found at the old log tavern at its eastern end, you are certain to
meet him at the tobacco house at its western extremity, where two
smoky youths have for several years been engaged in “rolling up”
the weed into form for the enjoyment of its devotees. I believe it
is the universal experience that all of Peter’s excellent habits
possess a great proclivity for places of this kind. Whether this may
be owing to a desire for idle associations, or simply to a love of
the articles retailed there, I am not well qualified to decide; but
whatever may be the cause operating upon Peter, he has a peculiar
affinity for these two places in our village, at which his enthusiasm
and verbosity frequently amuse and occasionally astonish his auditors.
It is true, no one seriously apprehends that any modern Festus will
ever impatiently accuse him of being made mad by “much learning,”
however prolific he may be in his speeches. He is in no such danger,
nor is it probable that he will ever earn the reputation of being wise
simply through being boisterous, although many have done so before
him. Always referring to the generous liberality ascribed to Socrates
as an illustration how men should use their knowledge, he even seeks
to surpass this much renowned ancient philosopher, whom he recognizes
as his worthy model, in the lavishness with which he dispenses
whatever he may happen to know. This, it must be acknowledged, is not
so exceedingly much; but then he always mixes it with a marvellous
amount of useless verbiage, principally drawn from his imagination
and his dreams. Herein, it will readily be conceded, he is not at all
singular, and only plays a part for which the times furnish innumerable
examples. The inhabitants of the village are all perfectly acquainted
with him and his habits, and he has therefore long since ceased to
disturb them, not from any reasons of his own, but simply because
they have learned not to heed him. It so happens, however, that we
are not unfrequently visited by strangers, and these invariably stare
with amazement whenever they encounter him at either of his favorite
places of resort. It may be supposed that in these magnanimous efforts
to entertain all who can be induced, from curiosity or other motives,
to while away an idle moment with him, he should naturally indulge
in denunciations against the world and its practices. This, I must
confess, is an inference not in the least repugnant to his habits; but
then he never finds fault from the mere pleasure, of doing so, in which
he is so very singular, that I must leave it to others to determine
whether he is in advance of the age or behind it.
Shortly after the hour of noon, on a certain summer day which will long
be remembered in this locality because of its excessive heat, a young
and sprightly farmer chanced to visit the village. His entrance seemed
to be regarded as an event somewhat remarkable, for so dull was the
season that no strange face had been seen by the villagers for several
weeks. Upon arriving at the tavern, having been curiously stared at
by the occupants of every building he had passed, he encountered
Peter, who immediately entered into heterogeneous conversation, if
that can be called conversation in which the talking is all on one
side. I will here venture the opinion, though cautiously, that it
may, for custom seems to have so decreed, and with few things has
custom had more to do. Having invented no new word fully adequate to
the occasion, and sufficiently expressive, we are led to submit to
its long continued acquiescence in the one now employed. Then, too,
excellent talkers could never consent to change this form of expression
for any other less creditable to themselves, and the good listener
may find sufficient to reconcile himself to it in the remark of old
Simonides, who declared that he had frequently repented of having said
too much, but never of having remained silent. Notwithstanding the
apparent determination to exclude the possibility of a stray word from
the new comer, Peter’s conduct had something of novelty in it to the
stranger which at once induced him patiently to listen. Of course, this
attention was highly pleasing to the talker, for several weeks had
been a very long period for him to remain, on account of the dullness
of the season, in that silence to which the villagers had doomed him
by common consent, under the impression that time spent with him was
unprofitably and irretrievably cast away. When, therefore, he was
invited by the young man to a seat in his conveyance, Peter had no
hesitancy in accepting, and not until they had left the village several
miles behind, did he ascertain that the stranger had no intention of
returning to it again. He now first bethought himself of the ridiculous
blunder he had made in not having informed himself of this fact before.
