Chapter V: Part 5

The short gentleman, continued he, who has just passed, is an honored and skilful follower of a profession which has acquired considerable note in the world, though now it must be practiced secretly. What has occasioned this interdict is not easily discovered. Should you say to that gentleman that an improved moral public opinion caused it, he would merrily take your arm, and by leading you to a number of highly respectable resorts, soon show you how much, at least in practice, the majority is on the other side. It is said of the old Germans, that in their passion for gaming, they often staked their persons upon a die, and if unsuccessful, patiently became slaves. The world has made of human life nothing but an uncertain game, in which the shrewdest cheats frequently obtain the greatest honor. No wonder, then, that many who would not purchase heaven by a little inconvenience, never hesitate to follow in the German’s wake, profiting if successful, and enduring if unlucky. That gentleman’s skill has thus far saved him. When he first came amongst us, one of his bachelor kin was reputed wealthy, whilst he was designated as the only heir. Notwithstanding his professional practices, which were of course not taken into account, he married a most respectable citizen’s daughter, who had long been angling for an heir: but the bargain has proved an unprofitable one after all. His wealthy kin, becoming intimate with his pretty housekeeper, eventually married her--thus establishing a different order of succession. Ah, thought Peter, “the best laid plans o’ men and mice gang aft aglie,” and the foolish dreams of fickle maidens often end in a life of good repentance.

Yonder, sir, is another professional gentleman, but his profession is of a different cast. He mistook his calling, and without possessing any brain, desired to become a lawyer, but has failed even to make a tolerable pettifogger. I am assured that his teacher, who swore that his skull was so “miserably thick” that scarcely an idea could be battered into it, constantly importuned and urged him to venture upon some learned profession, having been fully persuaded, from observation, that the stupidity which he so eminently possessed, was one of the most essential qualifications for such an undertaking. I have advised him to turn his attention to medicine, as being better suited to his calibre, and in which he might perhaps prove more prosperous, or at least find greater security for his deficiencies. He still clings to his profession, however, and having thus far maintained his dignity by constant calls upon his acquaintances, he is now prepared to cheat them all. A practice, thought Peter, quite common, but no one need expect to pass through the world without contributing his quota towards supporting the drones that are in it.

There, sir, you may rest assured you see a moral man. Never mind his rags, for you must know that young men, morality, and fine linen, seldom go together in this world, where fathers invite libertines to their houses, where mothers welcome the attentions paid to their daughters by noted debauchees, and where young maidens themselves prefer a smile from wealthy licentiousness to a nod from virtuous poverty. Though he is neither Godwardly nor manwardly crooked, which should secure him esteem in a world of such great pretence to excellence, he has sufficiently experienced that virtue, when contrasted only with its present social rewards, is but an “empty name, a phantom, an abject slave, exposed to the insults of fortune,” as the dying Roman Stoic has declared. He has been tempted enough, but relying upon the self-approval which has never abandoned him, this has only made him a more shining example. I proclaim to you, upon better authority than my own, that there is a resting place provided for the troubled, and that men like he will inherit it. Thanks, thought Peter, for the happy prospect of adding another to the names in my little volume. [Here it must be explained that Peter had long kept a small book, in which he had written the names of all whom he personally encountered during his life, and who, he supposed, might stand a respectable chance of profiting by the exchange of worlds to be made at their last gasp; but thus far he had occasion to call it into requisition only on three several occasions. The third time, however, having discovered his own deception, he used it to amend by erasing one of the names previously registered there.]

You see yonder group of three: the one is a petty printer, the other an unscrupulous politician, and the third an independent voter. Altogether there is wit enough amongst them to make one tolerable fool, and heart enough to make one paltry villain. The first endeavors to persuade the public that the second is an honest and patriotic citizen, for which he receives the common rewards of the political toady: a pleasant smile and lavish promises to begin,--a bitter curse, worse treachery, and a parting kick, to end; the other has already been in office for a time, and has stolen sufficient for another campaign; whilst the third is just preparing to increase his shouts for the good of the country, for which he demands a greater indulgence to his appetites. The palate is a marvellous channel through which to obtain distinction and preferment, an easy manufactory of good opinion, extorting pledges of eternal friendship with astonishing rapidity, and clinching a kind conclusion with emphatic precision. The old maxim has it, that “you may easily pin down a fellow’s nose to a full table,” and much of the success and distinction in the world has no better basis. The aspirant yonder knows full well how to avail himself of this one of our good-natured imperfections, and having duped the people once, through its aid and the assistance of his companions, this success has emboldened him to make another effort. Beware of them all, for though they may be loud in their declamations and vociferous in their patriotic demonstrations, they still answer Seneca’s description,--“their liberty consists principally in stuffing their bellies”--and may yet incur the general ridicule instead of obtaining the public plunder. The most serious public matters, you know, are often made the merest farces, and the frequent promotion of knaves as often incurs no paltry penalties, as you may learn from that red-faced individual approaching this way. “Mankind,” says an old philosopher, “are not so happy, as that the best things shall have the most patrons and defenders;” and notwithstanding the habits of that officer, he has been elevated to the chief position of this place, and now sits in judgment upon all offenders. His first morning task is to meet his friends at the “Stag’s Head” yonder, his second to feast upon and imbibe the wherewith to maintain his ruddy hue, and his third to reel to his office, open his judicial council, and dispose of the drunken or offending creatures who may have been taken into custody during the night, not so much for ill behaviour as to provide a paltry fee for the police. Of course, a police whose rewards depend upon the number of unfortunate creatures that may fall into their clutches, cannot be remarkably cautious upon whom they exercise their authority, nor measure personal freedom by any very exact or liberal scale. Nothing beyond the prospect of a few picayunes, thought Peter, is required to make men’s vision double, and cause them to discover heinous offences where the disinterested and humane only see matter for merriment or pity.

