A gentleman with a wooden leg, travelling in a stage-coach, was annoyed
by questions relative to himself and his business proposed by his
fellow-passengers. One of them inquired how he came to lose his leg. "I
will tell you," he replied, "on condition that you all ask me no other
question." To this there was no objection, and the promise was given.
"As to the loss of my leg," said he, "_it was bit off_!" There was a
pause. No more questions were to be asked; but one of the party, unable
to contain himself, exclaimed, "But I should like to know _how_ it was
bit off." This is an old story, but here is one of a similar kind, of a
more recent date. It occurred in San Francisco, where a genuine Yankee,
having bored a new comer with every conceivable question relative to his
object in visiting the gold country, his hopes, his means, and his
prospects, at length asked him if he had a family.
"Yes, sir; I have a wife and six children in New York; and I never saw
one of them."
After this reply the couple sat a few moments in silence; then the
interrogator again commenced,--
"Was you ever blind, sir?"
"No, sir."
"Did you marry a widow, sir?"
"No, sir."
Another lapse of silence.
"Did I understand you to say, sir, that you had a wife and six children
living in New York, and had never seen one of them?"
"Yes, sir; I so stated it."
Another and a longer pause of silence. Then the interrogator again
inquired,--
"How can it be, sir, that you never saw one of them?"
"Why," was the response, "_one of them_ was born after I left."
A gentleman in America, riding in an eastern railroad car, which was
rather sparsely supplied with passengers, observed, in a seat before
him, a lean, slab-sided Yankee; every feature of his face seemed to ask
a question, and a little circumstance soon proved that he possessed a
more "inquiring mind." Before him, occupying an entire seat, sat a lady
dressed in deep black, and after shifting his position several times,
and manoeuvring to get an opportunity to look into her face, he at
length caught her eye.
"In affliction?"
"Yes, sir," responded the lady.
"Parent?--father or mother?"
"No, sir."
"Child, perhaps?--a boy or a girl?"
"No, sir, not a child; I have no children."
"Husband, then, I expect?"
"Yes," was the curt answer.
"Hum! cholery? A tradin' man may be?"
"My husband was a seafaring man, the captain of a vessel; he didn't die
of cholera; he was drowned."
"O, drowned, eh?" pursued the inquisitor, hesitating for a brief
instant. "Save his _chist_?"
"Yes; the vessel was saved, and my husband's effects," said the widow.
"_Was_ they?" asked the Yankee, his eyes brightening up. "_Pious_ man?"
"He was a member of the Methodist Church."
The next question was a little delayed, but it came.
"Don't you think that you have great cause to be thankful that he was a
pious man, and saved his _chist_?"
"I do," said the widow abruptly, and turned her head to look out of the
window.
The indefatigable "pump" changed his position, held the widow by his
glittering eye once more, and propounded one more query, in a lower
tone, with his head slightly inclined forward, over the back of the
seat,--
"Was you calculating to get married again?"
"Sir," said the widow, indignantly, "you are impertinent!" And she left
her seat and took another on the other side of the car.
"'Pears to be a little huffy?" said the ineffable bore. Turning to our
narrator behind him, "What did they make you pay for that umbrella
you've got in your hand?"
* * * * *
A person more remarkable for inquisitiveness than good-breeding--one of
those who, devoid of delicacy and reckless of rebuff, pry into
everything--took the liberty to question Alexander Dumas rather closely
concerning his genealogical tree.
"You are a quadroon, Mr. Dumas?" he began.
"I am, sir," replied M. Dumas, who had seen enough not to be ashamed of
a descent he could not conceal.
"And your father?"
"Was a mulatto."
"And your grandfather?"
"A negro," hastily answered the dramatist, whose patience was waning.
"And may I inquire what your great-grandfather was?"
"An ape, sir," thundered Dumas, with a fierceness that made his
impertinent interrogator shrink into the smallest possible compass. "An
ape, sir; my pedigree commences where yours terminates."
* * * * *
"Where have you been, Helen?" asked Caroline Swift of her sister, as
Helen, with a package in one hand and some letters in the other, entered
the parlour one severe winter's day.
Caroline had been seated near the fire, sewing; but as her sister came
in with the package, up the little girl sprang; and, allowing cotton,
thimble, and work to find whatever resting-place they could, she hurried
across the room; and, without so much as "By your leave, sister," she
caught hold of the letters and commenced asking questions as fast as her
nimble tongue could move.
"Which question shall I answer first?" asked Helen, good-humouredly,
trying, as she spoke, to slip a letter out of sight.
"Tell me whose letter you are trying to hide there," cried Caroline,
making an effort to thrust her hand into her sister's pocket.
Helen held the pocket close, saying gravely, "Suppose I should tell you
that this letter concerns no one but myself, and that I prefer not to
name the writer?"
"Oh dear! some mighty mystery, no doubt. I didn't suppose there was any
harm in asking you a question."
Caroline's look and tone plainly indicated displeasure.
"There is harm, Caroline, in trying to pry into anything that you see
that another person wishes to keep to herself; for it shows a meddling
disposition, and is a breach of the command to do as you would be done
by."
"You're breaking that command yourself," retorted Caroline, "for you
won't let me see what I want to see."
"God's commands do not require us to forget our own rights. I am not
bound to do to you what you have no right to require of me. We have all
a perfect right to request of each other whatever is perfectly conducive
to our welfare and happiness, provided it does not improperly infringe
upon that of the person of whom the request is made. You trespass upon
_my rights_ when you attempt to pry into my private affairs."
"Mercy, Helen! don't preach any more. I guess I'm not the only
meddlesome person in the world. One half the people I know need nothing
more to make them take all possible pains to learn about a thing than to
know the person whom it concerns wishes it kept secret. But where have
you been, pray? and what have you in that bundle?" and Caroline tore off
the paper cover from the package which Helen had laid upon the table.
"Caroline," said the mother of the two young girls, "why do you not wait
to see whether your sister is willing for you to open her package? From
your tone, my dear, one would judge that you were appointed to
cross-question Helen, and had a right to be angry if she declined
explaining all her motives and intentions to you."
"For pity's sake! mother, haven't I a right to ask my sister all the
questions I please? I tell her everything I do, and I think she might
show the same confidence in me."
"You have a right, my daughter, to ask any proper question of any one;
but it is unmannerly to ask too particularly about things that do not
concern you; or to speak _at all_ respecting a thing which you see that
another desires should pass unobserved. It shows a small and vulgar mind
to seek to pry into the affairs of another, unless there be some great
necessity for doing so. Never press a matter where there is a
disposition to be reserved upon the subject. Be refined, my child;
remember that courtesy is as much a command of the Bible as is honesty.
I have often heard you, my thoughtless Carrie, mention impatiently the
annoying habits of one who is often here. You have said in great anger
that no one of the family could have a new shoe, or a neck ribbon, or
could go across the street twice, without being questioned and
cross-questioned by that young lady, until she became possessed of all
the particulars concerning the purchase or the walk. It is not well to
be violent in condemning one's neighbour, my children; but it is not
wrong to take notice enough of their faults to determine to shun them in
our own conduct, and also to try, if a proper season offers, to help
them to amend. I never wish to hear you speak again so harshly of the
person to whom I refer; but I very earnestly desire that you should
begin in season to check habits which, if suffered to go on, will render
you just as far from a favourite with your friends as she, poor orphan
girl, is with hers. She had no one to point out to her her faults and
her dangers; therefore the condemnation will be nothing to compare with
yours, if you forget that the spirit of the golden rule, which is the
true spirit of Christianity, requires attention just as close and
constant to all the little hardly noticed habits of heart and life as to
those of the more marked and noticeable:--
''Tis in these little things we all can do and say,
Love showeth best its gentle charity.'"
Boldness and impudence are the twin features in the inquisitive talker.
Were these counterbalanced by education in the ordinary civilities of
life, he would be more worthy a place in the company of those whom now
he annoys with his rude and impertinent interrogatories. Few men care to
have the secrets of their minds discovered by the probing questions of
an intruder. The prudent man has many things, it may be, in his mind, in
his family, in his business, which are sacred to him, and to attempt an
acquaintance with them by stealth is what no one will do but he who is
devoid of good manners, or, if he ever had any, has shamefully forgotten
them. There are proper times and places in conversation for questions;
but even then they should be put with discretion and frankness. A man
should have common sense and civility enough to teach him when and what
questions to ask, and how far to go in his questions, so that he may not
seem to meddle with matters which do not concern him.