The following sections of this BookRags Literature Study Guide is offprint from Gale's For Students Series: Presenting Analysis, Context, and Criticism on Commonly Studied Works: Introduction, Author Biography, Plot Summary, Characters, Themes, Style, Historical Context, Critical Overview, Criticism and Critical Essays, Media Adaptations, Topics for Further Study, Compare & Contrast, What Do I Read Next?, For Further Study, and Sources.
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The following sections, if they exist, are offprint from Beacham's Guide to Literature for Young Adults: "About the Author", "Overview", "Setting", "Literary Qualities", "Social Sensitivity", "Topics for Discussion", "Ideas for Reports and Papers". (c)1994-2005, by Walton Beacham.
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PREFACE | 1 |
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.4)
“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 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 works 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 the 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!”
Fit the First
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.
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 pairs of boots—but the worst
of it was,
He had wholly forgotten
his name.
He would answer to “Hi!” or to any loud
cry,
Such as “Fry me!”
or “Fritter my wig!”
To “What-you-may-call-um!” or “What-was-his-name!”
But especially “Thing-um-a-jig!”
While, for those who preferred a more forcible word,
He had different names
from these:
His intimate friends called him “Candle-ends,”
And his enemies “Toasted-cheese.”
“His form is ungainly—his intellect
small—”
(So the Bellman would
often remark)
“But his courage is perfect! And that,
after all,
Is the thing that one
needs with a Snark.”
He would joke with hyenas, returning their stare
With an impudent wag
of the head:
And he once went a walk, paw-in-paw, with a bear,
“Just to keep
up its spirits,” he said.
He came as a Baker: but owned, when too late—
And it drove the poor
Bellman half-mad—
He could only bake Bridecake—for which,
I may state,
No materials were to
be had.
The last of the crew needs especial remark,
Though he looked an
incredible dunce:
He had just one idea—but, that one being
“Snark,”
The good Bellman engaged
him at once.
He came as a Butcher: but gravely declared,
When the ship had been
sailing a week,
He could only kill Beavers. The Bellman looked
scared,
And was almost too frightened
to speak:
But at length he explained, in a tremulous tone,
There was only one Beaver
on board;
And that was a tame one he had of his own,
Whose death would be
deeply deplored.
The Beaver, who happened to hear the remark,
Protested, with tears
in its eyes,
That not even the rapture of hunting the Snark
Could atone for that
dismal surprise!
It strongly advised that the Butcher should be
Conveyed in a separate
ship:
But the Bellman declared that would never agree
With the plans he had
made for the trip:
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.
Fit the Second
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!
“Other maps are such shapes, with their islands
and capes!
But we’ve got
our brave Captain to thank:
(So the crew would protest) “that he’s
bought us the best—
A perfect and absolute
blank!”
This was charming, no doubt; but they shortly found
out
That the Captain they
trusted so well
Had only one notion for crossing the ocean,
And that was to tingle
his bell.
He was thoughtful and grave—but the orders
he gave
Were enough to bewilder
a crew.
When he cried “Steer to starboard, but keep
her head larboard!”
What on earth was the
helmsman to do?
Then the bowsprit got mixed with the rudder sometimes:
A thing, as the Bellman
remarked,
That frequently happens in tropical climes,
When a vessel is, so
to speak, “snarked.”
But the principal failing occurred in the sailing,
And the Bellman, perplexed
and distressed,
Said he had hoped, at least, when the wind blew due
East,
That the ship would
not travel due West!
But the danger was past—they had landed
at last,
With their boxes, portmanteaus,
and bags:
Yet at first sight the crew were not pleased with
the view,
Which consisted to chasms
and crags.
The Bellman perceived that their spirits were low,
And repeated in musical
tone
Some jokes he had kept for a season of woe—
But the crew would do
nothing but groan.
He served out some grog with a liberal hand,
And bade them sit down
on the beach:
And they could not but own that their Captain looked
grand,
As he stood and delivered
his speech.
“Friends, Romans, and countrymen, lend me your
ears!”
(They were all of them
fond of quotations:
So they drank to his health, and they gave him three
cheers,
While he served out
additional rations).
“We have sailed many months, we have sailed
many weeks,
(Four weeks to the month
you may mark),
But never as yet (’tis your Captain who speaks)
Have we caught the least
glimpse of a Snark!
