RABBIT PEDAGOGY
As I think back over my past life as a schoolmaster I keep wondering
how many inebriates I have produced in my career. I'd be glad to
think that I have not a single one to my discredit, but that seems
beyond the wildest hope, considering the character of my teaching. I
am a firm believer in temperance in all things; but, in the matter of
pedagogy, my practice cannot be made to square with my theory. In
fact, I find, upon reflection, that I have been teaching intemperance
all the while. I'm glad the officers of my church do not know of my
pedagogical practice. If they did, they would certainly take action
against me, and in that case I cannot see what adequate defense I
could offer. Being a schoolmaster, I could scarcely bring myself to
plead ignorance, for such a plea as that might abrogate my license.
So I shall just keep quiet and look as nearly wise as possible. It
is embarrassing to me to reflect how long it has taken me to see the
error of my practice. If I had asked one of my boys he could have
told me of the better way.
When we got the new desks in our school, back home, our teacher
seemed very anxious to have them kept in their virgin state, and
became quite animated as he walked up and down the aisle fulminating
against the possible offender. In the course of his sulphury remarks
he threatened condign punishment upon the base miscreant who should
dare use his penknife on one of those desks. His address was equal
to a course in "Paradise Lost," nor was it without its effect upon
the audience. Every boy in the room felt in his pocket to make sure
that it contained his knife, and every one began to wonder just where
he would find the whetstone when he went home. We were all eager for
school to close for the day that we might set about the important
matter of whetting our knives. Henceforth wood-carving was a part of
the regular order in our school, but it was done without special
supervision. Of course, each boy could prove an alibi when his own
desk was under investigation. It would not be seemly, in this
connection, to give a verbatim report of the conversations of us boys
when we assembled at our rendezvous after school. Suffice it to say
that the teacher's ears must have burned. The consensus of opinion
was that, if the teacher didn't want the desks carved, he should not
have told us to carve them. We seemed to think that he had said, in
substance, that he knew we were a gang of young rascallions, and
that, if he didn't intimidate us, we'd surely be guilty of some form
of vandalism. Then he proceeded to point out the way by suggesting
penknives; and the trick was done. We were ever open to suggestions.
We had another teacher whose pet aversion was match heads. Cicero
and Demosthenes would have apologized to him could they have come in
when he was delivering one of his eloquent orations upon this
engaging theme. His vituperative vocabulary seemed unlimited,
inexhaustible, and cumulative. He raved, and ranted, and exuded
epithets with the most lavish prodigality. It seemed to us that he
didn't care much what he said, if he could only say it rapidly and
forcibly. In the very midst of an eloquent period another match head
would explode under his foot, and that seemed to answer the purpose
of an encore. The class in arithmetic did not recite that afternoon.
There was no time for arithmetic when match heads were to the fore.
I sometimes feel a bit guilty that I was admitted to such a good show
on a free pass. The next day, of course, the Gatling guns resumed
their activity; the girls screeched as they walked toward the
water-pail to get a drink; we boys studied our geography lesson with
faces garbed in a look of innocence and wonder; our mothers at home
were wondering what had become of all the matches; and the
teacher--but the less said of him the better.
We boys needed only the merest suggestion to set us in motion, and
like Dame Rumor in the Aeneid, we gathered strength by the going.
One day the teacher became somewhat facetious and recounted a
red-pepper episode in the school of his boyhood. That was enough for
us; and the next day, in our school, was a day long to be remembered.
I recall in the school reader the story of "Meddlesome Matty." Her
name was really Matilda. One day her curiosity got the better of
her, and she removed the lid from her grandmother's snuff-box. The
story goes on to say:
"Poor eyes, and nose, and mouth, and chin
A dismal sight presented;
And as the snuff got further in
Sincerely she repented."
Barring the element of repentance, the red pepper was equally
provocative of results in our school.
