The Walrus and the Carpenter "But not on us," the Oysters cried, Turning a little blue.

"After such kindness that would be A dismal thing to do!"

"The night is fine," the Walrus said, "Do you admire the view?"

"It was so kind of you to come,
And you are very nice!"
The Carpenter said nothing but,
"Cut us another slice.

I wish you were not quite so deaf-
I've had to ask you twice!"

"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.

899

Lewis Carroll.

I AM

NIRVANA

A Clam!

Come learn of me

Unclouded peace and calm content,

Serene, supreme tranquillity,

Where thoughtless dreams and dreamless thoughts are blent.

When the salt tide is rising to the flood,
In billows blue my placid pulp I lave;
And when it ebbs I slumber in the mud,
Content alike with ooze or crystal wave.

I do not shudder when in chowder stewed,
Nor when the Coney Islander engulfs me raw.
When in the church soup's dreary solitude
Alone I wander, do I shudder? Naw!

If jarring tempests beat upon my bed,
Or summer peace there be,

I do not care: as I have said,

All's one to me;

A Clam

I am.

Unknown.

THE CATFISH

THE saddest fish that swims the briny ocean,

The Catfish I bewail.

I cannot even think without emotion

Of his distressful tail.

When with my pencil once I tried to draw one, (I dare not show it here)

Mayhap it is because I never saw one,

The picture looked so queer.

The Owl and the Pussy-Cat

I vision him half feline and half fishy,
A paradox in twins,

Unmixable as vitriol and vichy

A thing of fur and fins.

A feline Tantalus, forever chasing
His fishy self to rend;

His finny self forever self-effacing

In circles without end.

This tale may have a Moral running through it

As Esop had in his;

If so, dear reader, you are welcome to it,

If you know what it is!

901

Oliver Herford.

WAR RELIEF

"CAN you spare a Threepenny bit,
Dear Miss Turkey," said Sir Mouse,

"For Job's Turkey's benefit?

I've engaged the Opera House!"

Said Miss Turkey, "save advice,

I am getting up a Fair,

To relieve the Poor Church Mice."

Oliver Herford.

THE OWL AND THE PUSSY-CAT

THE Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea

In a beautiful pea-green boat:

They took some honey, and plenty of money
Wrapped up in a five-pound note.

The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,

"Oh, lovely Pussy, oh, Pussy, my love,

་

What a beautiful Pussy you are,

You are,

You are!

What a beautiful Pussy you are!"

Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl,
How charmingly sweet you sing!

Oh, let us be married; too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?"

They sailed away for a year and a day,
To the land where the bong-tree grows;
And there in the wood a Piggy-wig stood,
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,

His nose,

With a ring at the end of his nose.

"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will."

So they took it away and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,

Orphan Born

May no revolution shock you,

May the earthquake gently rock you
To repose,

While the sentimental panthers

Sniff the pollen-laden anthers
Of the rose!

903

While the pelican is pining,
While the moon is softly shining
On the stream,

May the song that I am singing
Send a tender cadence winging
Through your dream!

I have just one wish to utter—
That you twinkle through your shutter
Like a star,

While, according to convention,
I shall cas-u-ally mention
My guitar.

Señorita Maraquita,

Muy bonita, pobracita!

Hear me weep!-

But the night is growing wetter,
So I guess that you had better
Go to sleep.

Arthur Guiterman.

ORPHAN BORN

I AM a lone, unfathered chick,

Of artificial hatching.

A pilgrim in a desert wild,

By happier, mothered chicks reviled,

From all relationships exiled,

To do my own lone scratching.