Puck — February 12, 1879 — page 7: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

PUCK. 7 SERENADE. Wuere the wily hamper curleth, Where the binturong unfarleth, ‘There we'll hear the looloo flying, ‘There the besom 's gently dying. Hark! the spirit of the linneth Now its weary trail beginneth; And the jujube coiling slowly Wafts a kiss ta Worax lowly. And the lydrop, pullulating, For the marle is madly waiting. ‘There the dodo sorteth gravel, Thither, darling, let us travel! CC... MR. MUGGINS TEACHES SCHOOL. ARDLY had I become possessor of my new-fledged honors, or words to, that ef- fect, before I was made aware, by the village gossips, of the fact that that was the worst neighborhood for ‘‘school-scholars” that ever was known; and when I heard that two teachers had been maimed for life, that one had actually died, doubtless from the results of his murderous encounters with this ruffianly gang of embryo Molly Maguires, and that not one had taught out his full term since the mem- ory of the oldest inhabitant ran not to the con- trary, 1 began to consider whether a dignified retreat would be in order; but as no Muggins had ever been known hitherto to quail in the hour of batdle—(I want to get off here, in a joking way, something about “‘ quail on toast,” serve order, and not, by precipitating the whole school into a state of anarchy and confusion, prevent yourselves from accomplishing the very object you have in view in’ prosecuting your studies in this temple of science.” During the delivery of this pacificatory har- rangue a seditious murmur ran through the school which increased as I advanced, till at last they were all up in arms and in open re- bellion. “Ve ist nichts thieves, and ve vill nichts be Pprosecooted! You tinks you takes de law on us! Aber ve vill see about dot mebbe!” These and similar other exclamations were followed by a shower of missiles, in the form of books, slates, inkstands, &c. The school-house, like all others in that part of Pennsylvania, was constructed to serve the double purpose of church and school, and a cheap wooden pulpit occupied a place on the platform. Behind this I found a convenient refuge, where, like a wise general I lay in am- bush till they had exhausted their ammunition, and then I crept valorously forth. Seizing the first small boy I could lay my hands on, I proceeded to assert my authority by turning the young man wrong end up, and trying the force of argument administered in the orthodox way, before normal schools and their new-fangled notions were invented. The effect of this was to convince that boy of the error of his way, but the rest were still un- convinced. Some of them were too large to be convinced—in that way, and so, satisfied with the victory I had won for the day, I thought I had better retreat in good order, be- fore my rear should be out-flanked, and retreat cut off, Accordingly I dodged out of the door like a boomerang in a gale of wind, followed by the whole unruly pack, shouting in chorus: “Third person, present tense! Throw old Muggins over the fence!” I meandered down the street as fast as I could conveniently go. On the way I met old Hans Pickelsnipfer, who asked: “Vot! Ist der skoo-el-house dismissed out already 2” “Well, yes,” said I,“ The fact is I am not very well to-day, and—you must excuse meas I am in somewhat of a hurry.” 1 cut my interview with old Pickelsnipfer somewhat short in consequence of hearing in the distance the ever-increasing burden of the chorus: “Third person, present tense, ‘Throw old Muggins over the fence!” How I returned next day, and flogged the turbulent boys and shook the vixenish girls into subjection; and how they ever afterwards had the reputation of being the best behaved schol- ars in any district in that part of the country, I shall not’ now give a detailed account of. I shall never forget, however, the terror that seized upon my soul when I heard the chorus of the unruly crowd as they followed me down the street, shouting: «Third person, present tense, Throw old Muggins over the fence!” It rings ia my ears to this day. Yours abnormally, Epxuraim Mucins. but don’t see my way clear to do it)—I was not going to be the first to bring discredit upon my family name, or disgrace upon a long line of sardonic and prehistoric warlike ancestry. So I nerved myself (with beer) for the impend- ing conflict, and went down to the school- house, as bold as a sheen. “Now, boys,” said 1, in tones of distant thunder, “I'm master here, and I want it dis- tinctly understood at the outset.” “Vos dot so?” inquired one of the roughest of the boys. “Silence!” I shouted at the impudent fellow, “I shall expect good order here. I may make some allowance at first for your previous bad education, but I shall brook no interference with my prerogative, and shall punish with the utmost severity the first malicious offender.” “‘Gottinhimmel!” said another audacious wretch, “Silence!” I thundered again, and glared at the culprit like a Bengal tiger or a laughing hyena, “Mine gootness grashus!” said one of the girls, “Is it alive?” At this sally all the school laughed; and as I turned and said “ Miss!” with a good deal of severity, an inkstand whizzed by my head and just missed me and went, crash, against the wall, “Ya,” said one of the urchins, “dot vos a miss dot time, aber it will be a Aif next time!” And then they all roared with laughter again. Well, thinks I, this is too much of a good thing. I had attended normal school at one time in my life, and listened to lectures on “discipline,” and how much easier it is to gov- ern with kindness than with severity, and thinking perhaps that I had started off with a little too much austerity, I tacked about and tried the effect of gentleness. “Children!” said I, ‘‘we have not yet de- clared war. I am your friend, and I want you to be on friendly terms with me. Let us see if we cannot be friends together. You have come here to /earn, and not to act like savages. It is for your own interest that you should pre- “Socialism seeks to reach its end “Now for the Pig-Sticking!” ismarcks comicbooks.com