I certainly cannot lay claim to any great degree of docility, for, in
spite of all the experiences of my boyhood, I fell into the evil ways
of my teachers when I began my schoolmastering, and suggested to my
pupils numberless short cuts to wrong-doing. I railed against
intoxicants, and thus made them curious. That's why I am led to
wonder if I have incited any of my boys to strong drink as my
teachers incited me to desk-carving, match heads, and red pepper.
I have come to think that a rabbit excels me in the matter of
pedagogy. The tar-baby story that Joel Chandler Harris has given us
abundantly proves my statement. The rabbit had so often outwitted
the fox that, in desperation, the latter fixed up a tar-baby and set
it up in the road for the benefit of the rabbit. In his efforts to
discipline the tar-baby for impoliteness, the rabbit became enmeshed
in the tar, to his great discomfort and chagrin. However, Brer
Rabbit's knowledge of pedagogy shines forth in the following dialogue:
W'en Brer Fox fine Brer Rabbit mixt up wid de Tar-Baby he feel mighty
good, en he roll on de groun' en laff. Bimeby he up'n say, sezee:
"Well, I speck I got you dis time, Brer Rabbit," sezee. "Maybe I
ain't, but I speck I is. You been runnin' roun' here sassin' atter
me a mighty long time, but I speck you done come ter de een' er de
row. You bin cuttin' up yo' capers en bouncin' 'roun' in dis
neighborhood ontwel you come ter b'leeve yo'se'f de boss er de whole
gang. En den youer allers some'rs whar you got no bizness," sez Brer
Fox, sezee. "Who ax you fer ter come en strike up a'quaintance wid
dish yer Tar-Baby? En who stuck you up dar whar you is? Nobody in
de roun' worril. You des tuck en jam yo'se'f on dat Tar-Baby widout
watin' fer enny invite," sez Brer Fox, sezee, "en dar you is, en dar
you'll stay twel I fixes up a bresh-pile and fires her up, kaze I'm
gwineter bobby-cue you dis day, sho," sez Brer Fox, sezee.
Den Brer Rabbit talk mighty 'umble.
"I don't keer w'at you do wid me, Brer Fox," sezee, "so you don't
fling me in dat brier-patch. Roas' me, Brer Fox," sezee, "but don't
fling me in dat brier-patch," sezee.
"Hit's so much trouble fer ter kindle a fier," sez Brer Fox, sezee,
"dat I speck I'll hatter hang you," sezee.
"Hang me des ez high as you please, Brer Fox," sez Brer Rabbit,
sezee, "but do fer de Lord's sake don't fling me in dat brier-patch,"
sezee.
"I ain't got no string," sez Brer Fos, sezee, "en now I speck I'll
hatter drown you," sezee.
"Drown me des ez deep ez you please, Brer Fox," sez Brer Rabbit,
sezee, "but do don't fling me in dat brier-patch," sezee.
"Dey ain't no water nigh," sez Brer Fox, sezee, "en now I speck I'll
hatter skin you," sezee.
"Skin me, Brer Fox," sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, "snatch out my eyeballs,
t'ar out my years by de roots, en cut off my legs," sezee, "but do
please, Brer Fox, don't fling me in dat brier-patch," sezee.
Co'se Brer Fox wanter hurt Brer Rabbit bad ez he kin, so he cotch 'im
by de behime legs en slung 'im right in de middle er de brier-patch.
Dar wuz a considerbul flutter whar Brer Rabbit struck de bushes, en
Brer Fox sorter hang 'roun' fer ter see w'at wuz gwineter happen.
Bimeby he hear somebody call 'im, en way up de hill he see Brer
Rabbit settin' cross-legged on a chinkapin log koamin' de pitch outen
his har wid a chip. Den Brer Fox know dat he bin swop off mighty
bad. Brer Rabbit was bleedzed fer ter fling back some er his sass,
en he holler out:
"Bred en bawn in a brier-patch, Brer Fox--bred en bawn in a
brier-patch!" en wid dat he skip out des ez lively ez a cricket in de
embers.