Produced by Louise Hope. (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive: American Libraries) [This e-text comes in three forms: Unicode (UTF-8), Latin-1 and ASCII. Use the one that works best on your text reader. --If apostrophes and quotation marks are “curly” or angled, you have the UTF-8 version (best). If any part of this paragraph displays as garbage, try changing your text reader’s “character set” or “file encoding”. If that doesn’t work, proceed to: --In the Latin-1 version, “æ” is a single letter but apostrophes and quotation marks will be straight (“typewriter” form). Again, if you see any garbage in this paragraph and can’t get it to display properly, use: --The ASCII-7 or rock-bottom version. All necessary text will still be there; it just won’t be as pretty. Text printed in blackletter (“Gothic”) type is shown between +marks+.] [Cover: THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK] AN EASTER GREETING to EVERY CHILD WHO LOVES “+Alice+.” * * * * * +The Hunting of the Snark.+ * * * * * THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK +an Agony, in Eight Fits.+ By LEWIS CARROLL Author of “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland,” and “Through the Looking-Glass.” _WITH NINE ILLUSTRATIONS_ by HENRY HOLIDAY +London+: MACMILLAN AND CO. 1876. [_The Right of Translation and Reproduction is Reserved._] London: R. Clay, Sons, and Taylor, Printers, Bread Street Hill. +Inscribed to a dear Child: in memory of golden summer hours and whispers of a summer sea.+ Girt with a boyish garb for boyish task, Eager she wields her spade: yet loves as well Rest on a friendly knee, intent to ask The tale he loves to tell. Rude spirits of the seething outer strife, Unmeet to read her pure and simple spright, Deem, if you list, such hours a waste of life, Empty of all delight! Chat on, sweet Maid, and rescue from annoy Hearts that by wiser talk are unbeguiled. Ah, happy he who owns that tenderest joy, The heart-love of a child! Away, fond thoughts, and vex my soul no more! Work claims my wakeful nights, my busy days-- Albeit bright memories of that sunlit shore Yet haunt my dreaming gaze! PREFACE. If--and the thing is wildly possible--the charge of writing nonsense were ever brought against the author of this brief but instructive poem, it would be based, I feel convinced, on the line (in p. 18) “Then the bowsprit got mixed with the rudder sometimes.”