“I don’t like the ‘Wasp Chapter,’” was the substance of a letter from artist to author, and he could not see his way to illustrating it. Indeed, even with his skill, a wasp in a wig was rather a difficult subject and, as Lewis Carroll wouldn’t take off the wig, they were at a standstill. Rather than sacrifice the wig it was determined to cut out the chapter, and as it was really not so good as the other chapters, it was not much loss to the book, which rounded out very easily to just the dozen, full of the cleverest illustrations Tenniel ever drew. It was his last attempt at illustrating: the gift deserted him suddenly and never returned. His original cartoon work was always excellent, but the “Alices” had brought him a peculiar fame which would never have come to him through the columns ofPunch, and Lewis Carroll, always generous in praising others, was quick to recognize the master hand which followed his thought. There was somethingin every stroke which appealed to the laughter of children, and the power of producing unthinkable animals amounted almost to inspiration. No doubt there may be illustrators of the present day quite as clever in their line, but Lewis Carroll stood alone in a new world which he created; there were none before him and none followed him, and his Knight of the Brush was faithful and true.
“Through the Looking-Glass” was published in 1871, and at once took its place as another “Alice” classic. There is much to be said about this book—so much, indeed, that it requires a chapter of its own, for many agree in considering it even more of a masterpiece than “Alice in Wonderland,” and though more carefully planned out than its predecessor, there is no hint of hard labor in the brilliant nonsense.
Those who have known and loved the man recognize in the “Alices” the best and most attractive part of him. In spite of his persistent stammering, he was a ready and natural talker, and when in the mood he could be as irresistibly funny as any of the characters in his book. His knowledge of English was so great that he could take the most ordinary expression and draw from it a new and unexpected meaning; his habit of “playing upon words” is one of his very funniest traits. When theMock Turtlesaid in that memorable conversation withAlicewhich we all know by heart: “no wise fish would go anywhere without a porpoise,” he meant, of course,without apurpose, and having made the joke he refused explanations and seemed offended thatAliceneeded any. Another humorous idea was that the whitings always held their tails in their mouths.
“The reason is,” said the Gryphon, “that theywouldgo with the lobsters to the dance. So they were thrown out to sea. So they had to fall a long way. So they got their tails fast in their mouths. So they couldn’t get them out again. That’s all.”
This is not the natural position of the whiting, as we all know, but the device of the fishmonger to make his windows attractive, andAliceherself came perilously near saying that she had eaten them for dinner cooked in that fashion and sprinkled over with bread crumbs. It was just Lewis Carroll’s funny way of viewing things, in much the same fashion that one of his child-friends would look at them. His was a real child’s mind, full of wonder depths where all sorts of impossible things existed, two-sided triangles, parallel lines that met in a point, whitings who had their tails in their mouths, and many other delightful contradictions, some of which he gave to the world. Others he stored away for the benefit of the numberless little girls who had permission to rummage in the store-house.
“Alice through the Looking-Glass” made its bow with a flourish of trumpets. All the “Nonsense” world was waiting for it, and for once expectation was not disappointed and the author found himself almost hidden beneath his mantle ofglory. People praised him so much that it is quite a wonder his head was not completely turned. Henry Kingsley, the novelist, thought it “perfectly splendid,” and indeed many others fully agreed with him.
As for the children—and after all they were hisrealcritics—the little girl who thought “Through the Looking-Glass” “stupider” than Wonderland, voiced the popular sentiment. Those who were old enough to read the book themselves soon knew by heart all the fascinating poetry, and if the story had no other merit, “The Jabberwocky” alone would have been enough to recommend it. Of all the queer fancies of a queer mind, this poem was the most remarkable, and even to-day, with all our clever verse-makers and nonsense-rhymers, no one has succeeded in getting out of apparently meaningless words so much real meaning and genuine fun as are to be found in this one little classic.
Many people have tried in vain to trace its origin; one enterprising lady insisted on calling it a translation from the German. Someone else decided there was a Scandinavian flavor about it, so he called it a “Saga.” Mr. A. A. Vansittart, of Trinity College, Cambridge, made an excellent Latin translation of it, and hundreds of others have puzzled over the many “wrapped up” meanings in the strange words.
We shall meet the poem later on and discuss its many wonders. At present we must follow CharlesDodgson back into his sanctum where he was eagerly pursuing a new course—the study of anatomy and physiology. He was presented with a skeleton, and laying in the proper supply of books, he set to work in earnest. He bought a little book called “What to do in Emergencies” and perfected himself in what we know to-day as “First Aid to the Injured.” He accumulated in this way some very fine medical and surgical books, and had more than one occasion to use his newly acquired knowledge.
Most men labor all their lives to gain fame. Lewis Carroll was a hard worker, but fame came to him without an effort. Along his line of work he took his “vorpal” sword in hand and severed all the knots and twists of the mathematical Jabberwocky. It was when he played that he reached the heights; when he touched the realm of childhood he was all conquering, for he was in truth a child among them, and every child felt the youthfulness in his glance, in the wave of his hand, in the fitting of his mood to theirs, and his entire sympathy in all their small joys sorrows—such great important things in their child-world. He often declared that children were three fourths of his life, and it seems indeed a pity that none of his own could join the band of his ardent admirers.
Here he was, a young man still in spite of his forty years, holding as his highest delight the power he possessed of giving happiness to other people’schildren. Yet had anyone ventured to voice this regret, he would have replied like many another in his position:
“Children—bless them! Of course I love them. I prefer other people’s children. All delight and no bother. One runs a fearful risk with one’s own.” And he might have added with his whimsical smile, “And supposing theymighthave been boys!”
Six years had passed sinceAlicetook her trip through Wonderland, and, strange to say, she had not grown very much older, for Time has the trick of standing still in Fairyland, and when Lewis Carroll pushed her through the Looking-Glass she told everyone she met on the other side that she was seven years and six months old, not very much older, you see, than the Alice of Long Ago, with the elf-locks and the dreamy eyes. The real Alice was in truth six years older now, but real people never count in Fairyland, and surely no girl of a dozen years or more would have been able to squeeze through the other side of a Looking-Glass. Still, though so very young,Alicewas quite used to travel, and knew better how to deal with all the queer people she met after her experiences in Wonderland.
