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: