The Complete Sylvie and Bruno Stories With Their Original Illustrations. Lewis Carroll

week by week, poor Peter came

      And turned in heaviness away;

      For still the answer was the same,

      “I cannot manage it to-day.”

      And now the April showers were dry—

      The five short weeks were nearly spent—

      Yet still he got the old reply,

      “It is not quite convenient!”

      The Fourth arrived, and punctual Paul

      Came, with his legal friend, at noon.

      “I thought it best,” said he, “to call:

      One cannot settle things too soon.”

      Poor Peter shuddered in despair:

      His flowing locks he wildly tore:

      And very soon his yellow hair

      Was lying all about the floor.

      The legal friend was standing by,

      With sudden pity half unmanned:

      The tear-drop trembled in his eye,

      The signed agreement in his hand:

      But when at length the legal soul

      Resumed its customary force,

      “The Law,” he said, “we ca’n’t control:

      Pay, or the Law must take its course!”

      Said Paul “How bitterly I rue

      That fatal morning when I called!

      Consider, Peter, what you do!

      You wo’n’t be richer when you’re bald!

      Think you, by rending curls away,

      To make your difficulties less?

      Forbear this violence, I pray:

      You do but add to my distress!”

      “Not willingly would I inflict,”

      Said Peter, “on that noble heart

      One needless pang. Yet why so strict?

      Is this to act a friendly part?

      However legal it may be

      To pay what never has been lent,

      This style of business seems to me

      Extremely inconvenient!

      “No Nobleness of soul have I,

      Like some that in this Age are found!”

      (Paul blushed in sheer humility,

      And cast his eyes upon the ground.)

      “This debt will simply swallow all,

      And make my life a life of woe!”

      “Nay, nay, nay Peter!” answered Paul.

      “You must not rail on Fortune so!

      “You have enough to eat and drink:

      You are respected in the world:

      And at the barber’s, as I think,

      You often get your whiskers curled.

      Though Nobleness you ca’n’t attain—

      To any very great extent—

      The path of Honesty is plain,

      However inconvenient!”

      “’Tis true,” said Peter, “I’m alive:

      I keep my station in the world:

      Once in the week I just contrive

      To get my whiskers oiled and curled.

      But my assets are very low:

      My little income’s overspent:

      To trench on capital, you know,

      Is always inconvenient!”

      “But pay your debts!” cried honest Paul.

      “My gentle Peter, pay your debts!

      What matter if it swallows all

      That you describe as your ‘assets’?

      Already you’re an hour behind:

      Yet Generosity is best.

      It pinches me—but never mind!

      I WILL NOT CHARGE YOU INTEREST!”

      “How good! How great!” poor Peter cried.

      “Yet I must sell my Sunday wig—

      The scarf-pin that has been my pride—

      My grand piano—and my pig!”

      Full soon his property took wings:

      And daily, as each treasure went,

      He sighed to find the state of things

      Grow less and less convenient.

      Weeks grew to months, and months to years:

      Peter was worn to skin and bone:

      And once he even said, with tears,

      “Remember, Paul, that promised Loan!”

      Said Paul “I’ll lend you, when I can,

      All the spare money I have got—

      Ah, Peter, you’re a happy man!

      Yours is an enviable lot!

      “I’m getting stout, as you may see:

      It is but seldom I am well:

      I cannot feel my ancient glee

      In listening to the dinner-bell:

      But you, you gambol like a boy,

      Your figure is so spare and light:

      The dinner-bell’s a note of joy

      To such a healthy appetite!”

      Said Peter “I am well aware

      Mine is a state of happiness:

      And yet how gladly could I spare

      Some of the comforts I possess!

      What you call healthy appetite

      I feel as Hunger’s savage tooth:

      And, when no dinner is in sight,

      The dinner-bell’s a sound of ruth!

      “No scare-crow would accept this coat:

      Such boots as these you seldom see.

      Ah, Paul, a single five-pound-note

      Would make another man of me!”

      Said Paul “It fills me with surprise

      To hear you talk in such a tone:

      I