In this sad plight, very sad indeed to him, he slowly dismounted from
the vehicle, and commenced pondering upon the best means to get back
again to the tavern he had so incautiously left at the bidding of the
stranger. To walk so great a distance he would at any time have looked
upon as an exceedingly laborious task, but in the awful heat of that
day the idea was too terrible to be entertained. At length he concluded
to trust to his luck, which had sometimes favored him, although he
had frequently complained of its hard decrees, thinking that chance
might perhaps send some conveyance that way, through which he could
return to the village. I should be greatly gratified to be able to
say, that in Peter Easy I had found the man who never lamented over
his fate, and who never affirmed that he was the “unluckiest fellow
in the world;” but I cannot claim the credit of having made so happy
a discovery. Whether that fortunate individual has ever set a foot of
real flesh and bone upon earthly soil, is most extremely doubtful;
yet all will confide in their better destiny, as did Peter in the
present instance, though the certainty of disappointment may seem to
stare them in the face. Cheered by so comfortable a hope, he seated
himself by the roadside, beneath the shady branches of a ponderous
tree, and not feeling just then like the young lady who always “dreaded
to retire to bed because she could not talk in her sleep,” he was
soon lazily spread out full length upon the sod. He had not been long
in this posture, before he found gradually stealing over him a dull
and oppressive stupor, which may have owed its origin to a hearty and
undigested dinner, for in his case the saying of the wise man did
not yet apply--“slothfulness casteth into a deep sleep, and an idle
soul shall suffer hunger.” Fortunately for him, his father had been a
careful and judicious man, and thus placed him beyond the calamity of
the latter portion of the proverb, which his habits might otherwise
have reaped; and I much question whether he had ever been so blessed
as to realize the truth of the former by experience. In this state
of unconsciousness, verging unto sleep, he had a dream, which he has
since so often related that it must be very widely known. At least,
such is the inference of the villagers, who suppose that it has been
honored with frequent repetitions by some of the many strangers who
have visited the village since this eventful day in Peter’s life,
none of whom could escape hearing it either in whole or by parcels. I
shall here endeavor to narrate it, though conscious that much of its
effect must necessarily be lost through the absence of his manner and
gestures, which no human skill could transfer upon paper; nor can I
give it precisely in his own words, for reasons which I must withhold,
leaving the reader, however, at liberty to supply such as may best suit
his fancy.
Easy Peter, not so exceedingly easy at the time, imagined in his dream
that some supernatural power had suddenly seized him. From whence it
had come, he could not divine, but it gradually transported him beyond
the confines of earth into another world. This so much resembled our
own, that had he awoke here, he positively affirms, he should not have
been able to discover the least difference. He was not as fortunate as
the man who “dreamed that there was no credit to be given to dreams;”
and strange enough, in his conscious hours, he defends this fanciful
excursion of his momentary slumber as a substantial truth. It has been
so effectually impressed upon his mind, that he speaks of it, not as
the deceptive experience of a dream, but as a real adventure. The
first thing that attracted his attention in this new sphere, was the
variety of employments at which he found the people engaged. A French
philosopher declares, that they are mean souls who are so buried in
business as not to know that the most glorious and principal work of
man is to live well; and as Peter gazed upon the continual efforts and
ceaseless struggles here exhibited, he could not refrain from indulging
in somewhat similar reflections. Scarcely an occasional pause was to
be observed in the general commotion, so intent did each appear upon
some object that hurried him on.--Amongst these eager scramblers,
running to and fro in hot haste, chasing every chimera supposed to
hold out a promise, Peter’s eyes detected one who at once claimed his
entire attention. He was as ugly as a Theban sphynx, lean and lank,
his very gait giving evidence of his cunning and treachery, whilst
his countenance, if it mirrored what was passing in the soul, plainly
cried out, “Money, money! at whatever cost or consequence, I must
have money!” A worthy illustration of the heartless miser, who seeks
for nothing but the gratification of his insatiable desire, he never
hesitated to inflict a wrong, or crush a soul, to obtain possession
of a shilling. The French Vandille, to save the extra expense of
three bleedings at three pence each, let out the four and twenty
ounces of blood at a single operation, thus purchasing his death at a
sixpence--certainly a very cheap transaction. He had his counterpart
in this avaricious wretch, who, Peter positively affirms, would have
added another four and twenty ounces for the gratification of feasting
his eyes upon the glitter of a shekel. “Had he lived,” said a stranger,
“in the days of Eumolpus, he would have been an excellent subject for
remembrance in the will of that whimsical fellow, who ordered that
all to whom he gave legacies, besides his children, should receive
them upon condition that they cut up his body and eat it before the
people.” “Many,” replied Peter, “have waded through disgust to wealth;
and for a trifle, he would never have paused until he had munched it
up entirely.” His miserly propensities urged him to the violation of
every principle, the sacrifice of every virtue that happened to come
in contact with them; and thus he pursued his daily course, still
adding to his store as he lost of his manhood. How very ridiculous it
is, thought Peter in his dream, that men will grasp and grasp without
stopping to ask a question, and thereby only increase the certainty
of being eventually grasped themselves, by most unwelcome clutches,
without being allowed the time to answer any.