“We have sailed many weeks, we have sailed many
days,
(Seven days to the week
I allow),
But a Snark, on the which we might lovingly gaze,
We have never beheld
till now!
“Come, listen, my men, while I tell you again
The five unmistakable
marks
By which you may know, wheresoever you go,
The warranted genuine
Snarks.
“Let us take them in order. The first
is the taste,
Which is meager and
hollow, but crisp:
Like a coat that is rather too tight in the waist,
With a flavour of Will-o-the-wisp.
“Its habit of getting up late you’ll agree
That it carries too
far, when I say
That it frequently breakfasts at five-o’clock
tea,
And dines on the following
day.
“The third is its slowness in taking a jest.
Should you happen to
venture on one,
It will sigh like a thing that is deeply distressed:
And it always looks
grave at a pun.
“The fourth is its fondness for bathing-machines,
Which is constantly
carries about,
And believes that they add to the beauty of scenes—
A sentiment open to
doubt.
“The fifth is ambition. It next will be
right
To describe each particular
batch:
Distinguishing those that have feathers, and bite,
And those that have
whiskers, and scratch.
“For, although common Snarks do no manner of
harm,
Yet, I feel it my duty
to say,
Some are Boojums—” The Bellman broke
off in alarm,
For the Baker had fainted
away.
Fit the Third
The BAKER’S tale
They roused him with muffins—they roused
him with ice—
They roused him with
mustard and cress—
They roused him with jam and judicious advice—
They set him conundrums
to guess.
When at length he sat up and was able to speak,
His sad story he offered
to tell;
And the Bellman cried “Silence! Not even
a shriek!”
And excitedly tingled
his bell.
There was silence supreme! Not a shriek, not
a scream,
Scarcely even a howl
or a groan,
As the man they called “Ho!” told his
story of woe
In an antediluvian tone.
“My father and mother were honest, though poor—”
“Skip all that!”
cried the Bellman in haste.
“If it once becomes dark, there’s no chance
of a Snark—
We have hardly a minute
to waste!”
“I skip forty years,” said the Baker,
in tears,
“And proceed without
further remark
To the day when you took me aboard of your ship
To help you in hunting
the Snark.
“A dear uncle of mine (after whom I was named)
Remarked, when I bade
him farewell—”
“Oh, skip your dear uncle!” the Bellman
exclaimed,
As he angrily tingled
his bell.
“He remarked to me then,” said that mildest
of men,
" ’If your Snark
be a Snark, that is right:
Fetch it home by all means—you may serve
it with greens,
And it’s handy
for striking a light.
" ’You may seek it with thimbles—and
seek it with care;
You may hunt it with
forks and hope;
You may threaten its life with a railway-share;
You may charm it with
smiles and soap—’ "
("That’s exactly the method,” the Bellman
bold
In a hasty parenthesis
cried,
“That’s exactly the way I have always
been told
That the capture of
Snarks should be tried!”)
" ’But oh, beamish nephew, beware of the day,
If your Snark be a Boojum!
For then
You will softly and suddenly vanish away,
And never be met with
again!’
“It is this, it is this that oppresses my soul,
When I think of my uncle’s
last words:
And my heart is like nothing so much as a bowl
Brimming over with quivering
curds!
“It is this, it is this—” “We
have had that before!”
The Bellman indignantly
said.
And the Baker replied “Let me say it once more.
It is this, it is this
that I dread!
“I engage with the Snark—every night
after dark—
In a dreamy delirious
fight:
I serve it with greens in those shadowy scenes,
And I use it for striking
a light:
“But if ever I meet with a Boojum, that day,
In a moment (of this
I am sure),
I shall softly and suddenly vanish away—
And the notion I cannot
endure!”
Fit the fourth
The hunting
The Bellman looked uffish, and wrinkled his brow.
“If only you’d
spoken before!
It’s excessively awkward to mention it now,
With the Snark, so to
speak, at the door!
“We should all of us grieve, as you well may
believe,
If you never were met
with again—
But surely, my man, when the voyage began,
You might have suggested
it then?
“It’s excessively awkward to mention it
now—
As I think I’ve
already remarked.”
And the man they called “Hi!” replied,
with a sigh,
“I informed you
the day we embarked.
“You may charge me with murder—or
want of sense—
(We are all of us weak
at times):
But the slightest approach to a false pretence
Was never among my crimes!