Mirrors are strange things.Alicehad often wondered what lay behind the big one over the parlor mantel, andwonderingwithAlicemeantdoing,for presto! up she climbed to the mantelshelf. It was easy enough to push through, for she did not have to use the slightest force, and the glass melted at her touch into a sheet of mist and there she was on the other side!
In the interval between the two “Alices,” a certain poetic streak had become strongly marked in Lewis Carroll. To him a child’s soul was like the mirror behind which littleAlicepeeped out from its “other side,” and gave us the reflection of her child-thoughts.
“Only a dream,” we may say, but then child-life is dream-life. So much is “make-believe” that “every day” is dipped in its golden light. It was a dainty fancy to hold us spellbound at the mirror, and many a little girl, quite “unbeknownst” to the “grown-ups,” has tried her small best to squeeze through the looking-glass just asAlicedid. In the days of our grandmothers, when the cheval glass swung in a frame, the “make believe” came easier, for one could creep under it or behind it, instead of through it, with much the same result. But nowadays, with looking-glasses built in the walls, howcanone pretend properly!
If fairies only knew what examples they were to the average small girl and small boy, they would be very careful about the things they did. Fortunately they are old-fashioned fairies, and have not yet learned to ride in automobiles or flying-machines, else there’s no telling what might happen.
Alicewas always lucky in finding herself in the very best society—nothing more or less than royalty itself. But the Royal Court of Cards was not to be compared with the Royal Court of Chessmen, which she found behind the fireplace when she jumped down on the other side of the mantel. Of course, it was only “pretending” from the beginning; a romp with the kittens toward the close of a short winter’s day, a little girl curled up in an armchair beside the fire with the kitten in her lap, while Dinah, the mother cat, sat near by washing little Snowdrop’s face, the snow falling softly without,Alicewas just the least bit drowsy, and so she talked to keep awake.
“Do you hear the snow against the window panes, Kitty? How nice and soft it sounds! Just as if some one was kissing the window all over outside. I wonder if the snowlovesthe trees and fields that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug you know with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, ‘Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again,’ and when they wake up in the summer, Kitty, they dress themselves all in green, and dance about whenever the wind blows. ‘Oh, that’s very pretty!’ cried Alice, dropping the ball of worsted to clap her hands. ‘I do sowishit was true. I’m sure the woods look sleepy in the autumn when the leaves are getting brown.’”
We are sure, too,Alicewas getting sleepy in the glow of the firelight with the black kitten purringa lullaby on her lap. She had probably been playing with the Chessmen and pretending as usual, so it is small wonder that the heavy eyes closed, and the black kitten grew into the shape of theRed Queen—and so the story began.
It was the work of a few minutes to be on speaking terms with the whole Chess Court whichAlicefound assembled. The back of the clock on the mantelshelf looked down upon the scene with the grinning face of an old man, and even the vase wore a smiling visage. There was a good fire burning in this looking-glass grate, but the flames went the other way of course, and down among the ashes, back of the grate, the Chessmen were walking about in pairs.
Sir John Tenniel’s picture of the assembled Chessmen is very clever. TheRed Kingand theRed Queenare in the foreground. TheWhite Bishopis taking his ease on a lump of coal, with a smaller lump for a footstool, while the twoCastlesare enjoying a little promenade near by. In the background are theRedandWhite KnightsandBishopsand all thePawns. He has put so much life and expression into the faces of the little Chessmen that we cannot help regarding them as real people, and we cannot blameAlicefor taking them very much in earnest.
She naturally found difficulty in accustoming herself to Looking-Glass Land, and the first thing she had to learn was how to read Looking-Glass fashion.She happened to pick up a book that she found on a table in the Looking-Glass Room, but when she tried to read it, it seemed to be written in an unknown language. Here is what she saw:
Then a bright thought occurred to her, and holding the book up before a looking-glass, this is what she read in quite clear English, no matter how it looks, for there is certainly no intelligent child who could fail to understand it.
JABBERWOCKY.’Twas brillig, and the slithy tovesDid gyre and gimble in the wabe:All mimsy were the borogoves,And the mome raths outgrabe.“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!Beware the Jubjub bird, and shunThe frumious Bandersnatch!”He took his vorpal sword in hand:Long time the manxome foe he sought—So rested he by the Tumtum tree,And stood awhile in thought.And, as in uffish thought he stood,The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,And burbled as it came!One, two! One, two! And through and throughThe vorpal blade went snicker-snack!He left it dead, and with its headHe went galumphing back.“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?Come to my arms, my beamish boy!O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”He chortled in his joy.’Twas brillig, and the slithy tovesDid gyre and gimble in the wabe:All mimsy were the borogoves,And the mome raths outgrabe.
Aliceof course puzzled over this for a long time.
“‘It seems very pretty,’ she said when she had finished it, ‘but it’s rather hard to understand!’ (You see she didn’t like to confess, even to herself, that she couldn’t make it out at all.) ‘Somehow it seems to fill my head with ideas, only I don’t exactly know what they are! However,somebodykilledsomething—that’s clear at any rate.’”
For pure cleverness the poem has no equal, we will not say in the English language, but in any language whatsoever, for it seems to be a medley of all languages. Lewis Carroll composed it on the spur of the moment during an evening spent with hiscousins, the Misses Wilcox, and with his natural gift of word-making the result is most surprising. The only verse that really needs explanation is the first, which is also the last of the poem. Out of the twenty-three words the verse contains, there are but twelve which are pure, honest English.