Here comes a peculiar organization of human qualities. Avarice, prodigality, and falsehood, are that man’s principal characteristics--a combination of inconsistent vices which make him rather a petty fool than a sensible knave, to which latter distinction he seems to aspire. To day he will clutch a shilling with a grasp so powerful that nothing can extort it, and to-morrow he will contract a debt to gratify the most paltry vice that may move him. Should he happen to get into your debt upon such an occasion, he will not be at a loss for lies to evade your demand. When Mareschal de Rochelaure was accused of taking part with the Duke of Mayenne, he answered the king that he “did not follow the duke, but his own money, for his debt would be but in a desperate condition, if he did not stick close to his debtor.” Your tenacity in sticking close to that man would only extort from him the same falsehood a thousand times, and if detected and reproached, he would coolly ask you whether you were so cursed a fool as to believe him! He never enjoys a hearty laugh, save when he has duped some unsuspecting individual who may have been induced to confide in him.----You need not be surprised at his quick and sudden disappearance around the corner; for yonder comes his especial friend, the collector, who has caused him to tell more lies than a dozen of satan’s imps could register in a year, and make more clumsy dodges than could be chronicled in a volume as large as a quarto Bible. Of all dreaded things in our place, that collector is the most dreaded. He is a clever, sociable, and amusing fellow, who first puts you in a happy humor by his joviality, and then draws the money from your purse before you are aware of it. He was quite a favorite a few years ago, his society being universally courted, but since he has engaged in his present employment every body dodges and runs from him. My dear sir, if you wish to preserve your friendly intercourse with a neighborhood, never become a collector; but should you ever be beset with more friends than you know what to do with, I know of no honorable process by which you can so easily get rid of them as by commencing this troublesome business. However brave a people may be, reflected Peter, they have never yet had the courage boldly to face a bill, and many who had laughed danger in the face, skulked like cowards into the darkest corner upon beholding the simple shadow of a creditor.

You observe yonder lynx-eyed individual moving slowly along. He sees all that is passing within vision around him. His two eyes seem to answer the purposes of a hundred, and are constantly in motion. Although everything within their range falls under their quick and penetrating scrutiny, they behold nothing to admire or to make him glad. They might as well gaze upon an utter blank, and certainly he would experience more comfort should they recognise only a wide and dismal waste instead of prosperity and happiness. He is as despicable a victim of envy as the world ever saw, which simply moves him to hate the success of those around him, and repine at their happiness. He can only find gratification in their distress and joy in their calamities. A tinge of envy, however much descried, is sometimes productive of good results, for I have known it to prove an incentive to exertion where all else had failed; but when permanently retained, it becomes the powerful and fertile cause of hypocricies, lies, deceits, treacheries, slanders, annihilating every good quality in nature, and yet unsatisfied, still adding fuel to its evil ones. That man would not hesitate to blast the qualities of your brain, merely because he cannot bear your superiority; nor would he pause to ruin you in your possessions, although he should not derive the least profit from it. Whilst, however, he discovers pleasure in the ruin alike of those above and below him, he finds a vulture in his evil passion, which, “like iron over-run with rust, not only defiles, but destroys himself continually.” It is well, reflected Peter, that passions which can only experience delight in the evil fate of others, should likewise make a meal upon their possessor, and that whilst he smiles upon the calamities of the unfortunate, his smile should be but an expression of his inward torture.

There you may recognise a bald-pated knave, whose age, instead of preserving him from the snares of the young, only seems to encourage and embolden him the more. He is in company with his son-in-law, to whom he once refused to give his daughter’s hand in marriage, for reasons which he did not care to make known either to her or his household. The vigilance and curiosity of those less interested, however, soon succeeded in ascertaining them, and the discovery afforded no little amusement at his perplexity. The chief priests and scribes were not in a greater quandary when they had the choice to say “yea,” and be convicted of their baseness, or “nay,” and be stoned by the people. He had too often met the aspirant to his daughter’s hand at places of resort where none of our community who values his moral character is likely to go. Peter was somewhat at a loss here, yet he could not help reflecting that the father who visits places of crime, is in a very ridiculous dilemma when compelled to make use of his personal knowledge and his own dishonor to preserve the reputation of his family.