Turning from this wretched specimen of humanity, Peter recognised
another who was no less busy, and who seemed as ambitious as Phæton
or Icarus, determined to set the world in a blaze, or what appeared
more likely to happen, break his own neck in his aspiring flights. He
knew of no medium by which to be controlled, and would even have found
pleasure in the reputation of being a fool; but, unfortunately, Hobbes
spoke truth when he said, that “without learning it is impossible for
any man to be either excellently wise or excellently foolish.” Herein
he was deficient, and the “number of common fools far exceeding that of
wise men,” as a German author observes, they were rendered so general
and were so frequently encountered that even this prospect of securing
celebrity promised him nothing. Moved by his “wild distemper” he forgot
the realities by which he was surrounded, and in his impetuosity to
climb up the crooked ladder of distinction, he was hurried to the most
extravagant excesses. Erostratus, to obtain renown, fired the temple
of Diana, but the Ephesians, to bury his memory in eternal oblivion,
prohibited the mention of his name under the penalty of death. This
individual, if not yet driven to such extremities to gratify his
passion, could nevertheless foresee, in the satiric ridicule certain to
follow his mad endeavors, sufficient cause to “go and hang himself out
of sheer mortification.” Such, thought Peter, not unfrequently, is the
melancholy end of the zealot, when his zeal triumphs over his judgment
and dethrones his reason.
As he was watching the manœuvres and expedients of this not uncommon
character, a party of gentlemen suddenly intervened between his vision
and the subject of his gaze. They were all so exceedingly merry that
Peter felt anxious to join in their sport, and declares that he should
have done so had he not been deterred by seeing one of them slyly and
skilfully sliding his hands into the pockets of another, where, he
quite reasonably supposed, it had no business. This was an exploit the
like of which he had never witnessed before; but having frequently
heard of the practices of a learned profession, he immediately
concluded that this cunning villain was a lawyer, so prone are we to
form opinions from general reputation. He soon after discovered his
error, however, for the loud “hue and cry” that met his ears, very
distinctly informed him that upon this world there were pocket pickers
and robbers as well as upon our own, showing that we cannot claim these
blessings as belonging exclusively to us. Inference, thought Peter, is
a very uncertain thing, as often unjust as it is mistaken, and he asked
of himself whether it had ever assigned to him a place in the category
of rogues. Of this he might have been satisfied, for it has not yet
been shown that any has ever escaped such imputations, and we can only
be surprised that so many are foolish enough to manifest doubtful
anxiety in a matter of which each may be so certain.
Another, who was hurrying along with all possible speed, and whose
wild appearance seemed to attract general notice, now claimed Peter’s
attention. Not in the least regarding his late experience, he at once
concluded that this was a madman, in which he was again partially
mistaken. Following after, it was not long before he discovered him
to be an eminent physician, visiting a patient to whom he had the day
before administered a dose, and who was now in his last agonies. “A
wretched, bungling quack! a quack, sir,” exclaimed a young physician,
who became irritated at our dreamer as he was declaiming upon this
portion of his dream. “Perhaps,” replied a stranger, “the people of
that sphere are stupid enough to follow the practice that caused the
uncivil jest of Fabius of Bentivoglio, who, on his way to manufacture a
doctor, by chance espied an ass yawning with open mouth as if he were
laughing. To whom, ‘why laugh you,’ says Fabius, ‘you silly creature?
we can make you a doctor too, if you have but money.’” However this may
have been, the great haste of the physician was matter of surprise to
Peter, who could not understand why a professor, whose business it was
to assist people to get out of the world with ease, should be so much
concerned for the life of a single patient. His wonder, however, soon
subsided upon being furnished with reason to believe that the man of
medicine was a more careful student of the Talmud and the Rabbins than
of his profession, and that he had not been running for the good of the
sick, but for his own fee, which was of infinitely greater importance.