“I said it in Hebrew—I said it in
Dutch—
I said it in German
and Greek:
But I wholly forgot (and it vexes me much)
That English is what
you speak!”
“’Tis a pitiful tale,” said the
Bellman, whose face
Had grown longer at
every word:
“But, now that you’ve stated the whole
of your case,
More debate would be
simply absurd.
“The rest of my speech” (he explained
to his men)
“You shall hear
when I’ve leisure to speak it.
But the Snark is at hand, let me tell you again!
’Tis your glorious
duty to seek it!
“To seek it with thimbles, to seek it with care;
To pursue it with forks
and hope;
To threaten its life with a railway-share;
To charm it with smiles
and soap!
“For the Snark’s a peculiar creature,
that won’t
Be caught in a commonplace
way.
Do all that you know, and try all that you don’t:
Not a chance must be
wasted to-day!
“For England expects—I forbear to
proceed:
’Tis a maxim tremendous,
but trite:
And you’d best be unpacking the things that
you need
To rig yourselves out
for the fight.”
Then the Banker endorsed a blank cheque (which he
crossed),
And changed his loose
silver for notes.
The Baker with care combed his whiskers and hair,
And shook the dust out
of his coats.
The Boots and the Broker were sharpening a spade—
Each working the grindstone
in turn:
But the Beaver went on making lace, and displayed
No interest in the concern:
Though the Barrister tried to appeal to its pride,
And vainly proceeded
to cite
A number of cases, in which making laces
Had been proved an infringement
of right.
The maker of Bonnets ferociously planned
A novel arrangement
of bows:
While the Billiard-marker with quivering hand
Was chalking the tip
of his nose.
But the Butcher turned nervous, and dressed himself
fine,
With yellow kid gloves
and a ruff—
Said he felt it exactly like going to dine,
Which the Bellman declared
was all “stuff.”
“Introduce me, now there’s a good fellow,”
he said,
“If we happen
to meet it together!”
And the Bellman, sagaciously nodding his head,
Said “That must
depend on the weather.”
The Beaver went simply galumphing about,
At seeing the Butcher
so shy:
And even the Baker, though stupid and stout,
Made an effort to wink
with one eye.
“Be a man!” said the Bellman in wrath,
as he heard
The Butcher beginning
to sob.
“Should we meet with a Jubjub, that desperate
bird,
We shall need all our
strength for the job!”
Fit the Fifth
The beaver’s lesson
They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with
care;
They pursued it with
forks and hope;
They threatened its life with a railway-share;
They charmed it with
smiles and soap.
Then the Butcher contrived an ingenious plan
For making a separate
sally;
And fixed on a spot unfrequented by man,
A dismal and desolate
valley.
But the very same plan to the Beaver occurred:
It had chosen the very
same place:
Yet neither betrayed, by a sign or a word,
The disgust that appeared
in his face.
Each thought he was thinking of nothing but “Snark”
And the glorious work
of the day;
And each tried to pretend that he did not remark
That the other was going
that way.
But the valley grew narrow and narrower still,
And the evening got
darker and colder,
Till (merely from nervousness, not from goodwill)
They marched along shoulder
to shoulder.
Then a scream, shrill and high, rent the shuddering
sky,
And they knew that some
danger was near:
The Beaver turned pale to the tip of its tail,
And even the Butcher
felt queer.
He thought of his childhood, left far far behind—
That blissful and innocent
state—
The sound so exactly recalled to his mind
A pencil that squeaks
on a slate!
“’Tis the voice of the Jubjub!”
he suddenly cried.
(This man, that they
used to call “Dunce.”)
“As the Bellman would tell you,” he added
with pride,
“I have uttered
that sentiment once.
“’Tis the note of the Jubjub! Keep
count, I entreat;
You will find I have
told it you twice.
’Tis the song of the Jubjub! The proof
is complete,
If only I’ve stated
it thrice.”
The Beaver had counted with scrupulous care,
Attending to every word:
But it fairly lost heart, and outgrabe in despair,
When the third repetition
occurred.
It felt that, in spite of all possible pains,
It had somehow contrived
to lose count,
And the only thing now was to rack its poor brains
By reckoning up the
amount.
“Two added to one—if that could but
be done,”
It said, “with
one’s fingers and thumbs!”
Recollecting with tears how, in earlier years,
It had taken no pains
with its sums.
“The thing can be done,” said the Butcher,
“I think.
The thing must be done,
I am sure.
