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 bribe:
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! |
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