still triumphant carrot through. |
| Five little girls, of Five, Four, Three, Two, One: Rolling on the hearthrug, full of tricks and fun. Five rosy girls, in years from Ten to Six: Sitting down to lessons—no more time for tricks. Five growing girls, from Fifteen to Eleven: Music, Drawing, Languages, and food enough for seven! Five winsome girls, from Twenty to Sixteen: Each young man that calls, I say “Now tell me which you mean!” |
“NOW TELL ME WHICH YOU MEAN!”
| Five dashing girls, the youngest Twenty-one: But, if nobody proposes, what is there to be done? Five showy girls—but Thirty is an age When girls may be engaging, but they somehow don’t engage. Five dressy girls, of Thirty-one or more: So gracious to the shy young men they snubbed so much before! ****** Five passé girls—Their age? Well, never mind! We jog along together, like the rest of human kind: But the quondam “careless bachelor” begins to think he knows The answer to that ancient problem “how the money goes”! |
“THE WILD MAN WENT HIS WEARY WAY”
PREFACE.
If—and the thing is wildly possible—the charge of writing nonsense were ever brought against the author of this brief but instructive poem, it would be based, I feel convinced, on the line (in p. 144)
“Then the bowsprit got mixed with the rudder sometimes:”
In view of this painful possibility, I will not (as I might) appeal indignantly to my other writings as a proof that I am incapable of such a deed: I will not (as I might) point to the strong moral purpose of this poem itself, to the arithmetical principles so cautiously inculcated in it, or to its noble teachings in Natural History—I will take the more prosaic course of simply explaining how it happened.
The Bellman, who was almost morbidly sensitive about appearances, used to have the bowsprit unshipped once or twice a week to be revarnished; and it more than once happened, when the time came for replacing it, that no one on board could remember which end of the ship it belonged to. They knew it was not of the slightest use to appeal to the Bellman about it—he would only refer to his Naval Code, and read out in pathetic tones Admiralty Instructions which none of them had ever been able to understand—so it generally ended in its being fastened on, anyhow, across the rudder. The helmsman[1] used to stand by with tears in his eyes: he knew it was all wrong, but alas! Rule 42 of the Code, “No one shall speak to the Man at the Helm,” had been completed by the Bellman himself with the words “and the Man at the Helm shall speak to no one.” So remonstrance was impossible, and no steering could be done till the next varnishing day. During these bewildering intervals the ship usually sailed backwards.
As this poem is to some extent connected with the lay of the Jabberwock, let me take this opportunity of answering a question that has often been asked me, how to pronounce “slithy toves.” The “i” in “slithy” is long, as in “writhe”; and “toves” is pronounced so as to rhyme with “groves.” Again, the first “o” in “borogoves” is pronounced like the “o” in “borrow.” I have heard people try to give it the sound of the “o” in “worry.” Such is Human Perversity.
This also seems a fitting occasion to notice the other hard words in that poem. Humpty-Dumpty’s theory, of two meanings packed into one word like a portmanteau, seems to me the right explanation for all.
For instance, take the two words “fuming” and “furious.” Make up your mind that you will say both words, but leave it unsettled which you will say first. Now open your mouth and speak. If your thoughts incline ever so little towards “fuming,” you will say “fuming-furious”; if they turn, by even a hair’s breadth towards “furious,” you will say “furious-fuming”; but if you have that rarest of gifts, a perfectly balanced mind, you will say “frumious.”
Supposing that, when Pistol uttered the well-known words—
“Under which king, Bezonian? Speak or die!”
Justice Shallow had felt certain that it was either William or Richard, but had not been able to settle which, so that he could not possibly say either name before the other, can it be doubted that, rather than die, he would have gasped out “Rilchiam!”
THE LANDING.
| “Just the place for a Snark!” the Bellman cried, As he landed his crew with care; Supporting each man on the top of the tide By a finger entwined in his hair. “Just the place for a Snark! I have said it twice: That alone should encourage the crew. Just the place for a Snark! I have said it thrice: What I tell you three times is true.” The crew was complete: it included a Boots— A maker of Bonnets and Hoods— A Barrister, brought to arrange their disputes— And a Broker, to value their goods. |
“SUPPORTING EACH MAN ON THE TOP OF THE TIDE”
| A Billiard-marker, whose skill was immense, Might perhaps have won more than his share— But a Banker, engaged at enormous expense, Had the whole of their cash in his care. There was also a Beaver, that paced on the deck, Or would sit making lace in the bow: And had often (the Bellman said) saved them from wreck, Though none of the sailors knew how. There was one who was famed for the number of things He forgot when he entered the ship: His umbrella, his watch, all his jewels and rings, And the clothes he had bought for the trip. He had forty-two boxes, all carefully packed, With his name painted clearly on each: But since he omitted to mention the fact, They were all left behind on the beach. The loss of his clothes hardly mattered, because He had seven coats on when he came, With three pair of boots—but the worst of it was He had wholly forgotten his name. |
“HE HAD WHOLLY FORGOTTEN HIS NAME”
“THE BEAVER KEPT LOOKING THE OPPOSITE WAY”
| Navigation was always a difficult art, Though with only one ship and one bell: And he feared he must really decline, for his part, Undertaking another as well. The Beaver’s best course was, no doubt, to procure A second-hand dagger-proof coat— So the Baker advised it—and next, to insure Its life in some Office of note: This the Banker suggested, and offered for hire (On moderate terms), or for sale, Two excellent Policies, one Against Fire, And one Against Damage From Hail. Yet still, ever after that sorrowful day, Whenever the Butcher was by, The Beaver kept looking the opposite way, And appeared unaccountably shy. |
THE BELLMAN’S SPEECH.
| The Bellman himself they all praised to the skies— Such a carriage, such ease and such grace! Such solemnity, too! One could see he was wise, The moment one looked in his face! He had bought a large map representing the sea, Without the least vestige of land: And the crew were much pleased when they found it to be A map they could all understand. “What’s the good of Mercator’s North Poles and Equators, Tropics, Zones, and Meridian Lines?” So the Bellman would cry: and the crew would reply “They are merely conventional signs! |