Jabberwocky and Other Nonsense Page 15

  [70] And evermore be sure

  Throughout the poem to be found

  Consistently obscure.

  “First fix upon the limit

  To which it shall extend:

  Then fill it up with ‘Padding’ –

  (Beg some of any friend):

  Your great SENSATION-STANZA

  You place towards the end.”

  “And what is a Sensation,

  [80] Grandfather, tell me, pray?

  I think I never heard the word

  So used before to-day:

  Be kind enough to mention one

  ‘Exempli gratiâ.’”

  And the old man, looking sadly

  Across the garden-lawn,

  Where here and there a dew-drop

  Yet glittered in the dawn,

  Said “Go to the Adelphi,

  [90] And see the ‘Colleen Bawn.’

  “The word is due to Boucicault –

  The theory is his,

  Where Life becomes a spasm,

  And History a whiz:

  If that is not Sensation,

  I don’t know what it is.

  “Now try your hand, ere Fancy

  Have lost its present glow –”

  “And then,” his grandson added,

  [100] “We’ll publish it, you know:

  Green cloth – gold-lettered at the back –

  In duodecimo!”

  Then proudly smiled that old man

  To see the eager lad

  Rush madly for his pen and ink

  And for his blotting-pad –

  But, when he thought of publishing,

  His face grew stern and sad.

  Atalanta in Camden Town

  Ay, ’twas here, on this spot,

  In that summer of yore,

  Atalanta did not

  Vote my presence a bore,

  Nor reply, to my tenderest talk, she had “heard all that nonsense before.”

  She’d the brooch I had bought

  And the necklace and sash on,

  And her heart, as I thought,

  Was alive to my passion;

  [10] And she’d done up her hair in the style that the Empress had brought into fashion.

  I had been to the play

  With my pearl of a Peri –

  But, for all I could say,

  She declared she was weary,

  That “the place was so crowded and hot”, and she “couldn’t abide that Dundreary.”

  Then I thought “ ’Tis for me

  That she whines and she whimpers!”

  And it soothed me to see

  Those sensational simpers,

  [20] And I said “This is scrumptious!” – a phrase I had learned from the Devonshire shrimpers.

  And I vowed “ ’Twill be said

  I’m a fortunate fellow,

  When the breakfast is spread,

  When the topers are mellow,

  When the foam of the bride-cake is white, and the fierce orange-blossoms are yellow.”

  O that languishing yawn!

  O those eloquent eyes!

  I was drunk with the dawn

  Of a splendid surmise –

  [30] I was stung by a look, I was slain by a tear, by a tempest of sighs.

  And I whispered “I guess

  The sweet secret thou keepest,

  And the dainty distress

  That thou wistfully weepest;

  And the question is ‘License or banns?’, though undoubtedly banns are the cheapest.”

  Then her white hand I clasped,

  And with kisses I crowned it:

  But she glared and she gasped,

  And she muttered “Confound it!” –

  [40] Or at least it was something like that, but the noise

  Of the omnibus drowned it.

  The Elections to The Hebdomadal Council

  In the year 1866, a Letter with the above title was published in Oxford, addressed by Mr. Goldwin Smith to the Senior Censor of Christ Church, with the two-fold object of revealing to the University a vast political misfortune which it had unwittingly encountered, and of suggesting a remedy which should at once alleviate the bitterness of the calamity and secure the sufferers from its recurrence. The misfortune thus revealed was no less than the fact that, at a recent election of Members to the Hebdomadal Council, two Conservatives had been chosen, thus giving a Conservative majority in the Council; and the remedy suggested was a sufficiently sweeping one, embracing, as it did, the following details: –

  1. “The exclusion” (from Congregation) “of the non-academical elements which form a main part of the strength of this party domination.” These “elements” are afterwards enumerated as “the parish clergy and the professional men of the city, and chaplains who are without any academical occupation.”

  2. The abolition of the Hebdomadal Council.

  3. The abolition of the legislative functions of Convocation. These are all the main features of this remarkable scheme of Reform, unless it be necessary to add –

  4. “To preside over a Congregation with full legislative powers, the Vice-Chancellor ought no doubt to be a man of real capacity.”

  But it would be invidious to suppose that there was any intention of suggesting this as a novelty.

  The following rhythmical version of the Letter develops its principles to an extent which possibly the writer had never contemplated.

  The Hebdomadal Council

  “Now is the Winter of our discontent.”1

  “Heard ye the arrow hurtle in the sky?

  Heard ye the dragon-monster’s dreadful cry?” –

  Excuse this sudden burst of the Heroic;

  The present state of things would vex a Stoic!

  And just as Sairey Gamp, for pains within,

  Administered a modicum of gin,

  So does my mind, when vexed and ill at ease,

  Console itself with soothing similes,

  The “dragon-monster” (pestilential schism!)

  [10] I need not tell you is Conservatism;

  The “hurtling arrow” (till we find a better)

  Is represented by the present Letter.

  ’Twas, I remember, but the other day,

  Dear Senior Censor, that you chanced to say

  You thought these party-combinations would

  Be found, “though needful, no unmingled good.”

  Unmingled good? They are unmingled ill!2

  I never took to them, and never will3 –

  What am I saying? Heed it not, my friend:

  [20] On the next page I mean to recommend

  The very dodges that I now condemn

  In the Conservatives! Don’t hint to them

  A word of this! (In confidence. Ahem!)

  Need I rehearse the history of Jowett?

  I need not, Senior Censor, for you know it.4

  That was the Board Hebdomadal, and oh!

  Who would be free, themselves must strike the blow!

  Let each that wears a beard, and each that shaves,

  Join in the cry “We never will be slaves!”

  [30] “But can the University afford

  To be a slave to any kind of board?

  A slave?” you shuddering ask. “Think you it can, Sir?”

  “Not at the present moment,” is my answer.5

  I’ve thought the matter o’er and o’er again

  And given to it all my powers of brain;

  I’ve thought it out, and this is what I make it,

  (And I don’t care a Tory how you take it:)

  It may be right to go ahead, I guess:

  It may be right to stop, I do confess:

  [40] Also, it may be right to retrogress.6

  So says the oracle, and, for myself, I

  Must say it beats to fits the one at Delphi!

  To save beloved Oxford from the yoke,

  (For this majority’s beyond a joke,)

  We must combine,7 aye! hold a c
aucus-meeting,8

  Unless we want to get another beating.

  That they should “bottle” us is nothing new –

  But shall they bottle us and caucus too?

  See the “fell unity of purpose” now

  [50] With which Obstructives plunge into the row!9

  “Factious Minorities,” we used to sigh –

  “Factious Majorities” is now the cry.

  “Votes – ninety-two” – no combination here:

  “Votes – ninety-three” – conspiracy, ’tis clear!10

  You urge “ ’Tis but a unit.” I reply

  That in that unit lurks their “unity.”

  Our voters often bolt, and often baulk us,

  But then, they never, never go to caucus!

  Our voters can’t forget the maxim famous

  [60] “Semel electum semper eligamus;”

  They never can be worked into a ferment

  By visionary promise of preferment,

  Nor taught, by hints of “Paradise”11 beguiled,

  To whisper “C for Chairman” like a child!12

  And thus the friends that we have tempted down

  Oft take the two-o’clock Express for town.13

  This is our danger: this the secret foe

  That aims at Oxford such a deadly blow.

  What champion can we find to save the State,

  [70] To crush the plot? We darkly whisper “Wait!”14

  My scheme is this: remove the votes of all

  The residents that are not Liberal15 –

  Leave the young Tutors uncontrolled and free,

  And Oxford then shall see – what it shall see.

  What next? Why then, I say, let Convocation

  Be shorn of all her powers of legislation.16

  But why stop there? Let us go boldly on –

  Sweep everything beginning with a “Con”

  Into oblivion! Convocation first,

  [80] Conservatism next, and, last and worst,

  “Concilium Hebdomadale” must,

  Consumed and conquered, be consigned to dust!17

  And here I must relate a little fable

  I heard last Saturday at our high table: –

  The cats, it seems, were masters of the house,

  And held their own against the rat and mouse:

  Of course the others couldn’t stand it long,

  So held a caucus (not, in their case, wrong:)

  And, when they were assembled to a man,

  [90] Uprose an aged rat, and thus began: –

  “Brothers in bondage! Shall we bear to be

  For ever left in a minority?

  With what ‘fell unity of purpose’ cats

  Oppress the trusting innocence of rats!

  So unsuspicious are we of disguise,

  Their machinations take us by surprise18 –

  Insulting and tyrannical absurdities!19

  It is too bad by half – upon my word it is!

  For, now that these Con—, cats, I should say (frizzle ’em!),

  [100] Are masters, they exterminate like Islam!20

  How shall we deal with them? I’ll tell you how: –

  Let none but kittens be allowed to miaow!

  The Liberal kittens seize us but in play,

  And, while they frolic, we can run away:

  But older cats are not so generous,

  Their claws are too Conservative for us!

  Then let them keep the stable and the oats,

  While kittens, rats, and mice have all the votes.

  “Yes; banish cats! The kittens would not use

  [110] Their powers for blind obstruction,21 nor refuse

  To let us sip the cream and gnaw the cheese –

  How glorious then would be our destinies!22

  Kittens and rats would occupy the throne,

  And rule the larder for itself alone!”23

  So rhymed my friend, and asked me what I thought of it.

  I told him that so much as I had caught of it

  Appeared to me (as I need hardly mention)

  Entirely undeserving of attention.

  But now, to guide the Congregation, when

  [120] It numbers none but really “able” men,

  A “Vice-Cancellarius” will be needed

  Of every kind of human weakness weeded!

  Is such the president that we have got?