See there--worthy patterns of a gentleman and lady. He is an honest and faithful husband, and she an affectionate and virtuous wife. They love wisely and well, live happily in each other, and are models to all who know them. Make them your friends, for the very atmosphere in which they move is worth more than all the attention a thousand such as have yet passed us could bestow. The lord who loves his lady truly, and ever keeps unbroken the faith he has plighted to her, becomes as much an example to the world as a joy to his wife; and the lady who never forgets her affection and allegiance to her lord, is so much superior to the common woman that to him she always seems an angel out of Paradise. “An honest man,” said old Simonides, “can have nothing in this world better than a good wife,” and surely an honest woman can ask no higher blessing than a good husband. You see such in those two, and may well seek their friendship and profit by their excellencies of character and correctness of habits. Ah! thought Peter, a happy oasis in the desert of matrimonial life, still inspiring reverence for the institution, though it be made the fickle plaything of the world, its common game of heedless chance and hazard.

There, sir, in that old man you see an impersonation of prejudice, a quality not inaptly defined as “the spider of the mind, filling it with cobwebs.” His opinion once set, no power on earth can change it, and beware that you press not too closely, lest he adopt the convincing logic of Frederick the Great, who, it is said, when argument failed to enforce his convictions, had recourse to “kicking the shins of his opponent.” Guide his thoughts into one channel and they will follow it, though it should lead him to the devil. His prejudices frequently render him as obstinate as a mule, and as often not as wise. He still stands where his fathers stood before him, and joined to the idols and follies of a past age, he has no sympathies with the present. If he thinks at all, he does so simply to fasten upon his mind the more his cherished errors, and your only policy is to “let him alone.” Never, reflected Peter, undertake to straighten the crooked nature of the prejudiced man, for to him all your facts are nothing but a stumbling-block, and all your reasons simple foolishness.

Yonder lame individual furnishes a story well illustrating the fickleness of the human heart. Though we may appear to be enraptured with a single feeling, the intervention of a trifling circumstance not unfrequently entirely relieves us of it. That gentleman courted a fair young maiden, and eventually his attentions resulted in a betrothal. An unfortunate accident soon after deprived him of a leg, and being thus deformed, his love required little time to extinguish her affection, and accordingly broke her faith. She had bargained more for a solid man than a sound head or heart, and being disabled from complying with the conditions, he was politely rejected. Thus good luck often springs from misfortune, and he gained greatly by the loss of a limb. What a world of cripples, thought Peter, this would suddenly become, could all who desired it be relieved by the loss of a leg of the ills from which his fortunate misfortune preserved him.

Turn your eyes to the left, and you may behold a fanciful pair approaching towards us. That pursy and apparently very jovial fellow--mine host of yonder inn--keeps a resort for gentility, and under the cover of respectability, sends forth unnumbered evils to infest and afflict the community. The practices of his house flourish admirably under the beauty of a fashionable exterior; yet the pestiferous rottenness within could not withstand the eye of modern justice for a moment if disguised only in rags. Public morality in the case where gold is concerned, is quite a different thing from that wherein simple copper is brought into the scale. Respectable crime easily escapes the keen vigilance of those who guard the public virtue, whilst we are loud in their praises when some poor, abandoned, God-forsaken wretch is hurried to his doom amid the imposing show of a high morality and an even-handed justice. That man may lavishly spread his fearful evils--the only things with which men appear to be truly bountiful--with unchecked freedom; and whenever they press too heavily upon us, a few plaintive groans will soon arouse the slumbering sentinels of the law. Powerful justice will sound its signal, triumphantly make a brutal “descent” upon some paltry hut, and drag its starving inmates to the slaughter. Well, has not Carneades pronounced his definitive sentence that “justice is folly;” and what matters it whether I offend, and some more unfortunate creature pays the penalty, so that justice is appeased? It must have victims, and fate, ill-fortune, and poverty, have not been miserly in providing them. Thus it is never at a loss for the means wherewith to preserve that reputation which Tully thought so essential “that even those who lived by outrage and villany could not subsist without at least its shadow or semblance.” That fortunate knave may prosper in his practices, and though their fatal consequences may sometimes arouse our vengeance, there never will be wanting those whose immolation will allay it. His tall, robust companion is a character--a perfect original. He will hug, and pet, and caress you with the tenderness of a captivated maiden, all for a picayune; and when he has thus fondled it out of your possession, having no prospect of realizing more, he would as lovingly kick you out of doors for a ha’penny--thus making you as profitable a customer as the circumstances could possibly admit. Headlong and heedless withal, his actions ever in advance of his thoughts, he is a mass of locomotive matter, tumbling about on the earth, with no idea to accomplish, no purpose to fulfil. This is not the only one, reflected Peter, who has, by some comical dispensation of nature, been placed outside of his orbit, as if it designed to exhibit what a fickle whirligig can be made of man by unhinging his directing power.

