Butler citizen. [volume] (Butler, Pa.) 1877-1922, 1883-04-11
MY RIDE ON A STAR ROUTE

1 W.
For the accommodation of two
small post Offices, stage, poor al
fair, runs direct, said mine host.
The freshness of q summer morning,
the changing views, the hilly road, the
trees, wild flowers and singing birds
were delight, even in thought, and |
said at once:
The stage
While breakfasting, the next morn
ing, the clerk came in and said in a
low voice
The stcge is here, your trunk is on,
but finish your breakfast the driver
will wait"
| went out soon, but no stage was
to be seen, and | asked if it had gone
for ether passengers.
This is it, said my more laughing
than smiling host.
Such another nondescript vehicle
may l never see. One poor, old white
horse, an express wagon, the back seat
of which had been taken out to make
room for my trunk, and the packages
of all forms and sizes, for the driver
proved to be an express messenger,
and universal erraDd boy Of the farm
ers along the route. | hesita;ed, my
trunk was on, and the morning air
fragrant. So with help | climbed on
the wheel and pitched into the wagon,
and took possession of the one seat, and
planted my feet upon what seemed an
empty bag, but which proved to have
the honor of being the u. S. Mail,
and to contain two packages Gone Of
which, as | got cut to rest while the
mail was changed, / saw contained
exactly two postal cards and four
newspapers
Where is the driver?' | asked.
when he found out he was to have
lady passenger he went in to empty
and rinse his mouth out, was the ans
wer
He came, out at the elbows, patched
at the knees, with vest and linen spot
ted with tobacco juice. / turned my
head away. as sitting down beside me
he took up the reins and said:
'G'laDg, g'lang, g'langP
This oft-repeated word alone broke
our silence, until out of the village he
stopped at stcne trough beneath some
trees, to water his horse. On bough
a robin was swaying, and warbling
his sweetest notes, ending in a long
twitter The driver, who was stand
ing near his horses head, took some
crumbs from his pocket and held them
OF
them from his hand. With clear,
smooth voice the driver quoted Word
sworth's
"Thou art the bird that man loves best,
The pious bird with scarlet breast
The bird, who by some name or other,
All men who know thee call thee brother"
He scattered more crumbs on the stone,
buckled the check rein, mounted the
seat with;
Goodbye, my little friend, be here
tomorrow, g'lang, g'lang.
The delicate act, the cultured voice,
made me look at him. His face was
clean and clean shaven; his features
regular and refined; his eyes large,
clear and very deep blue; his hair
brown gray; his hands small and, had
the nails been clean, would have Leen
handsome.
Who can he be? | said to myself,
to him / said
That bird seems to know you
lie is always waiting for the male, ,
he said
And always gets something, |
fancy
Always. l rarely have passen-
ger and so talk to the birds and squir-
rels, g'lang, g'lang Iregret | havn't
a better horse-g'lang-as my con-
slant urging must annoy you, g'lang,
glang'
You do not whip him.
Never. But | often think Panza's
Rosinante, like the wandering Jew, is
still on earth
And this is hep
This is he without Doubt
Just then we drove through q bit
of woodland filled with music. He
said
How truly Mary Howett voices
ones feelings in her poem:
Come We into the summer woods! But no
mortal pen can
Tell half the sights of beauty you may see.'
| loved to hear him talk. His
language was pure, his anecdotes re-
fined, his quotations from standard
authors were frequent, but brief and to
the point.
WHO can he ben | ask myself
| A for no
stopped to give packages, from mend
ed scythe snath to gold bracelet.
And whenever good woman ran out
and called, he took her wishes in note
book, with all the courtesy and LEARN 6
of thoroughbred gentleman.
took the liberty to glance at the
book. The writing and spelling show
ed him to be man of education.
will not so many stops prevent
yolr making timer | asked.
'Oh, no! am not obliged to be at
until II NJ, and | start two
hours earlier than the old driver did
In order to oblige the farmers along
the route p | asked
1T part: but Pope says, 'Self-love
and social are the same love the
morning air, love to speak word to
the good people, to break the dead
monotony of their work day lives by Il
bit of stirring news. Truly, these
hours on the road are the pleasantest
of my life
You are never lonely p
Meier. With God and nature can
one be lonely?'
A gentleman, with fine pair o
blood horses, passed us, and they ex
change cordial greetings. The driver
said:
"A unmnn who had worked in the