THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTER.
The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might;
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright—
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.
The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After 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, because
No cloud was in the sky;
No birds were flying overhead—
There were no birds to fly.
The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand;
“If this were only cleared away,”
They said, “it would be grand!”
“If seven maids with seven mops
Swept 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 the Oysters were 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 Carpenter
Walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
Conveniently low;
And all the little Oysters stood
And 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 besides
Are very good, indeed;
Now, if you’re ready, Oysters, dear,
We can begin to feed.”
Then the Oysters became terrified, as they saw all these grewsome preparations, and their fate loomed up 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 out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before 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, because
They’d eaten every one.
The poor dear little Oysters! 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! of their supplying the treat! It was indeed an awful tragedy. Yet behind it all there lurks some fun, though Lewis Carroll was too clever to let us quite into 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 the Walrus the hypocritical Mr. Pecksniff, whose tears flowed on every occasion when he was not otherwise employed in robbing his victims, and other little pleasantries. And as for the Carpenter, 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; the Oysters, the undergraduate victims before the college faculty (the Walrus and the Carpenter) who are just ready to “eat ’em alive”—poor innocent undergraduates!
But whatever the hidden meaning, Tweedledum and Tweedledee were not the sort of people to look deep into things, and Alice, being a little girl and very partial to oysters, thought the Walrus and the Carpenter were very unpleasant 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 a rocking boat or on the river bank on a golden summer day.