“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.” “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. “Oh, 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. Lewis Carroll (_Through the Looking Glass_). ―――― THE VULTURE AND THE HUSBANDMAN. BY LOUISA CAROLINE. (A _Vulture_ is a rapacious and obscene bird, which destroys its prey by _plucking_ it limb from limb, with its powerful beak and talons. A _Husbandman_ is a man in a low position of life who supports himself by the use of the _plough_.――_Johnson’s Dictionary._) The rain was raining cheerfully, As if it had been May, The senate-house appeared inside Unusually gay; And this was strange, because it was A _vivâ-voce_ day. The men were sitting sulkily, Their paper-work was done, They wanted much to go away To row, or ride, or run; “It’s very rude,” they said, “to keep Us here and spoil our fun.” The papers they had finished lay In piles of blue and white. They answered everything they could, And wrote with all their might; But though they wrote it all by _rote_ They did not write it right. The Vulture and the Husbandman Beside these piles did stand, They wept like anything to see The work they had in hand; “If this were only finished up,” Said they “it would be grand.