The thing shall be done! Bring me paper and
ink,
The best there is time
to procure.”
The Beaver brought paper, portfolio, pens,
And ink in unfailing
supplies:
While strange creepy creatures came out of their dens,
And watched them with
wondering eyes.
So engrossed was the Butcher, he heeded them not,
As he wrote with a pen
in each hand,
And explained all the while in a popular style
Which the Beaver could
well understand.
“Taking Three as the subject to reason about—
A convenient number
to state—
We add Seven, and Ten, and then multiply out
By One Thousand diminished
by Eight.
“The result we proceed to divide, as you see,
By Nine Hundred and
Ninety Two:
Then subtract Seventeen, and the answer must be
Exactly and perfectly
true.
“The method employed I would gladly explain,
While I have it so clear
in my head,
If I had but the time and you had but the brain—
But much yet remains
to be said.
“In one moment I’ve seen what has hitherto
been
Enveloped in absolute
mystery,
And without extra charge I will give you at large
A Lesson in Natural
History.”
In his genial way he proceeded to say
(Forgetting all laws
of propriety,
And that giving instruction, without introduction,
Would have caused quite
a thrill in Society),
“As to temper the Jubjub’s a desperate
bird,
Since it lives in perpetual
passion:
Its taste in costume is entirely absurd—
It is ages ahead of
the fashion:
“But it knows any friend it has met once before:
It never will look at
a bride:
And in charity-meetings it stands at the door,
And collects—though
it does not subscribe.
“Its’ flavour when cooked is more exquisite
far
Than mutton, or oysters,
or eggs:
(Some think it keeps best in an ivory jar,
And some, in mahogany
kegs:)
“You boil it in sawdust: you salt it in
glue:
You condense it with
locusts and tape:
Still keeping one principal object in view—
To preserve its symmetrical
shape.”
The Butcher would gladly have talked till next day,
But he felt that the
lesson must end,
And he wept with delight in attempting to say
He considered the Beaver
his friend.
While the Beaver confessed, with affectionate looks
More eloquent even than
tears,
It had learned in ten minutes far more than all books
Would have taught it
in seventy years.
They returned hand-in-hand, and the Bellman, unmanned
(For a moment) with
noble emotion,
Said “This amply repays all the wearisome days
We have spent on the
billowy ocean!”
Such friends, as the Beaver and Butcher became,
Have seldom if ever
been known;
In winter or summer, ’twas always the same—
You could never meet
either alone.
And when quarrels arose—as one frequently
finds
Quarrels will, spite
of every endeavour—
The song of the Jubjub recurred to their minds,
And cemented their friendship
for ever!
Fit the Sixth
The BARRISTER’S dream
They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with
care;
They pursued it with
forks and hope;
They threatened its life with a railway-share;
They charmed it with
smiles and soap.
But the Barrister, weary of proving in vain
That the Beaver’s
lace-making was wrong,
Fell asleep, and in dreams saw the creature quite
plain
That his fancy had dwelt
on so long.
He dreamed that he stood in a shadowy Court,
Where the Snark, with
a glass in its eye,
Dressed in gown, bands, and wig, was defending a pig
On the charge of deserting
its sty.
The Witnesses proved, without error or flaw,
That the sty was deserted
when found:
And the Judge kept explaining the state of the law
In a soft under-current
of sound.
The indictment had never been clearly expressed,
And it seemed that the
Snark had begun,
And had spoken three hours, before any one guessed
What the pig was supposed
to have done.
The Jury had each formed a different view
(Long before the indictment
was read),
And they all spoke at once, so that none of them knew
One word that the others
had said.
“You must know —–” said
the Judge: but the Snark exclaimed “Fudge!”
That statute is obsolete
quite!
Let me tell you, my friends, the whole question depends
On an ancient manorial
right.
“In the matter of Treason the pig would appear
To have aided, but scarcely
abetted:
While the charge of Insolvency fails, it is clear,
If you grant the plea
‘never indebted.’
“The fact of Desertion I will not dispute;
But its guilt, as I
trust, is removed
(So far as related to the costs of this suit)
By the Alibi which has
been proved.
“My poor client’s fate now depends on
your votes.”
Here the speaker sat
down in his place,
And directed the Judge to refer to his notes
And briefly to sum up
the case.
But the Judge said he never had summed up before;
So the Snark undertook
it instead,
And summed it so well that it came to far more
Than the Witnesses ever
had said!