  He ought no doubt to be; why should he not?24

  I do not hint that Liberals should dare

  To oust the present holder of the chair –

  But surely he would not object to be

  Gently examined by a Board of three?

  Their duty being just to ascertain

  [130] That he’s “all there” (I mean, of course, in brain),

  And that his mind, from “petty details” clear,

  Is fitted for the duties of his sphere.

  All this is merely moonshine, till we get

  The seal of Parliament upon it set.

  A word then, Senior Censor, in your ear:

  The Government is in a state of fear –

  Like some old gentleman, abroad at night,

  Seized with a sudden shiver of affright,

  Who offers money, on his bended knees,

  [140] To the first skulking vagabond he sees –

  Now is the lucky moment for our task;

  They daren’t refuse us anything we ask!25

  And then our Fellowships shall open be

  To Intellect, no meaner quality!

  No moral excellence, no social fitness

  Shall ever be admissible as witness.

  “Avaunt, dull Virtue!” is Oxonia’s cry:

  “Come to my arms, ingenious Villainy!”

  For Classic Fellowships, an honour high,

  [150] Simonides and Co. will then apply –

  Our Mathematics will to Oxford bring

  The ’cutest members of the betting-ring –

  Law Fellowships will start upon their journeys

  A myriad of unscrupulous attorneys –

  While prisoners, doomed till now to toil unknown,

  Shall mount the Physical Professor’s throne!

  To what a varied feast of learning then

  Should we invite our intellectual men!

  Professor Caseley should instruct our flock

  [160] To analyse the mysteries of Locke –

  Barnum should lecture them on Rhetoric –

  The Davenports upon the cupboard-trick –

  Robson and Redpath, Strahan and Paul and Bates

  Should store the minds of undergraduates –

  From Fagin’s lecture-room a class should come

  Versed in all arts of finger and of thumb,

  To illustrate in practice (though by stealth)

  The transitory character of wealth.

  And thus would Oxford educate, indeed,

  [170] Men far beyond a merely local need –

  With no career before them, I may say,26

  Unless they’re wise enough to go away,

  And seek, far West, or in the distant East,

  Another flock of pigeons to be fleeced.

  I might go on, and trace the destiny

  Of Oxford in an age which, though it be

  Thus breaking with tradition, owns a new

  Allegiance to the intellectual few –

  (I mean, of course, the – pshaw! no matter who!)

  [180] But, were I to pursue the boundless theme,

  I fear that I should seem to you to dream.27

  This to fulfil, or even – humbler far –

  To shun Conservatism’s noxious star

  And all the evils that it brings behind,

  These pestilential coils must be untwined –

  The party-coils, that clog the march of Mind –

  Choked in whose meshes Oxford, slowly wise,

  Has lain for three disastrous centuries.28

  Away with them! (I
t is for this I yearn.)

  [190] Each twist untwist, each Turner overturn!

  Disfranchise each Conservative, and cancel

  The votes of Michell, Liddon, Wall, and Mansel!

  Then, then shall Oxford be herself again,

  Neglect the heart, and cultivate the brain –

  Then this shall be the burden of our song,

  “All change is good – whatever is, is wrong” –

  Then Intellect’s proud flag shall be unfurled,

  And Brain, and Brain alone, shall rule the world!

  Phantasmagoria: Part 2

  The Valley of the Shadow of Death

  Hark, said the dying man, and sighed,

  To that complaining tone –

  Like sprite condemned, each eventide,

  To walk the world alone:

  At sunset, when the air is still,

  I hear it creep from yonder hill;

  It breathes upon me, dead and chill,

  A moment, and is gone.

  My son, it minds me of a day

  [10] Left half a life behind,

  That I have prayed to put away

  For ever from my mind.

  But bitter memory will not die:

  It haunts my soul when none is nigh:

  I hear its whisper in the sigh

  Of that complaining wind.

  And now in death my soul is fain

  To tell the tale of fear

  That hidden in my breast hath lain

  [20] Through many a weary year:

  Yet time would fail to utter all –

  The evil spells that held me thrall,

  And thrust my life from fall to fall,

  Thou needest not to hear.

  The spells that bound me with a chain,

  Sin’s stern behests to do,

  Till Pleasure’s self, invoked in vain,

  A heavy burden grew –

  Till from my spirit’s fevered eye,

  [30] A hunted thing, I seemed to fly

  Through the dark woods that underlie

  Yon mountain-range of blue.

  Deep in those woods I found a vale

  No sunlight visiteth,

  Nor star, nor wandering moonbeam pale;

  Where never comes the breath

  Of summer-breeze – there in mine ear,

  Even as I lingered half in fear,

  I heard a whisper, cold and clear,

  [40] “This is the gate of Death.

  “O bitter is it to abide

  In weariness alway;

  At dawn to sigh for eventide,

  At eventide for day.

  Thy noon hath fled: thy sun hath shone:

  The brightness of thy day is gone –

  What need to lag and linger on

  Till life be cold and grey?

  “O well,” it said, “beneath yon pool,