In Mr. Collingwood’s article in theStrand Magazinewe have Lewis Carroll’s explanation of the remaining eleven, written down in learned fashion, brimful of his own quaint humor. For a real guide it cannot be excelled, and, though we laugh at the absurdities, we learn the lesson. Here it is:
Brillig(derived from the verb tobrylorbroil), “the time of broiling dinner—i. e., the close of the afternoon.”Slithy(compounded of slimy and lithe), “smooth and active.”Tove(a species of badger). “They had smooth, white hair, long hind legs, and short horns like a stag; lived chiefly on cheese.”Gyre(derived from Gayour or Giaour, a dog), “to scratch like a dog.”Gymble(whence Gimblet), “to screw out holes in anything.”Wabe(derived from the verb to swab or soak), “the side of a hill” (from its beingsoakedby the rain).Mimsy(whence mimserable and miserable), “unhappy.”Borogove, “an extinct kind of parrot. They had no wings, beaks turned up, and made their nests under sun-dials; lived on veal.”Mome(hence solemome, solemne, and solemn), “grave.”Raths.“A species of land turtle, head erect, mouthlike a shark; the forelegs curved out so that the animal walked on his knees; smooth green body; lived on swallows and oysters.”Outgrabe(past tense of the verb to outgribe; it is connected with the old verb to grike or shrike, from which are derived “shriek” and “creak”), “squeaked.”
Brillig(derived from the verb tobrylorbroil), “the time of broiling dinner—i. e., the close of the afternoon.”
Slithy(compounded of slimy and lithe), “smooth and active.”
Tove(a species of badger). “They had smooth, white hair, long hind legs, and short horns like a stag; lived chiefly on cheese.”
Gyre(derived from Gayour or Giaour, a dog), “to scratch like a dog.”
Gymble(whence Gimblet), “to screw out holes in anything.”
Wabe(derived from the verb to swab or soak), “the side of a hill” (from its beingsoakedby the rain).
Mimsy(whence mimserable and miserable), “unhappy.”
Borogove, “an extinct kind of parrot. They had no wings, beaks turned up, and made their nests under sun-dials; lived on veal.”
Mome(hence solemome, solemne, and solemn), “grave.”
Raths.“A species of land turtle, head erect, mouthlike a shark; the forelegs curved out so that the animal walked on his knees; smooth green body; lived on swallows and oysters.”
Outgrabe(past tense of the verb to outgribe; it is connected with the old verb to grike or shrike, from which are derived “shriek” and “creak”), “squeaked.”
“Hence the literal English of the passage is—‘It was evening, and the smooth active badgers were scratching and boring holes in the hillside; all unhappy were the parrots, and the green turtles squeaked out.’ There were probably sun-dials on the top of the hill, and the borogoves were afraid that their nests would be undermined. The hill was probably full of the nests of ‘raths’ which ran out squeaking with fear on hearing the ‘toves’ scratching outside. This is an obscure yet deeply affecting relic of ancient poetry.”
(Croft—1855. Ed.)
This lucid explanation was evidently one of the editor’s contributions toMisch-Maschduring his college days, so this classic poem must have “simmered” for many years before Lewis Carroll put it “Through the Looking-Glass.” But whenAlicequestioned the all-wiseHumpty-Dumptyon the subject he gave some simpler definitions. When asked the meaning of “mome raths,” he replied:
“Well,rathis a sort of green pig; butmomeI’m not certain about. I think it’s short for ‘from home,’ meaning they’d lost their way, you know.”
Lewis Carroll called such words “portmanteaus” because there were two meanings wrapped up in one word, and all through “Jabberwocky” these queer “portmanteau” words give us the key to the real meaning of the poem. In the preface to a collection of his poems, he gives us the rule for the building of these “portmanteau” words. He says: “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 toward ‘fuming’ you will say ‘fuming-furious’; if they turn by even a hair’s breadth toward ‘furious’ you will say ‘furious-fuming’; but if you have that rarest of gifts, a perfectly balanced mind, you will say ‘frumious.’”
It is hard to tell what he had in mind when he wrote of this deed of daring—for such it was. Possibly, St. George and the Dragon inspired him, and like the best of preachers he turned his sermon into wholesome nonsense. The Jabberwock itself was a most awe-inspiring creature, and Tenniel’s drawing is most deliciously blood-curdling; half-snake, half-dragon, with “jaws that bite and claws that scratch,” it is yet saved from being utterly terrible by having some nice homely looking buttons on his waistcoat and upon his three-clawed feet, something very near akin to shoes.
The anxious father bids his brave son good-bye, little dreaming that he will see him again.
“Beware the Jubjub bird—and shunThe frumious Bandersnatch”
are his last warning words, mostly “portmanteau” words, if one takes the time to puzzle them out. Then the brave boy goes forth into the “tulgey wood” and stands in “uffish thought” until with a “whiffling” sound the “burbling” Jabberwock is upon him.
Oh, the excitement of that moment when the “vorpal” sword went “snicker-snack” through the writhing neck of the monster! Then one can properly imagine the youth galloping in triumph (hence the “portmanteau” word “galumphing,” the first syllable of gallop and the last syllable of triumph) back to the proud papa, who says: “Come to my arms, my ‘beamish boy’ ... and ‘chortles in his joy,’” But all the time these wonderful things are happening, just around the corner, as it were, the “toves” and the “borogoves” and the “mome raths” were pursuing their never-ending warfare on the hillside, saying, with Tennyson’sBrook:
“Men may come and men may go—Butwego on forever,”
no matter how many “Jabberwocks” are slain nor how many “beamish boys” take their “vorpal swords in hand.”
In preparing the second “Alice” book for publication,Lewis Carroll’s first idea was to use the “Jabberwocky” illustration as a frontispiece, but, in spite of the reassuring buttons and shoes, he was afraid younger children might be “scared off” from the real enjoyment of the book. So he wrote to about thirty mothers of small children asking their advice on the matter; they evidently voted against it, for, as we all know, theWhite Knighton his horse with its many trappings, withAlicewalking beside him through the woods, was the final selection, and the smallest child has grown to love the silly old fellow who tumbled off his steed every two minutes, and did many other dear, ridiculous things that only children could appreciate.
