Max and Maurice: A Juvenile History in Seven Tricks

Wild with fury, up he started,
With his yard-stick out he darted;
For once more that frightful jeer,
"Muck! muck! muck!" rang loud and clear.
On the bridge one leap he makes;
Crash! beneath his weight it breaks.
Once more rings the cry, "Muck! muck!"
In, headforemost, plumps poor Buck!
While the scared boys were skedaddling,
Down the brook two geese came paddling.
On the legs of these two geese,
With a death-clutch, Buck did seize;
And, with both geese well in hand,
Flutters out upon dry land.
For the rest he did not find
Things exactly to his mind.
Soon it proved poor Buck had brought a
Dreadful belly-ache from the water.
Noble Mrs. Buck! She rises
Fully equal to the crisis;
With a hot flat-iron, she
Draws the cold out famously.
Soon 'twas in the mouths of men,
All through town: "Buck's up again!"

This was the bad boys' third trick,
But the fourth will follow quick.

TRICK FOURTH

An old saw runs somewhat so:
Man must learn while here below. —
Not alone the A, B, C,
Raises man in dignity;
Not alone in reading, writing,
Reason finds a work inviting;
Not alone to solve the double
Rule of Three shall man take trouble:
But must hear with pleasure Sages
Teach the wisdom of the ages.
Of this wisdom an example
To the world was Master Lämpel.
For this cause, to Max and Maurice
This man was the chief of horrors;
For a boy who loves bad tricks
Wisdom's friendship never seeks.
With the clerical profession
Smoking always was a passion;
And this habit without question,
While it helps promote digestion,
Is a comfort no one can
Well begrudge a good old man,
When the day's vexations close,
And he sits to seek repose. —
Max and Maurice, flinty-hearted,
On another trick have started;
Thinking how they may attack a
Poor old man through his tobacco.
Once, when Sunday morning breaking,
Pious hearts to gladness waking,
Poured its light where, in the temple,
At his organ sate Herr Lämpel,
These bad boys, for mischief ready,
Stole into the good man's study,
Where his darling meerschaum stands.
This, Max holds in both his hands;
While young Maurice (scapegrace born!)
Climbs, and gets the powderhorn,
And with speed the wicked soul
Pours the powder in the bowl.
Hush, and quick! now, right about!
For already church is out.
Lämpel closes the church-door,
Glad to seek his home once more;
All his service well got through,
Takes his keys, and music too,
And his way, delighted, wends
Homeward to his silent friends.
Full of gratitude he there
Lights his pipe, and takes his chair.
"Ah!" he says, "no joy is found
Like contentment on earth's round!"
Fizz! whizz! bum! The pipe is burst,
Almost shattered into dust.
Coffee-pot and water-jug,
Snuff-box, ink-stand, tumbler, mug,
Table, stove, and easy-chair,
All are flying through the air
In a lightning-powder-flash,
With a most tremendous crash.
When the smoke-cloud lifts and clears,
Lämpel on his back appears;
God be praised! still breathing there,
Only somewhat worse for wear.
Nose, hands, eyebrows (once like yours),
Now are black as any Moor's;
Burned the last thin spear of hair,
And his pate is wholly bare.
Who shall now the children guide,
Lead their steps to wisdom's side?