When the verdict was called for, the Jury declined,
As the word was so puzzling
to spell;
But they ventured to hope that the Snark wouldn’t
mind
Undertaking that duty
as well.
So the Snark found the verdict, although, as it owned,
It was spent with the
toils of the day:
When it said the word “Guilty!” the
Jury all groaned,
And some of them fainted
away.
Then the Snark pronounced sentence, the Judge being
quite
Too nervous to utter
a word:
When it rose to its feet, there was silence like night,
And the fall of a pin
might be heard.
“Transportation for life” was the sentence
it gave,
“And then
to be fined forty pound.”
The Jury all cheered, though the Judge said he feared
That the phrase was
not legally sound.
But their wild exultation was suddenly checked
When the jailer informed
them, with tears,
Such a sentence would have not the slightest effect,
As the pig had been
dead for some years.
The Judge left the Court, looking deeply disgusted:
But the Snark, though
a little aghast,
As the lawyer to whom the defense was entrusted,
Went bellowing on to
the last.
Thus the Barrister dreamed, while the bellowing seemed
To grow every moment
more clear:
Till he woke to the knell of a furious bell,
Which the Bellman rang
close at his ear.
Fit the Seventh
The BANKER’S fate
They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with
care;
They pursued it with
forks and hope;
They threatened its life with a railway-share;
They charmed it with
smiles and soap.
And the Banker, inspired with a courage so new
It was matter for general
remark,
Rushed madly ahead and was lost to their view
In his zeal to discover
the Snark
But while he was seeking with thimbles and care,
A Bandersnatch swiftly
drew nigh
And grabbed at the Banker, who shrieked in despair,
For he knew it was useless
to fly.
He offered large discount—he offered a
check
(Drawn “to bearer”)
for seven-pounds-ten:
But the Bandersnatch merely extended its neck
And grabbed at the Banker
again.
Without rest or pause—while those frumious
jaws
Went savagely snapping
around—
He skipped and he hopped, and he floundered and flopped,
Till fainting he fell
to the ground.
The Bandersnatch fled as the others appeared
Led on by that fear-stricken
yell:
And the Bellman remarked “It is just as I feared!”
And solemnly tolled
on his bell.
He was black in the face, and they scarcely could
trace
The least likeness to
what he had been:
While so great was his fright that his waistcoat turned
white-
A wonderful thing to
be seen!
To the horror of all who were present that day.
He uprose in full evening
dress,
And with senseless grimaces endeavoured to say
What his tongue could
no longer express.
Down he sank in a chair—ran his hands through
his hair—
And chanted in mimsiest
tones
Words whose utter inanity proved his insanity,
While he rattled a couple
of bones.
“Leave him here to his fate—it is
getting so late!”
The Bellman exclaimed
in a fright.
“We have lost half the day. Any further
delay,
And we sha’nt
catch a Snark before night!”
Fit the Eighth
The vanishing
They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with
care;
They pursued it with
forks and hope;
They threatened its life with a railway-share;
They charmed it with
smiles and soap.
They shuddered to think that the chase might fail,
And the Beaver, excited
at last,
Went bounding along on the tip of its tail,
For the daylight was
nearly past.
“There is Thingumbob shouting!” the Bellman
said,
“He is shouting
like mad, only hark!
He is waving his hands, he is wagging his head,
He has certainly found
a Snark!”
They gazed in delight, while the Butcher exclaimed
“He was always
a desperate wag!”
They beheld him—their Baker—their
hero unnamed—
On the top of a neighboring
crag.
Erect and sublime, for one moment of time.
In the next, that wild
figure they saw
(As if stung by a spasm) plunge into a chasm,
While they waited and
listened in awe.
“It’s a Snark!” was the sound that
first came to their ears,
And seemed almost too
good to be true.
Then followed a torrent of laughter and cheers:
Then the ominous words
“It’s a Boo-”
Then, silence. Some fancied they heard in the
air
A weary and wandering
sigh
Then sounded like “-jum!” but the others
declare
It was only a breeze
that went by.
They hunted till darkness came on, but they found
Not a button, or feather,
or mark,
By which they could tell that they stood on the ground
Where the Baker had
met with the Snark.
In the midst of the word he was trying to say,
In the midst of his
laughter and glee,
He had softly and suddenly vanished away—–
For the Snark was
a Boojum, you see.
The end