Look to that building yonder. The gentleman who has just entered it is a modern reformer. He railed against the evil habits of men, and the sinful and dishonest practices of the world, until sent to the penitentiary for having attached another man’s name to a small piece of bankable paper. The imitation was good, but unfortunately for him history had chronicled the adventures of Saavadra, the famous and somewhat romantic nuncio of Portugal, and having failed, in his mania for improvement, to improve upon this noted forger, he atoned for his unsuccessful attempt by faithfully serving the full period of his sentence. He is now riding his hobby-horse of “Reform” again, with even greater boldness than before. This may be owing to the extra courage acquired, or perhaps to the change effected in the times, during the period which he devoted to solitary meditations. The sledge-hammer mode of reform has since accomplished marvels and become highly fashionable; but it is now greatly feared that many too charitable fellows, in their exceedingly magnanimous efforts to drive the erring back from the brink of perdition, will stand a very excellent chance of tumbling in themselves. He has abandoned the task of persuading for the more exalted one of coercing, which may prove more profitable; but should he branch out a second time upon his own responsibility, it is hoped he may realize his ideas of improvement by choosing some species of roguery wherein he shall leave no historical example unexcelled. It is no uncommon occurrence of the ludicrous in life, reflected Peter, to see those in whom the ordinary thief could not confide, suddenly become reformers, and find patrons for their presumption and fools to regard them as patterns of moral propriety.

Note that gentleman and lady opposite. He is her husband. Having seen his wife in dishabille the morning after his wedding, and meeting her upon his return home at noon arrayed for public inspection, it is currently reported, he found her so much improved and beautified that he mistook her for a stranger, and absolutely asked her of the whereabout of his spouse. Nature has been exceedingly kind after all. If it has ordained that youth should fade, it has generously furnished the material whereby a century can be made to assume the appearance of a score. What matters it that old Father Cyprian thought all change the work of satan, and pronounced it running counter to the will of God to paint or black the hair, because he had read, “Thou canst not make one hair white or black?” Who cares for the declaration of Tertullian, that “it is the devil that mounts the actors on their buskins, in order to make Jesus Christ a liar, who has said, that no one can add one cubit to his stature?” They were both wofully mistaken, and our ladies have most triumphantly refuted their errors, by silently exhibiting that a hundred Tophets could not supply imps enough to make half the changes and additions which they daily parade before our eyes. It is marvellous, reflected Peter, what artificial charms can be conjured up by those who properly understand the art of beauty; and why should they fret and complain against fate, when, with paint, powder, and cotton, they are constantly proving that their troublesome deficiencies were simply meant as so many kindnesses, by leaving them at liberty to manufacture whatever hue and dimensions that might best please their fancies?

The young lady and gentleman who have just passed by, seem to have arrested your attention. They are intimate acquaintances, and it is conjectured they will be something more in due time. You heard her indignant remark upon the dissoluteness of that young man yonder, a distant and ill-starred connexion of hers, and her emphatic wish for an edict providing for the decapitation of all such reckless creatures. Her creed, my dear sir, if impartially carried into effect, would scarcely permit a head to remain solidly upon the shoulders of a single citizen in the country; and her companion, though he does share her virtuous affections, would be one of the first to despair for his own. If shrewder and more cunning, he certainly is no better than the individual who has elicited her censure, though she knows it not. Her ignorance is blissful, however deceptive. Should some superhuman agency, thought Peter, suddenly reveal the truthful characters of Cupid’s followers, how many confiding maidens would be startled at having admired the most knavish deceivers, and how many foolish swains would stand aghast with horror at the dishonest treachery of their lady-loves!

In that young man approaching this way, you may recognise somewhat of a philosopher. You might as well attempt to scale the mountains of the moon as to persuade him that there was much real virtue in the world. “We are honest,” he argues, “from convenience or policy, and apparently moral from a fear of society, which has established certain rules, and is given to certain general opinions, the violations of which are always attended with some difficulties or vexations. The old Romans had their censors, whose chief business it was to inspect the morals of the citizens, and could we, by following some such example, spread out before us the hidden conduct and practices of each individual, the little of real conscience and truth, substantial honesty and morality, we should be able to detect, might tempt us to abandon our moral code entirely. Or could we, by a glance, penetrate the past lives and habits, and scrutinize the secret sins of all whom we encounter, what a terrible blushing there would be in the world, and how many would laugh in each other’s faces! Many whose apparent honesty now claims your respect, unable any longer to disguise their hypocrisy, would only make merry over the numerous counterparts of themselves with whom they should constantly come in contact. The virtuous Thrasea spoke but the truth in his favorite maxim, that ‘he who suffers himself to hate vice will hate mankind;’ for, although all must pretend to virtue from a kind of social necessity, it is a garment which they cast aside without a pause when rendered safe from detection, ever faithfully illustrating the saying of Agathias, that ‘virtue upon necessity is just as long lived as the fear that occasions it.’ The world seems desperately determined to vindicate what its Saviour has affirmed, and no prophecy promises to be more fully realized than his sorrowful declaration that ‘narrow is the way which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.’” Such is a taste of the young man’s opinions, in which he is so firmly rooted, that should you persuade him that the fate of the town depended upon ten righteous men to be found within it, he would at once take to his heels, and never pause until he was far out of danger. Whether there is not too much of correctness in his melancholy views, you must determine for yourself.--No very difficult matter, reflected Peter, amid the many unpleasant examples that are destined daily to bring unwelcome aid to your judgment, and exhibit to your gaze so many who seem but to struggle the hardest to obtain the greatest curses.