Looking-glass walking puzzledAliceat first quite as much as looking-glass writing or reading. If she tried to walk downstairs in the looking-glass house “she just kept the tips of her fingers on the hand rail and floated gently down, without even touching the stairs with her feet.” Then when she tried to climb to the top of the hill to get a peep into the garden, she found that she was always going backwards and in at the front door again. Finally, after many attempts, she reached the wished-for spot, and found herself among a talkative cluster of flowers, who all began to criticise her in the most impertinent way.
“Oh, Tiger-lily!” said Alice, addressing herself to one that was waving gracefully about in the wind, “Iwishyou could talk!”
“We can talk,” said the Tiger-lily, “when there’s anybody worth talking to” ... At length, as the Tiger-lily went on waving about, she spoke again in a timid voice, almost in a whisper:
“And canallthe flowers talk?”
“As well asyoucan,” said the Tiger-lily, “and a great deal louder.”
“It isn’t manners for us to begin, you know,” said the Rose, “and I really was wondering when you’d speak! Said I to myself, ‘Her face has gotsomesense in it though it’s not a clever one!’ Still you’ve the right color and that goes a long way.”
“I don’t care about the color,” the Tiger-lily remarked. “If only her petals curled up a little more, she’d be all right.”
Alice didn’t like being criticised, so she began asking questions:
“Aren’t you sometimes frightened at being planted out here with nobody to take care of you?”
“There’s the tree in the middle,” said the Rose. “What else is it good for?”
“But what could it do if any danger came?” Alice asked.
“It could bark,” said the Rose.
“It says ‘bough-wough’,” cried a Daisy. “That’s why its branches are called boughs.”
“Didn’t you know that?” cried another Daisy. And here they all began shouting together.
Lewis Carroll loved this play upon words, and children, strange to say, loved it too, and were quickto see the point of his puns. TheRed Queen, whomAlicemet shortly after this, was a most dictatorial person.
“Where do you come from?” she asked, “and where are you going? Look up, speak nicely, and don’t twiddle your fingers all the time.”
Alice attended to all these directions, and explained as well as she could that she had lost her way.
“I don’t know what you mean byyourway,” said the Queen. “All the ways about here belong tome, but why did you come out here at all?” she added in a kinder tone. “Curtsey while you’re thinking what to say. It saves time.”
Alice wondered a little at this, but she was too much in awe of the Queen to disbelieve it.
“I’ll try it when I go home,” she thought to herself, “the next time I’m a little late for dinner.”
Evidently some little girls were often late for dinner.
“It’s time for you to answer now,” the Queen said, looking at her watch; “open your mouth alittlewider when you speak and always say ‘Your Majesty.’”
“I only wanted to see what your garden was like, your Majesty.”
“That’s right,” said the Queen, patting her on the head, which Alice didn’t like at all, “though when you say ‘garden,’I’veseen gardens compared with which this would be a wilderness.”
Alice didn’t dare to argue the point, but went on: “And I thought I’d try and find my way to the top of that hill—”
“When you say ‘hill,’” the Queen interrupted, “Icould show you hills in comparison with which you’d call this a valley.”
“No, I shouldn’t,” said Alice, surprised into contradicting her at last. “A hillcan’tbe a valley you know. That would be nonsense—”
TheRed Queenshook her head.
“You may call it ‘nonsense’ if you like,” she said, “butI’veheard nonsense compared with which that would be as sensible as a dictionary!”
Which last remark seemed to settle the matter, forAlicehad nothing further to say on the subject.
Nonsense, indeed; and what delightful nonsense it is! Is it any wonder that the little girls for whom Lewis Carroll labored so lovingly should reward him with their laughter?
Aliceentered Checker-Board Land in theRed Queen’scompany; she was apprenticed as a pawn, with the promise that when she entered the eighth square she would become a queen [she probably was confusing chess with checkers], and theRed Queenexplained how she would travel.
“A pawn goes two squares in its first move, you know, so you’ll go very quickly through the third square, by railway, I should think, and you’ll find yourself in the fourth square in no time. Well,thatsquare belongs to Tweedledum and Tweedledee, andthe fifth is mostly water, the sixth belongs to Humpty Dumpty, ... the seventh square is all forest. However, one of the knights will show you the way, and in the eighth square we shall be queens together, and its all feasting and fun.”
The rest of her adventures occurred on those eight squares—sometimes in company with theRed Queenor theWhite Queenor both. Things went more rapidly than in Wonderland, the people were brisker and smarter. When theRed Queenleft her on the border of Checker-Board Land, she gave her this parting advice:
“Speak in French when you can’t think of the English for a thing, turn out your toes as you walk, and remember who you are!”
How many little girls have had the same advice from their governesses or their mamma—“Turn out your toes when you walk, and remember who you are!”
This is what made Lewis Carroll so irresistibly funny—the way he had of bringing in the most common everyday expressions in the most uncommon, unexpected places. Only inAlice’scase it took her quite a long time to remember who she was, just because theRed Queentold her not to forget. Children are very queer about that—little girls in particular—at least those that Lewis Carroll knew, and he certainly was acquainted with a great many who did remarkably queer things.
Alice’smeeting with the two fat little men namedTweedledumandTweedledeerecalled to her memory the old rhyme:
Tweedledum and TweedledeeAgreed to have a battle;For Tweedledum said TweedledeeHad spoiled his nice new rattle.Just then flew down a monstrous crow,As black as a tar barrel;Which frightened both the heroes so,They quite forgot their quarrel.
Fierce little men they were, one withDumembroidered on his collar, the other showingDeeon his. They were not accustomed to good society nor fine grammar. They were exactly alike as they stood motionless before her, their arms about each other.
“I know what you’re thinking about,” said Tweedledum, “but it isn’t so—nohow.” [Behold thebeautifulgrammar.]
“Contrariwise,” continued Tweedledee, “if it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isn’t, it ain’t. That’s logic.”