Many a one, thought Peter, is rendering service to the devil, even
at the very time that we may think him engaged in works of superior
excellence.
Easy Peter now lost sight of the physician, but his place was filled by
a straight, slender, and serious looking individual, who was holding
forth in a magnificent building, which had evidently been erected with
a due regard to lodging accommodations. It required nothing beyond
what he saw to inform him that this was a preacher in his fashionable
temple. Peter had seen few men, notwithstanding his extensive
intercourse with the world, who had the faculty of assuming so saintly
an appearance as this one, and he therefore determined to follow him
home. The holy man had scarcely descended from the pulpit before Peter
saw an illustration of how much easier it was to preach humility than
to practice it, and felt how few, even of the priesthood, really
understood the saying of the essayist, that “the souls of kings and
cobblers were cast in the same mould.” To show obeisance to the one,
however guilty and degraded by vice he may be, is easy, and honorable,
and an imitation of Jesus: to shake hands with the other, and seek to
reclaim him by magnanimous and friendly fellowship, is countenancing
and encouraging “publicans and sinners.” To greet with the pleasant
social smile, and the exhibition of generous solicitude, the poor and
ragged parishioner, is changing religion into levity, and “walking in
the counsel of the ungodly, and standing in the way of sinners:” to
fawn upon and court the favor and association of the more fortunate
worshipper, who seldom ever rises from his knees until he has planned
some new scheme to play the villain towards his fellow, is “exhorting
one another daily, while it is called to-day,” or taking “sweet counsel
together, and walking unto the house of God in company.” Peter was not
a little surprised, upon reaching the residence of the minister, to
discover how much better he was fitted to declaim upon the beauties of
charity than to practice magnanimity and forbearance in his own house.
This, thought he, is not the only one who, to obtain skill in lecturing
the public, exercises himself at the expense of his family’s comfort
and happiness.
Peter became interested in the private habits of this reverend
gentleman, and would gladly have remained to ascertain yet more
concerning them, but being unable to direct the course of his dream,
he was unfortunately compelled to follow a melancholy creature who
happened just then to cross his dreamy path. True, he had somewhere
read or heard that melancholy men were naturally endowed with greater
genius than those blessed with more volatile dispositions, and he
therefore expected to gain from this new subject what he had missed by
losing the other. He was led to a large and splendid establishment,
which he regarded as being certainly much better calculated to produce
comfort and happiness than melancholy. He had scarcely entered, before
he heard a harsh, shrill voice re-echoing through the house, and when
the termagant, who seemed to have inherited from nature a perfect right
to its possession, made her appearance, he could not help repeating to
himself the proverb of Solomon, “_It is_ better to dwell in a corner
of the house-top, than with a brawling woman in a wide house.” “What
an excellent Tatianian he would have made,” remarked a pert young lady
of the village, who would sometimes honor Peter with a few moments of
her attention, and to whom the thought of such unfortunate husbands
always afforded matter for merriment. “Why so?” anxiously queried
Peter, who could not fathom her meaning. “Because they maintained that
all, except themselves, were damned through mother Eve, and that women
were made by the devil, to the latter of which tenets your hen-pecked
vision could no doubt have sworn with the strictest of the sect.”
“Notwithstanding such were their origin, we would treasure them,” added
another. “Proving,” replied she, “that the gifts from that quarter are
preferred, and that there is no justice in your complaints when the
penalty is to be paid.” Peter was naturally somewhat sympathetic, and
would gladly have condoled with this melancholy man in his affliction,
but the domestic pest kept too strict a watch to permit it. He
apprehended the consequences likely to follow, should he presume too
much, and therefore wisely concluded not to cause the reigning spirit
of the mansion to “pass still more the equilibrium of her balance.” He
reflected how indiscreet it is to interfere in matters of this kind,
and remembering the advice of the old poet, he thought it judicious not
to disregard it:
“Have pity on yourself, and, though you’re stout
As mastiff breed, don’t take a bear by th’ snout.”