You will pardon the interruption, said the stranger, but my attention has been arrested by the counterfeit manikin suspended by the neck to the branch of yonder tree, and my curiosity excited to know what fickle whim or fancy placed it there. Its import, replied the other, not endeavoring to restrain his merriment, is very significant. The female occupants of the adjoining houses have for some time been engaged in a bitter quarrel. The intolerable scolding propensities of one of them, common report avers, caused her husband to resort to that effective mode of obtaining relief. The cunning of the other, in the progress of the quarrel, has devised that silent but expressive expedient as an annoyance and remembrancer to her enemy, and by replacing it as often as it is destroyed, promises fair to be the conqueror in the end.

Here you may recognise one of those silly or knavish creatures, in whom it is difficult to tell whether the mule or the monkey predominates. He knows but of one vice in the world, and it is the subject of his constant denunciations. He is ceaseless in his praises of honesty, and as “opportunity makes the thief,” according to the proverb, he will probably preserve his reputation as long as he remains amongst those who know him. It is given as a rule, and in case you encounter him it may prove of service, always to mistrust the man who too much prides himself upon possessing a certain quality, and to be suspicious of him who constantly deals in vehement complaints against a particular vice. Such are generally weak in what they boast themselves strong, and their darts are frequently directed against the very fault peculiar to themselves. It is so, thought Peter, even with the great world, which ever descries its own practices, and yet tenaciously continues in them, as if loathe to part with such excellent causes to elicit its censure, and such admirable escape-valves through which its wrath may freely ooze itself away.

There is an amusing and withal pitiable victim of a mistake. He was a lodger at a public inn, and rising early one morning, he was mistaken for a burglar, and received a terrible beating from his hasty and suspicious host. To redress this injury, he flew to the law--a very singular power to decide upon a mistake. The landlord, not thus to be outdone, brought a more serious charge against him in retaliation. The blind Goddess, whose determinations were ascertained by two intelligent juries, very magnanimously gave each the benefit of the mistake, and both found comfortable lodgings in the county prison. There, thought Peter, they had leisure at least to cool their sanguine tempers, and reflect upon the frequent tendency of the merest trifles to grow into importance.

Opposite, you may see a genuine specimen of what the world calls a “successful fellow.” He claims to be a proper person to reside upon this especial sphere of God’s creation, and bases his peculiar fitness upon two facts: he is not encumbered with an extra amount of conscience, nor is he restrained by any settled principles of virtue--two things, he avers, not well calculated to promote prosperity in a world where the right and wrong of human actions are so generally estimated by profit and loss. He will never suffer on account of possessing too much of either, both of which he regards as certain roads to poverty, and consequently loss of the world’s esteem. To persuade you that he is doing you a service whilst plundering you, he thinks the perfection of skill and ingenuity. Should he ever tempt you to enter into any of his promising schemes, beware of his plausible representations, for you may swear they only conceal a design to pick your pocket with your own consent. No very uncommon occurrence, reflected Peter, in a world where prosperity is made to depend upon a cunning address, and where a shrewd head is so much preferred to an honest heart.

Approaching us, you may see a specimen of that sad human depravity so frequently encountered, and whom the good morals of the virtuous public have generally indulged under the plea of necessity. She was unfortunate recently in disturbing the peace of a very respectable locality, and having thus over-stepped the bounds of that necessity which tolerated her, she fell into the meshes of the law, and gave us rather a funny illustration of the melancholy effect misfortune has upon friends. Her most punctual visitors, whom she had always received so very graciously, perhaps having a view to their circumstances and positions in society, now repulsed her the most roughly, and gave free vent to their virtuous indignation when she presumed to solicit _their_ aid. After experiencing this ingratitude and baseness, she became seriously ill from the excitement; and despairing of being again restored, her repentant fears set her raving as if mad. Her disconnected revelations were watched with wonderful anxiety, affording great amusement to some, and as greatly exciting the fears of others; but when she expressed it as a Christian duty that a _very_ minute account of her ill-spent life should be given, she caused more genuine consternation than could have followed a siege of the town. The fearful disclosures of a few dozen of her kind, reflected Peter, in each city and town of the country, specifically setting forth the names of their visitors and lovers, could create more confusion than attended the marches of Alexander, and cause a panic perhaps only equalled by that of ancient Rome when invaded by the barbarians.

Turn, however, from this unwelcome picture, and behold that fancy young man yonder. He is too ignorant to be of any service in the position of life to which he pretends, and too much inflated with his own conceit to render himself useful in a different calling. Between these not uncommon qualities, he manages to trudge along, cheating his tailor, defrauding his landlord, and swindling all who may be so unfortunate as to mistake his appearance for respectability and his pretensions for honesty. How such palpable fools manage to maintain their stupidity upon the plunder of more sensible knaves, is one of those inexplicable mysteries of life which few have attempted to determine. We have repudiated the rule of Aristotle, that only those employments are to be reputed mean which render either the body or the soul unfit for the practice of virtue; and by making certain pursuits a test of social standing, and the neglect of all, a sure index of respectability, we have admirably succeeded in rearing a brood of vagabonds whom it would now be ungenerous to neglect. Thus, perhaps, they owe more to our indulgence and kindness than we are willing to acknowledge, being content to endure an occasional swindle, and in this silent manner atone somewhat for an evil which we have ourselves created. It is so much easier, reflected Peter, to tolerate some errors than to reform them, and we are happily prepared to submit to their inconveniences if they will only do us the kindness a little to tickle our vanity.

