“Just the place for a Snath!” the Blademan cried,
As he landed his crew with care;
Supporting each man on the top of the tide
By a finger entwined in his hair.
“Just the place for a Snath! I have said it twice;
That alone should encourage the crew.
Just the place for a Snath! I have said it thrice;
What I tell you three times is true.”
The Blademan himself they all praised to the skies—
Such a carriage, such ease and such grace!
Such solemnity, too! One could see he was wise,
The moment one looked in his face!
He had forty-two blades, all carefully packed,
With his name printed clearly on each:
But since he omitted a whetstone in fact
They were dull as the rocks on the beach.
The Boots and the Broker were sharpening a blade—
Each working the grindstone in turn;
But the Beaver went on making lace, and displayed
No interest in the concern:
“Some Snaths are Hebrew—some Snaths are Dutch—
Some Snaths are German or Greek;
Some Snaths are English but there are nonesuch
As American Snaths that we seek.”
“We seek them with thimbles, we seek them with care;
We pursue them with forks and hope;
We threaten their lives with a railway share;
We charm them with smiles and soap!
“For the Snath’s a peculiar creature, that won’t
Be caught in a commonplace way.
Do all that you know, and try all that you don’t:
Not a chance must be wasted to-day!