As a spectator, Peter Easy would not have objected to remain in this
splendid establishment of domestic misery, with the view of obtaining
some practical knowledge of matrimonial life. He had not ventured
out of single blessedness himself, for which he never gave any other
reason than that he had been predestinated a bachelor. In this he was
believed by many of the villagers, but others continued to maintain
that his single blessedness was simply owing to his aversion to the
trouble necessarily encountered in visiting and courting for a wife.
To this he would only reply, that although he could not, like the old
Thracians and Assyrians, rise from his bed in the morning, attend
the market with his purse, and return in the evening with one of the
fairest and most enchanting maids in the kingdom; nor coolly exchange,
for a lovely and bewitching partner, “one hundred and twenty pounds
of tobacco, cash,” the value of the best article, as was the practice
of his good-natured ancestors, he yet lived in an age affording equal
if not greater matrimonial facilities. “Now,” he would declare, “no
little of the labor of visiting and courting is voluntarily assumed by
the ladies themselves, through ten thousand modest expedients which
their ingenuity has invented; and should this prove insufficient,
why, it is the easiest matter in the world to pick up a wife on any
day of the year upon any highway in the country.” Concluding his
bachelor prejudices to be real, they quite naturally induced him to
believe that in the domestic affairs of this magnificent mansion, he
could see the fruits and consequences of marriage in their true and
proper light. Fortune, however, was inclined to deal more favorably
with him, and his attention was arrested by a handsome young man who
hurried from the building as if anxious to escape the unpleasant sounds
of the voice within. Peter followed him as he walked leisurely and
contentedly along, until he came to his residence, which was a small,
yet handsomely arranged and neatly furnished building. As the young
man opened the door, his pretty young wife was the first to meet and
welcome him with her cheerful countenance and happy smiles, and then
they so lovingly embraced each other, that Peter’s heart, though long
a stranger to such feelings, impulsively began to respond to theirs.
He turned away, perhaps to check its beatings, but now affirms he did
so simply to resolve this astounding mystery; for it was his firm
conviction, based upon his own extensive observation, that marriages
were formed with no other design than that of providing for the parties
a proper and convenient person with whom to fight and quarrel whenever
inclination prompted. “It was well to turn away,” replied the pert
young lady before alluded to, “for your eyes should never be permitted
to feast upon so holy a scene. Like all of your bachelor kin, you
‘are not worthy to see a man first in the morning,’ as the saying of
the Benjins used to have it. The unhappy Dido, who pronounced you a
pack of brutes, spoke only the truth; and you deserve no better fate
than that decreed by the Spartan ruler, who ordained that all of your
species should be excluded from the sports and dances of the women, and
compelled to run up and down the Forum, unclad and freezing, singing
songs in dishonor of themselves.” “Surely,” replied Peter, “rather
than endure so rigorous a discipline or punishment, each of us would
follow Luther’s jest, and carve unto himself an obedient wife out of
a block of stone; or if that would not suffice, perhaps profit by the
example of Henry VIII., and ‘put his neck into the yoke, as the only
remedy,’ though the spouse provided for him should prove to be nothing
but ‘a great Flander’s mare.’” When Peter again looked upon the young
couple, they were comfortably seated together, and both seemed still to
enjoy the “tender caress” just as much as they could have done in their
wooing days; but this was so contrary to his previous observation,
and so conflicted with his theory, that he sadly misinterpreted their
conduct. He had forgotten the advice of a friend who had repeatedly
warned him against indiscriminately venturing opinions upon matters
concerning which he was entirely ignorant, lest he might find frequent
cause to repent of his errors; for should he happen to be right once
in a hundred times, he would certainly be more fortunate than the
rest of mankind generally are. He accordingly gives it as his settled
opinion, that these two visions of his dream were so addicted to such
demonstrations of affection that they could not avoid indulging in
them, nor be very particular towards whom they were exhibited. Such
practices, Peter declares, are so very common; and he even presumes to
account through them for the habits of tenderness which some married
people happen to acquire. He could, therefore, not well decide which
were the most blessed--this apparently well satisfied couple, or the
pair he had seen at the splendid mansion, under the lowering of a
domestic storm.