Look to the windows of yonder houses--two handsome females. You may learn a salutary lesson by carefully contemplating their countenances. The one has led a life of guilt--the other one of innocence and virtue. Look at their smiles: what sadness there is in the one, and what satisfaction there seems to linger around the other! With the guilty, a smile springs only from the lips; with the good, it pleasantly indicates and answers emotions of the heart. See how vexed and restless the manner of the one, and how easy and calm that of the other--a noble contrast between abandonment and graceful dignity. The very bearing of the one indicates a knowledge of her degradation, whilst that of the other firmly yet modestly asserts her equality and her claim to respect. In their loneliness there, you may clearly read the thoughts of each mirrored in her face. What an expression of languor, regret, melancholy, remorse, agony, despair, you see in the one; what quiet repose, comfort, content, pleasure, happiness, joy, is depicted in the other! See in contrast, a spectre of deep, guilty sorrow, peering out from the wrinkles and furrows which tell of fearful tempests and revulsions within, and a calm placid vision beaming forth the life and buoyancy that speak only of the sweet serenity of the soul: dark, dreary, desolate night, filled with treacheries, conspiracies, murders, sprites, and hobgoblins, and bright, mellow sunshine, awakening every impulse and arousing every feeling to chaste delights! The terrors of guilt must indeed be fathomless, if it mixes a remorseful recollection with every smile, and tortures with mental anguish even the moments treasured for repose. Excitement cannot silence or drive thought from the brain, and retirement cannot prevent the soul from shrinking from its own pollution. “All nature is too weak a fence for sin,” observes an ancient poet, and “hell itself can find no fiercer torment than a guilty mind,” remarks another. Whatever, reflected Peter, may be the evil practices of the world, it cannot avoid the furies which they invoke, nor escape the terrors of their revenge.

Ah! see my worthy friend approaching. He is a preacher, and I believe a good man, who loves his fellows, and means all mankind well. His head and heart, however, do not work well together--the one is as empty as the other is full. Well, if the devout Japanese can perform his devotions by machinery, having his _chu-kor_ constantly fixed in some running stream, where it never ceases praying for the prosperity of his house, why may not we go through ours with equal convenience? We are told that our ceremonies seldom trouble our hearts, and if so, surely there is little reason why they should trouble our tongues or limbs. Some such reflection, no doubt, has induced our people to invent many fashionable and easy modes of getting into heaven, for which they deserve lasting gratitude; but then the ways of the Lord are inscrutable, and he has raised up a brood of stupid, prosey, old-women preachers to pest and afflict them. They may make the sanctuary airy, or shut out the chill, together with their servants, and then snooze away on soft, easy cushions, just as though it was the most paltry trifle to inherit the kingdom; yet the Lord is generous, and will frequently remind them of their error by inflicting upon them the sermons of such stupid though good meaning servants as my friend here. When, therefore, reflected Peter, we rightly understand the uses of “bad preachers,” a very common and very equivocal complaint, they reveal a design the wisdom of which it is sinful to censure.

The dumpy individual yonder, wearing the badge of authority, is a worthy constable. Like the great number of his class, he is an excellent man for his calling, wanting both heart and brain, and being consequently little troubled with conscience or integrity. Every poor wretch, whom misfortune has dragged beneath our compassion, adds a trifle to his purse, and immeasurably to his glory. Living on the world’s depravity, he seeks to deprave it the more, that he may increase the profits of his trade. Under the plea of justice he is constantly outraging its holy decrees, and instead of protecting society, he has become one of the worst of its pests. He will boast for hours of his shrewdness, and gloat with wonderful exultation over the ruin of a victim to his formidable oath. Justice would be fearfully crippled without his excellent eyes, whose vision neither doors nor masonry can shut out, and rendered almost entirely powerless without his ears, which happily possess the sharpness to detect the minutest particulars of a crime carried wonderful distances through the whispers of the wind. Though a score should surround him and witness an event, he would hear more than their forty ears, and surprise them all at the absolute worthlessness of their eyes, when he came to narrate his tale in that convenient arena for the exhibition of his talents, a criminal court. Like the pander in Terence, “to have the knack of perjury” he considers a necessary accomplishment, and he never fails to bring down his game when once fairly brought within the range of his oath. Ah, reflected Peter, how many a poor wretch’s fate has depended upon so excellent a swearer, and no one pitied him!

In that slender young man you behold a miserable victim to his own base passions. He moves along, a loathing disgrace to himself, encountering the contempt of all who have not fallen equally low in general esteem. You will preserve your reputation by following their example, and carefully avoiding him. His evil habits have rendered him so exceedingly infamous that nothing less than the sudden acquisition of about fifty thousand dollars could make him a respectable man in the estimation of our community. Should fortune thus favor him, you may consider the interdict removed, and gain credit by doing obeisance alike to him and his sins. What an excellent badge of character, thought Peter, that can work such marvellous changes in public opinion, and hide more faults and render invisible more defects than the mystic ring of Gyges.

