Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/A Country Schoolmaster
A Country Schoolmaster.
A Tale.
A country schoolmaster, named Jonas Bell,
Once undertook of little souls,
To furnish up their jobbernowls—
In other words, he taught them how to spell,
And well adapted to the task was Bell,
Whose iron-visage measured half an ell:
With huge proboscis, and eyebrows of soot,
Armed at the jowl just like a boar,
And when he gave an angry roar,
The little school-boys stood like fishes mute.
Once undertook of little souls,
To furnish up their jobbernowls—
In other words, he taught them how to spell,
And well adapted to the task was Bell,
Whose iron-visage measured half an ell:
With huge proboscis, and eyebrows of soot,
Armed at the jowl just like a boar,
And when he gave an angry roar,
The little school-boys stood like fishes mute.
Poor Jonas, though a patient man as Job,
(Yet still, like Job, was sometimes heard to growl,)
Was by a scholar's adamantine nob,
Beyond all patience gravelled to the soul!
I question whether Jonas in the fish
Did ever dine on a more bitter dish.
(Yet still, like Job, was sometimes heard to growl,)
Was by a scholar's adamantine nob,
Beyond all patience gravelled to the soul!
I question whether Jonas in the fish
Did ever dine on a more bitter dish.
'Twas thus—a lady who supported Bell,
Came unexpectedly to hear them spell:
The pupil fixed on by the pedagogue,
Her son, a little round-faced, ruddy rogue,
Who thus his letters on the table laid—
M, I, L, K—and paused—"Well, sir; what's that?"
"I cannot tell," the boy all trembling said—
"Not tell! you little blind and stupid brat?
Not tell!" roared Jonas, in a violent rage,
And quick prepared an angry war- to wage—
"Tell me this instant, or I'll flay thy hide—
Come, sir!
Dost thou this birchen weapon see?
What puts thy mother in her tea?"
With lifted eyes the quaking rogue replied—
"RUM, sir!!!"
Came unexpectedly to hear them spell:
The pupil fixed on by the pedagogue,
Her son, a little round-faced, ruddy rogue,
Who thus his letters on the table laid—
M, I, L, K—and paused—"Well, sir; what's that?"
"I cannot tell," the boy all trembling said—
"Not tell! you little blind and stupid brat?
Not tell!" roared Jonas, in a violent rage,
And quick prepared an angry war- to wage—
"Tell me this instant, or I'll flay thy hide—
Come, sir!
Dost thou this birchen weapon see?
What puts thy mother in her tea?"
With lifted eyes the quaking rogue replied—
"RUM, sir!!!"