Now,Aliceparticularly wanted to know which road to take out of the woods, but somehow or other her polite question was never answered by either of the funny little brothers. They were very sociable and seemed most anxious to keep her with them, so for her entertainmentTweedledumrepeated that beautiful and pathetic poem called:
THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTER.The sun was shining on the sea,Shining with all his might;He did his very best to makeThe billows smooth and bright—And this was odd, because it wasThe middle of the night.The moon was shining sulkily,Because she thought the sunHad got no business to be thereAfter the day was done—“It’s very rude of him,” she said,“To come and spoil the fun!”The sea was wet as wet could be,The sands were dry as dry,You could not see a cloud, becauseNo cloud was in the sky;No birds were flying overhead—There were no birds to fly.The Walrus and the CarpenterWere walking close at hand;They wept like anything to seeSuch quantities of sand;“If this were only cleared away,”They said, “itwouldbe grand!”“If seven maids with seven mopsSwept it for half a year,Do you suppose,” the Walrus said,“That they would get it clear?”“I doubt it,” said the Carpenter,And shed a bitter tear.
Then comes the sad and sober part of the tale, when theOysterswere tempted to stroll along the beach, in company with these wily two, who lured them far away from their snug ocean beds.
The Walrus and the CarpenterWalked on a mile or so,And then they rested on a rockConveniently low;And all the little Oysters stoodAnd waited in a row.“The time has come,” the Walrus said,“To talk of many things;Of shoes, and ships, and sealing-wax—Of cabbages and kings;And why the sea is boiling hot,And whether pigs have wings.”“But wait a bit,” the Oysters cried,“Before we have our chat;For some of us are out of breath,And all of us are fat!”“No hurry!” said the Carpenter.They thanked him much for that.“A loaf of bread,” the Walrus said,“Is what we chiefly need;Pepper and vinegar besidesAre very good, indeed;Now, if you’re ready, Oysters, dear,We can begin to feed.”
Then theOystersbecame terrified, as they saw all these grewsome preparations, and their fate loomedup before them. So the two old weeping hypocrites sat on the rocks and calmly devoured their late companions.
“It seems a shame,” the Walrus said,“To play them such a trick,After we’ve brought them out so far,And made them trot so quick!”The Carpenter said nothing but,“The butter’s spread too thick!”“I weep for you,” the Walrus said,“I deeply sympathize.”With sobs and tears he sorted outThose of the largest size,Holding his pocket-handkerchiefBefore his streaming eyes.“O Oysters,” said the Carpenter,“You’ve had a pleasant run!Shall we be trotting home again?”But answer came there none.And this was scarcely odd, becauseThey’d eaten every one.
The poor dear littleOysters! How any little girl, with a heart under her pinafore, could read these lines unmoved it is hard to say. Think of those innocent young dears, standing before these dreadful ogres.
All eager for the treat;Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,Their shoes were clean and neat;And this was odd, because, you know,They hadn’t any feet.
All the same, Tenniel has made most attractive pictures of them, feet and all. And think—oh, horror! oftheirsupplying the treat! It was indeed an awful tragedy. Yet behind it all there lurks some fun, though Lewis Carroll was too clever to let usquiteinto his secret. All the young ones want is the story, but those who are old enough to love their Dickens and to look for his special characters outside of his books will certainly recognize in theWalrusthe hypocriticalMr. Pecksniff, whose tears flowed on every occasion when he was not otherwise employed in robbing his victims, and other little pleasantries. And as for theCarpenter, there is something very scholarly in the set of his cap and the combing of his scant locks; possibly a caricature of some shining light of Oxford, for we know there were many in his books. Indeed, the whole poem may be something of an allegory, representing examination; theOysters, the undergraduate victims before the college faculty (theWalrusand theCarpenter) who are just ready to “eat ’em alive”—poor innocent undergraduates!
But whatever the hidden meaning,TweedledumandTweedledeewere not the sort of people to look deep into things, andAlice, being a little girl and very partial to oysters, thought theWalrusand theCarpenterwereveryunpleasant characters and had no sympathy with them at all.
Dreaming by a ruddy blaze in a big armchair keeps one much busier than if one fell asleep in arocking boat or on the river bank on a golden summer day.
The scenes and all the company changed so often in Looking-Glass Land thatAlicehad all she could do to keep pace with her adventures. For you see all this time she was only a pawn, moving over an immense chess-board from square to square, until in the end she should be made queen. TheWhite QueenwhomAlicemet shortly was a very lopsided person, quite unlike theRed Queen, who was neat enough no matter how sharp her tongue.Alicehad to fix her hair, and straighten her shawl, and set her right and tidy.
“Really, you should have a lady’s maid,” she remarked.
“I’m sure I’ll takeyouwith pleasure,” the Queen said. “Twopence a week, and jam every other day.”
Alice couldn’t help laughing as she said:
“I don’t want you to hireme, and I don’t care for jam.”
“It’s very good jam,” said the Queen.
“Well, I don’t want anyto-dayat any rate.”
“You couldn’t have it if youdidwant it,” the Queen said. “The rule is—jam to-morrow and jam yesterday, but never jamto-day.”
“Itmustcome sometimes to ‘jam to-day,’” Alice objected.
“No, it can’t,” said the Queen. “It’s jam every other day; to-day isn’t anyotherday, you know.”
“I don’t understand you,” said Alice. “It’s dreadfully confusing!”
“That’s the effect of living backwards,” the Queen said, kindly. “It always makes one a little giddy at first—”
“Living backwards!” Alice remarked in great astonishment. “I never heard of such a thing!”
“But there’s one great advantage in it, that one’s memory works both ways.”
“I’m suremineonly works one way,” Alice remarked. “I can’t remember things before they happen.”
“It’s a poor memory that only works backwards,” the Queen remarked.
“What sort of things doyouremember best?” Alice ventured to ask.
“Oh, the things that happened the week after next,” the Queen replied in a careless tone. “For instance, now,” she went on, sticking a large piece of plaster on her finger as she spoke, “there’s the king’s messenger. He’s in prison now, being punished, and the trial doesn’t begin till next Wednesday; and of course the crime comes last of all.” Then theQueenfor further illustration began to scream—
“Oh, oh, oh!” shouted the Queen.... “My finger’s bleeding! Oh, oh, oh, oh!”
Her screams were so exactly like the whistle of a steam engine that Alice had to hold both her hands over her ears.
“Whatisthe matter?” she said.... “Have you pricked your finger?”
“I haven’t pricked it yet,” the Queen said, “but I soon shall—oh, oh, oh!”
“When do you expect to do it?” Alice asked, feeling very much inclined to laugh.
“When I fasten my shawl again,” the poor Queen groaned out, “the brooch will come undone directly. Oh, oh!” As she said the words the brooch flew open, and the Queen clutched wildly at it and tried to clasp it again.
“Take care!” cried Alice, “you’re holding it all crooked!” and she caught at the brooch; but it was too late; the pin had slipped, and the Queen had pricked her finger.
“That accounts for the bleeding, you see,” she said to Alice, with a smile. “Now you understand the way things happen here.”
Alice’smeeting withHumpty-Dumptyin the sixth square has gone down in history. It has been played in nurseries and in private theatricals, and many ingenious Humpty-Dumptys have been fashioned by clever people.
Possibly the dear old rhyme which generations of childhood have handed about as a riddle is responsible for our great interest inHumpty-Dumpty.
Humpty-Dumpty sat on the wall,Humpty-Dumpty had a great fall,All the King’s horses and all the King’s men,Couldn’t put Humpty-Dumpty in his place again.
This is an old version, but modern children have made a better ending, thus:
Couldn’t put Humpty-Dumpty up again.
Then there’s a mysterious pause, and some eager small boy or girl asks, “Nowwhatis it?” and before one has time to answer, someone calls out—
“It’s an egg; it’s an egg!” and the riddle is a riddle no longer.
One clever mechanical Humpty was made of barrel hoops covered with stiff paper and muslin. The eyes, nose, and mouth were connected with various tapes, which the inventor had in charge behind the scenes, and so well did he work them that Humpty in his hands turned out a fine imitation of theHumpty-DumptySir John Tenniel has made us remember; the sameHumpty-Dumptywho askedAliceher name and her business, and who informed her proudly that if he did tumble off the wall, “The King has promised me with his very own mouth—to—to—”
“To send all his horses and all his men—” Alice interrupted rather unwisely.
“Now I declare that’s too bad!” Humpty-Dumpty cried, breaking into a sudden passion. “You’ve been listening at doors, and behind trees, and down chimneys, or you wouldn’t have known it.”
“I haven’t, indeed!” Alice said, very gently. “It’s in a book.”
“Ah, well! They may write such things in abook,” Humpty-Dumpty said in a calmer tone. “That’s what you call a History of England, that is. Now take a good look at me. I’m one that has spoken to a King,Iam; mayhap you’ll never see such another; and to show you I’m not proud you may shake hands with me....”
“Yes, all his horses and all his men,”Humpty-Dumptywent on. “They’d pick me up in a minute,theywould. However, this conversation is going on a little too fast; let’s go back to the last remark but one.”
Such a nice, common old chap isHumpty-Dumpty, so “stuck-up” because he has spoken to a King; and argue! Well,Alicenever heard anything like it before, and found difficulty in keeping up a conversation that was disputed every step of the way. She found him worse than theCheshire Cator even theDuchessfor that matter, and not half so well-bred.
He too favoredAlicewith the following poem, which he assured her was written entirely for her amusement, and here it is, with enough of Lewis Carroll’s “nonsense” in it to let us know where it came from:
In winter, when the fields are white,I sing this song for your delight:—In spring, when woods are getting green,I’ll try and tell you what I mean:In summer, when the days are long,Perhaps you’ll understand the song:In autumn, when the leaves are brown,Take pen and ink, and write it down.I sent a message to the fish:I told them: “This is what I wish.”The little fishes of the sea,They sent an answer back to me.The little fishes’ answer was:“We cannot do it, Sir, because——”I sent to them again to say:“It will be better to obey.”The fishes answered, with a grin:“Why, what a temper you are in!”I told them once, I told them twice:They would not listen to advice.I took a kettle large and new,Fit for the deed I had to do.My heart went hop, my heart went thump:I filled the kettle at the pump.Then someone came to me and said:“The little fishes are in bed.”I said to him, I said it plain:“Then you must wake them up again.”I said it very loud and clear:I went and shouted in his ear.But he was very stiff and proud:He said: “You needn’t shout so loud!”And he was very proud and stiff:He said: “I’d go and wake them, if——”I took a corkscrew from the shelf;I went to wake them up myself.And when I found the door was locked,I pulled and pushed and kicked and knocked.And when I found the door was shut,I tried to turn the handle, but——
With which highly satisfactory endingHumptyremarked:
“That’s all. Good-bye.”
Alice got up and held out her hand.
“Good-bye till we meet again,” she said, as cheerfully as she could.
“I shouldn’t know you if wedidmeet,” Humpty-Dumpty replied in a discontented tone, giving her one of his fingers to shake. “You’re so exactly like other people.”
The next square—the seventh—tookAlicethrough the woods. Here she met some old friends: theMad Hatterand theWhite Rabbitof Wonderland fame, mixed in with a great many new beings, including theLionand theUnicorn, who, as the oldballad tells us, “were fighting for the crown”; and then as theRed Queenhad promised from the beginning, theWhite Knight—after a battle with theRed Knightwho heldAliceprisoner—took her in charge to guide her through the woods. Whoever has read the humorous and yet pathetic story of “Don Quixote” will see at once where Lewis Carroll found his gentle, valiant oldWhite Knightand his horse, so like yet so unlike the famous steedRosenante.
He, too, had a song forAlice, which he called “The Aged, Aged Man,” and which he sang to her, set to very mechancholy music. It is doubtful ifAliceunderstood it for she wasn’t thinking of age, you see. She was only seven years and six months old, and probably paid no attention. She was thinking instead of the strange kindly smile of the knight, “the setting sun gleaming through his hair and shining on his armor 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.” Certainly Lewis Carroll could paint a picture to remain with us always. The poem is rather too long to quote here, but the experiences of this “Aged, Aged Man” are well worth reading.