There is a poor fellow whose head has been turned by not properly inquiring into the good subject which engrossed his attention. Running wild in his good excitement, he at last fancied he was blessed with extraordinary power, and for a time labored with exceeding great industry in casting out devils! He has now, however, abandoned the excellent work, declaring that he found so many possessed that his efforts were rendered entirely useless, and vowing that the harvest is still as great as it was ages ago, and the laborers equally few. No doubt, thought Peter, he who shall undertake so laborious a task, will have little time for idleness, for to set all things right for eternity, would require nothing short of eternity itself.

When nature made that man yonder, it no doubt went outside of itself in search of additional material. He is a compound too singular to have been made up entirely of its own qualities. He practices medicine without being able to read; plays the preacher and sometimes the prophet, and occasionally acts the pettifogger. By the one he pretends to save lives, souls by the other, and property by the third. He prays vociferously and predicts astounding developments, but never pays his debts; he is vehement in his denunciations of falsehood, but takes to lying quite naturally when it promises a fair remuneration; he deplores the errors of the world, and professes infallibly to drive away the charms of witches; he denounces credulity, and sees “spooks;” he is a philosopher, and pow-wows until exhausted in breath over all diseases too powerful for his remedies. Never entertaining more than one idea at a time, he must be ruled by it, no matter what it be or to what foolishness it may lead him. To-night he may dream of some impossible event or marvellous discovery, and to-morrow he will proclaim it as a settled fact or superhuman revelation. He is constantly propounding schemes to revolutionize the opinions and change the manners and practices of the world, and yet swears by his faith in predestination. A mass of incongruities, an embodiment of nonsense, he nevertheless finds dupes who, perhaps tired of existence, will swallow his prescriptions, meet their doom through his prophecies, and go to ruin through his counsel. Well, reflected Peter, many a man has prospered just because he was ignorant and stupid, and where wisdom starves foolishness must often grow fat.

Here you may behold a poor victim of misfortune, and a melancholy illustration of how much human nature is capable of enduring. From his boyhood he has been forced to encounter the terrors of adversity, and submit to the agonies of poverty and want. The thumps and cuffs, he declares, originally intended for equal distribution amongst several scores, through some sad mistake, have daily been heaped upon his single head, nor could he dodge the most trifling bump. Unable to counteract his evil fate, he eventually sought refuge against it by adopting the life of the soldier. Thus flying into the face of his destiny, with the odds all against him, he only aggravated it the more, adding to his miseries and increasing his privations. He has figured upon many a field of carnage, but fortune has ever refused to send some stray ball to end his career. Abbas, the Persian king, to prevent the indignities of his misfortunes from falling upon his wives, commanded their heads to be cut off in case he lost the battle--certainly an infallible preventative. Not being disposed to apply so rigorous a remedy to obtain relief, that unhappy creature has continued to submit to the fatalities he could not avoid, and perhaps there are few evils in nature which he has not felt. Though he has won the reputation of a brave soldier, it is the only thing he has ever gained from his countrymen, save their ingratitude. He has been to the wars, and returned to beg his bread. He has stood a faithful sentinel over his country’s honor in times of danger, and in its peace and prosperity he has hungered and thirsted, and no one pitied him. He has grappled with the foe, and been victorious: he has fought against his fate, and it conquered him; yet he is the same old patriot still. It is said that the enjoyments of life always counterbalance its ills, but he can present a tear for every pleasurable emotion he has ever experienced, and a pang for every impulse of joy that has ever lighted up his soul. There is, reflected Peter, a hardness of heart in the world which sometimes seems directed against a single individual, making his existence a fearful burthen and rendering even his hopes a terror to himself.

See there--an excellent humbug. He pretends to science, and under the pretext of enlightening our people, he has visited our town. To instruct the public is certainly an honorable employment, but he is a miserable preceptor. In the science to which he pretends he is a marvellous fool, but as an imposter he is a cunning knave. Knowing his ignorance, he wisely seeks to take advantage of the public curiosity, and by working it into a state of itching excitement, he effects more for himself than the most consummate skill or knowledge could attain. His stupid lectures are nightly greeted by gaping crowds, for which he is solely indebted to the fact, that he has provoked the general inquisitiveness through the common and always effectual expedient--giving private lectures to the ladies! Arouse the morbid tastes of a community, and the silliest mountebank will receive its encouragement. What a happy and convenient thing is science, reflected Peter, not only furnishing a sufficient excuse for all kinds of familiar discourse, but also taking off our hands much unpleasant labor by giving currency to such magnanimous instructors.

