The Hunting of the Snark

an Agony,
in Eight Fits
by

Lewis Carroll

Inscribed to a dear Child:
in memory of golden summer hours
and whispers of a summer sea.

Girt with a boyish garb for boyish task,

Eager she wields her spade: yet loves as well

Rest on a friendly knee, intent to ask

The tale he loves to tell.

Rude spirits 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 shore

Yet haunt my dreaming gaze!

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

``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.

[*] This office was usually undertaken by the Boots, who found in it

a refuge from the Baker's constant complaints about the insufficient

blacking of his three pairs of boots.

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!''.

Proceed to Fit the First

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The Hunting of the Snark

an Agony, in Eight Fits by

Lewis Carroll

PREFACE

Proceed to Fit the First

an Agony,
in Eight Fits
by