Alicewas now hastening toward the end of her journey and events were tumbling over each other. She had reached the eighth square, where, oh, joy! a golden crown awaited her, also theRed QueenandtheWhite Queenin whose company she traveled through the very stirring episodes of that very famous dinner party, when the candles on the table all grew up to the ceiling, and the glass bottles each took a pair of plates for wings, and forks for legs, and went fluttering in all directions. Everything was in the greatest confusion, and when theWhite Queendisappeared in the soup tureen, and the soup ladle began walking up the table towardAlice’schair, she could stand it no longer. She jumped up “and seized the tablecloth with both hands; one good pull, and plates, dishes, guests, and candles came crashing down together in a heap on the floor.” And thenAlicebegan to shake theRed Queenas the cause of all the mischief.
“The Red Queen made no resistance whatever; only her face grew very small, and her eyes got large and green; and still, as Alice went on shaking her, she kept on growing shorter, and fatter, and softer, and rounder, and—and it reallywasa kitten after all.”
AndAlice, opening her eyes in the red glow of the fire, lay snug in the armchair, while the Looking-Glass on the mantel caught the reflection of a very puzzled little face. The “dream-child” had come back to everyday, and was trying to retrace her journey as she lay there blinking at the firelight, and wondering if, back of the blaze, the Chessmen were still walking to and fro.
And Lewis Carroll, as he penned the last wordsof “Alice’s Adventures through the Looking-Glass,” remembered once more the little girl who had been his inspiration, and wrote a loving tribute to her at the very end of the book, an acrostic on her name—Alice Pleasance Liddell.
A boat, beneath a sunny skyLingering onward dreamilyIn 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?
There is no doubt that the second “Alice” book was quite as successful as the first, but regarding its merit there is much difference of opinion. As a rule the “grown-ups” prefer it. They like the clever situations and the quaint logic, no less than the very evident good writing; but this of course did not influence the children in the least. They liked “Alice” and the pretty idea of her trip through the Looking-Glass, but for real delight “Wonderland” was big enough for them, and to whisk down into a rabbit-hole on a summer’s day was a much easier process than squeezing through a looking-glass at the close of a short winter’s afternoon, not beingquitesure that one would not fall into the fire on the other side.
The very care that Lewis Carroll took in the writing of this book deprived it of a certain charm of originality which always clings to the pages of “Wonderland.” Each chapter is so methodicallyplanned and so well carried out that, while we never lose sight of the author and his cleverness, fairyland does not seem quite so real as in the book which was written with no plan at all, but the earnest desire to please three children. Then again there was a certain staidness in the prim little girl who pushed her way through the Looking-Glass. And there were no wonderful cakes marked “eat me,” and bottles marked “drink me,” which kept the WonderlandAlicein a perpetual state of growing or shrinking; so the fact that nothing happened toAliceat all during this second journey lessened its interest somewhat for the young ones to whom constant change is the spice of life. A very little girl, while she might enjoy the flower chapter, and might be tempted to build her own fanciful tales about the rest of the garden, would not be so attracted toward the insect chapter, which may possibly have been written with the praiseworthy idea of teaching children not to be afraid of these harmless buzzing things that are too busy with their own concerns to bother them.
There are, in truth, little “cut and dried” speeches in the Looking-Glass “Alice,” which we do not find in “Wonderland.” A real hand is moving the Chessman over the giant board, and theRedand theWhite Queenoften speak like automatic toys. We miss the savage “off with his head” of theQueen of Hearts, who, for all her cardboard stiffness, seemed a thing of flesh and blood. Butthe poetry in the two “Alices” is of very much the same quality.
In his prose “nonsense” anyone might notice the difference of years between the two books, but Lewis Carroll’s poetry never loses its youthful tone. It was as easy for him to write verses as to teach mathematics, and that was saying a good deal. It was as easy for him to write verses at sixty as at thirty, and that is saying even more. From the time he could hold a pencil he could make a rhyme, and his earlier editorial ventures, as we know, were full of his own work which in after years made its way to the public, either through the magazines or in collection of poems, such as “Rhyme and Reason,” “Phantasmagoria,” and “The Three Sunsets.”
InThe Train, that early English magazine before mentioned, are several poems written by him and signed by his newly borrowed name of Lewis Carroll, but they are very sentimental and high-flown, utterly unlike anything he wrote either before or after.
Between the publication of “Through the Looking-Glass” and “The Hunting of the Snark” was a period of five years, during which, according to his usual custom, Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, in the seclusion of Christ Church, calmly pursued his scholarly way, smiling sedately over the literary antics of Lewis Carroll, for the Rev. Charles was a sober, over-serious bachelor, whose one aim and object at that time was the proper treatment of Euclid, for during those five years he wrote thefollowing pamphlets: “Symbols, etc., to be used in Euclid—Books I and II,” “Number of Propositions in Euclid,” “Enunciations—Euclid I-VI,” “Euclid—Book V. Proved Algebraically,” “Preliminary Algebra and Euclid—Book V,” “Examples in Arithmetic,” “Euclid—Books I and II.”
He also wrote many other valuable pamphlets concerning the government of Oxford and of Christ Church in particular, for the retiring “don” took a keen interest in the University life, and his influence was felt in many spicy articles and apt rhymes, usually brought forth as timely skits.Notes by an Oxford Chiel, published at Oxford in 1874, included much of this material, where his clever verses, mostly satirical, generally hit the mark.
And all this while, Lewis Carroll was gathering in the harvest yielded by the two “Alices,” and planning more books for his child-friends, who, we may be sure, were growing in numbers.