Here you may recognise an uncongenial creature who could not survive a single day without some object upon which to exercise his malice. Though he may never before have seen you, you may rest assured he will report you a villain, or something not far removed from one. Of course, it is his especial business to know all concerning you and your possessions, and his imagination will readily account for everything: in such a manner, too, as to leave you little cause for self-esteem. His only true delight appears to be in slander, and he would barter heaven for a bit of scandal; yet it were folly to endeavor to avoid him, for he is not without numerous counterparts whom you could scarcely hope to escape, though you should immediately quit the town. Should we now, reflected Peter, revive the ancient punishment of the Poles, who publicly forced the slanderer beneath a table and there compelled him to bark three several times, declaring that he “had lied like a dog,” what a fearful and terrific yelling and howling would suddenly be set up in the world!

See yonder--a “clever fellow.” He has managed to store his head with an abundance of old jokes and anecdotes, which, having formed an effectual barrier against anything else entering into it, are ever at his service. His tongue never flags, which may perhaps be owing to the light burthens it is required to bear, for he never troubles it to give expression to a heavy thought or weighty idea. It is said that Tithonus was transformed into a grasshopper on account of his inclination to talk, but the same propensity has only succeeded in converting that man into a liar. He can sing a song, whistle a jig, and although he may have talent to play a tolerable tune, it must be confessed he plays a game at cards with much greater skill. Polite and affable, he has the address to pass for a gentleman, which, together with a readiness to do their little errands and oblige their whims, brought him into great favor with the ladies, as you observe he is kindly recognised by every one who passes by him. He has a happy faculty of adapting himself to the company into which he may be introduced; and by long practice he has become so expert, that he now finds no more difficulty in entertaining a circle of staid, sober, and inquisitive dotards with “old wives’ fables,” than in directing some licentious carousal. Amongst the gifts with which nature has blessed him, none has proved of more service to him than his excellent stomach, which seems to be perfect proof against the law of “wear and tear.” He can keep you company at the table until you become stupid, drink your health until you become drunk, and then coolly furnish you with a lying excuse to avert the threatening frowns or pacify the angry rage of your wife. His opinions and his conscience are alike pliable, which enables him without trouble to suit himself either to your mind or heart, or to both if required. He will defend the prejudices and errors of the one with true friendly zeal, and commend the good of the other with the enthusiasm of a saint, or encourage its wickedness with the skill of a panderer. Whatever pleases you will be certain to delight him, and he will soon be so assimilated to your tastes as to declare you his “second self.” A rioting, roistering life, however, best comports with his fancy, and he is constantly leading some of his numerous friends into indecorous exploits or lawless adventures. He swears the world was “made for sport,” and why should he be as morose as an anchorite, or shut himself up like some sleepy monk, too drowsy to brush a fly from his nose? Then, too, he is so very liberal--not only generously sharing his pleasures with you, but even providing you with excellent reasons why you should partake of them, and reducing your most heinous offences into “common, every-day peccadilloes.” Are you young, he will persuade you that few faults or vices are so monstrous as to be denied a place amongst youthful follies; and if old, what could be wiser than to employ the little time remaining for you in the pursuit of pleasure and enjoyment? Freely mingling with all, and never finding fault with any, his accomplishments or traits of character have won for him the fine distinction of being a “very clever fellow,”--which to you may mean that he is an excellent and worthy man, inclined to society and familiar colloquies; whilst to another it would simply indicate that he is a silly and amusing clown, or a shrewd and cunning villain. Well, though such distinction may be highly honorable, it has been courted by so many, and is now so promiscuously conferred, that I make it a rule always to look with caution upon him who wears it, and only trust him in proportion to his cleverness.

Easy Peter heard nothing more, for his attention was here arrested by a large, overgrown youth, who was leaning against a ponderous tree which had very magnanimously been spared from the axe, in the progress of improvement, for the benefit of weary and sweltering pedestrians. This venerable relic of a past age, still standing erect with its extended branches, as if defying the inroads of time, had long been a great favorite with all the lazy loungers of the place, and its huge trunk, to the height of some five or six feet, presented a surface whose glistening and greasy smoothness could not have been imitated by any tradesman’s skill. Many were the changes it had witnessed, both in the old time and in the new, and there was not a loiterer within miles around whose faults and foibles had not been exhibited beneath its sheltering branches. Here the idle personages of the town would congregate in knots and coteries, detailing for the thousandth time their dry anecdotes, stale jokes, and wonderful traditions, in many of which the aged tree itself bore so conspicuous a part that nothing but its constant and inflexible immobility could have satisfied you that it was not a moving, active, and sensible creature. This happy retreat had become so very attractive indeed, that many an unpleasant and unquiet home was abandoned for its more peaceful shades; and numerous were the imprecations uttered against it by the ill-tempered dames of the neighborhood, who, rather than acknowledge a less creditable cause in their own tongues, accused the unconscious tree of enticing away their husbands to the great annoyance and neglect of themselves. If evil wishes could have blasted it, it would not have survived a single hour; and there was never a thunder cloud seen in the distance which was not hailed with many a prayer that the storm might terminate by casting its fragments and splinters to the winds. Though these viragoes could quickly raise terrific tempests around their husbands’ ears which never failed to take effect, the thunderbolts of nature had very wisely been placed beyond their reach; and thus they may renew their vengeful imprecations and malignant wishes, but the venerable tree continues to rear its towering form, and their disobedient husbands still take their ease beneath its shady limbs.