University of Virginia Library

STAGE COMPANIONSHIP.

Some folks are always talking, and some, with provoking
taciturnity, are always saying nothing, to use a
left-handed expression. We like a good talker, intelligent,
quick, ready, — whose happy conversational power
tends to make the rough way of life pleasant; and we
have a corresponding dread of one who drones, and hesitates,
and speaks only by monosyllables, and then as if
he took out each word and looked at it before he dared
to utter it. It is amusing at times to observe two of
these human opposites come in contact, — to hear the
lively laugh and playful jest of the one, as he rattles on,
like a fast horse over the paving-stones, striking a spark
at every step, and the sombre glumness of the other,
who, hardly deigning to smile, sits tongueless, brooding
over his thoughts, like a hen at midnight. Put the two
in a stage-coach or rail-car, to modernize a little, and see
how the former will shine; while the latter, poor dummy,
though perhaps morally and intellectually worth six
of the former, sits unnoted, or regarded only as some
cheap fellow of no consequence.

We were one of three who one day, long ago, occupied
seats with the driver of a stage, during a fifty mile ride,
and one of the company was the merriest fellow we ever
saw. He told stories, sung songs, and laughed, till all
rang again, with our accompaniment, by the “dim
woods” that we passed, and over the hills that we

climbed. It was a jolly ride, surpassing that, we think,
of the renowned Mr. Pickwick, where the very correct
Bob Sawyer occupied an equally outside position with
our illustrious selves. We were somewhat inclined to be
merry in those days, may Heaven forgive us! and that
ride was an event to be remembered life-long. The
whole party enjoyed it, save one, and he was the most
woebegone-looking customer we had ever seen. Joking
would n't move him; he was impenetrable to any missile
of that kind, and there he sat with a countenance fifty
miles long, —'t is fair to reckon it by the length of the
road, — gazing very sadly at the right ear of the nigh
horse. Our funny companion at last bent his whole battery
upon the silent man, and tried to draw him out. It was
an entire failure, and the joker, a little chagrined at the
other's imperturbability, asked him, in a somewhat hasty
tone, why the (something) he did n't talk. Without
moving his eyes from the contemplation of the horse's
ear, he opened his head, and these words dropped out:
“What's—the—use—of—talking?”

“My son,” said Mr. Smith to his little boy who was
devouring an egg, — it was Mr. Smith's desire to instruct
his boy, — “My son, do you know that chickens come
out of eggs?”

“Ah, do they, father?” said young Hopeful; “I
thought that eggs came out of chickens!”

The elder Smith drew back from the table sadly, and
gazed upon his son, then put on his hat and went to his
work.