We find him at the Christmas celebration of 1874, at Hatfield, the home of Lord Salisbury, as usual, the central figure of a crowd of happy children. On this occasion he told them the story ofPrince Uggug, which was afterwards a part of “Sylvie and Bruno.” Many of the chapters of this book had been published as separate stories inAunt Judy’s Magazineand other periodicals, and, as such, they were very sweet and dainty as well as amusing. It was Lewis Carroll’s own special charm in telling these stories which really lent them color and drewthe children; they lost much in print, for they lacked the sturdy foundations of nonsense on which the “Alices” were built.
On March 29, 1876, “The Hunting of the Snark” was published, a new effort in “nonsense” verse-making, which stands side by side with “Jabberwocky” in point of cleverness and interest.
The beauty of Lewis Carroll’s “nonsense” was that he never tried to be funny or “smart.” The queer words and the still queerer ideas popped into his head in the simplest way. His command of language, including that important knowledge of how to make “portmanteau” words, was his greatest aid, and the poem which he called “An Agony in Eight Fits” depends entirely upon the person who reads it for the cleverness of its meaning. To children it is one big fairy tale where the more ridiculous the situations, the more true to the rules of fairyland. The Snark, being a “portmanteau” word, is a cross between asnakeand ashark, henceSnark, and the fact that he dedicated this wonderful bit of word-making to a little girl, goes far to prove that the poem was intended as much for children as for “grown-ups.”
The little girl in this instance was Gertrude Chataway, and the verses are an acrostic on her name:
Girt with a boyish garb for boyish task,Eager she wields her spade: yet loves as wellRest on a friendly knee, intent to askThe tale he loves to tell.Rude spirit of the seething outer strife,Unmeet to read her pure and simple spright,Deem, if you list, such hours a waste of life,Empty of all delight!Chat on, sweet maid, and rescue from annoy,Hearts that by wiser talk are unbeguiled;Ah, happy he who owns that tenderest joy,The heart-love of a child!Away, fond thoughts, and vex my soul no more!Work claims my wakeful nights, my busy days,Albeit bright memories of that sunlit shoreYet haunt my dreaming gaze!
There was scarcely a little girl who claimed friendship with Lewis Carroll who was not the proud possessor of an acrostic poem written by him—either on the title-page of some book that he had given her, or as the dedication of some published book of his own.
“The Hunting of the Snark” owed its existence to a country walk, when the last verse came suddenly into the mind of our poet:
“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 Snarkwasa Boojum, you see.”
In a very humorous preface to the book, Lewis Carroll attempted some sort of an explanation, which leaves us as much in the dark as ever. He writes:
“If—and the thing is wildly possible—the charge of writing nonsense was ever brought against the author of this brief but instructive poem, it would be based, I feel convinced, on the line:
“‘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 the 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 more than once it 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;heknew it was all wrong, but, alas! Rule 4, of the Code, ‘No one shall speak to the man at the helm,’ had beencompleted 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 backward.”
Is it any wonder that a poem, based upon such an explanation, should be a perfect bundle of nonsense? But we know from experience that Lewis Carroll’s nonsense was not stupidity, and that not one verse in all that delightful bundle missed its own special meaning and purpose.
We do not propose to find the key to this remarkable work—for two reasons: first, because there are different keys for different minds; and second, because the unexplainable things in many cases come nearer the “mind’s eye,” as Shakespeare calls it, without words. We cannot tellwhywe understand such and such a thing, but wedounderstand it, and that is enough—quite according to Lewis Carroll’s ideas, for he always appeals to our imagination and that is never guided by rules. The higher it soars, the more fantastic the region over which it hovers, the nearer it gets to the land of “make believe,” “let’s pretend” and “supposing,” the better pleased is Lewis Carroll. In a delightful letter to some American children, published inThe Criticshortly after his death, he gives his own ideas as to the meaning of theSnark.
“I’m very much afraid I didn’t mean anythingbut nonsense,” he wrote; “still you know words mean more than we mean to express when we use them, so a whole book ought to mean a great deal more than the writer means. So whatever good meanings are in the book, I shall be glad to accept as the meaning of the book. The best that I’ve seen is by a lady (she published it in a letter to a newspaper) that the whole book is an allegory on the search after happiness. I think this fits beautifully in many ways, particularly about the bathing machines; when people get weary of life, and can’t find happiness in towns or in books, then they rush off to the seaside to see what bathing machines will do for them.”
Taking this idea for the foundation of the poem, it is easy to explainFit the First, better namedThe Landing, though where they landed it is almost impossible to say.
“Just the place for a Snark,” the Bellman cried, and, as he stated this fact three distinct times, it was undoubtedly true. That was theBellman’srule—once was uncertain, twice was possible, three times was “dead sure.” And theBellmanbeing a person of some authority, ought to have known. The crew consisted of aBoots, aMaker of Bonnets and Hoods, aBarrister, aBroker, aBilliard-marker, aBanker, aBeaver, aButcher, and a nameless being who passed for theBaker, and who, in the end, turned out to be the luckless victim of the Snark. He is thus beautifully described:
“There was one who was famed for a number of thingsHe forgot when he entered the ship:His umbrella, his watch, all his jewels and rings,And the clothes he had brought 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, becauseHe 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 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 stareWith 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 Bride-cake, for which I may state,No materials were to be had.”
Notice how ingeniously the actors in this drama are introduced; all the “B’s,” as it were, buzzing after the phantom of happiness, which eludes them, no matter how hard they struggle to find it. Notice, too, that all these beings are unmarried, a fact shown by theBakernot being able to make a bride-cake as there are no materials on hand. All these creatures, while hunting for happiness, came to prey upon each other. TheButcheronly killedBeavers, theBarristerwas hunting among his fellow sailors for a good legal case. TheBankertook charge of all their cash, for it certainly takes money to hunt properly for aSnark, and it is a well-known fact that bankers need all the money they can get.
Fit the Seconddescribes theBellmanand why he had such influence with his crew:
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 beA 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 boughtusthe best—A perfect and absolute blank!”
And true enough, theBellman’sidea of the ocean was a big square basin, with the latitude and longitude carefully written out on the margin. They found, however, that their “brave Captain” knew very little about navigation, he—
“Had only one notion for crossing the ocean,And that was to tingle his bell.”