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.
It was one of these idle individuals whom Peter now beheld, and his
appearance sufficiently indicated that he had inherited a full portion
of the rewards usually attending the habits to which he was addicted.
His old, weather-beaten hat admirably betokened that it had done good
service in its time. Although the many misfortunes it had encountered,
and the narrow escapes it had made, left some very visible impressions,
they had failed to deprive it of its entire brim and crown, and the
shreds that remained still adhered to each other with a tenacity that
spoke eloquently of their former harmonious love. His ill-conditioned
apparel, like a divided household, evinced a strong disposition to
mutiny and separate, and though much had been done to keep it together,
evidently by his own unskilful hands, it still obstinately resisted his
kind endeavors. Rent pieces of what had once borne a resemblance to
cloth dangled loosely about his ankles, his knees and elbows, refusing
to be confined, had broken through the tender barriers that had encased
them, and many an old patch about his person would flap and flutter as
the soft breeze whispered by him. These outward evidences of decay,
having penetrated no deeper than his garments, exhibited his healthy
and robust proportions in attractive and amusing contrast. A smile of
satisfaction, which many of his more fortunate and prosperous neighbors
might have envied, only contributed to bring out his prominent lips in
bolder relief, and his countenance was radiant with that self-content
which admires whatever is presented, and finds no fault with anything
but inconvenience and labor. Happily for him, his rulers were more
indulgent than Draco, the Athenian law-giver, who punished idleness
with death, and the laws under which he lived more lenient than those
of the ancient Gauls, which imposed a penalty upon the young for
exceeding the measure of their girdles, because “so large a paunch,
at such early years, could proceed from nothing else but laziness and
gormandizing.” Blessed by having been born in more auspicious times,
he seemed fully aware of his better destiny. Leaning against the shady
side of his venerable friend, in whose mute companionship he so much
delighted, he was looking leisurely around, as if engaged in taking
the exact measurement of every object that met his vision. His easy
carelessness appeared to make him oblivious of the busy world, being
only occasionally disturbed as he gazed, now upon some blackened
chimney, perhaps scenting the delicious odors of a grand Epicurean
feast in the ascending smoke, then upon some stately mansion, no doubt
pondering upon the tempting yet unattainable luxuries preparing within.
The more Peter contemplated this newly discovered subject, the more
did the apparent similarity in sympathies and habits to himself,
elicit his admiration. There is no one, thought he, so eminently wise
and philosophic as the genuine loafer. Whilst the rest of mankind are
struggling and grasping, losing to-morrow what they held with tenacious
clutch to-day, this idle philosopher looks calmly on and laughs at the
butterfly chase. He sees his fellows contending with bitterness and
jealousy for a fancied good, and beholds the only pleasure it could
afford crushed in their own hands in their eagerness to attain it. In
the conflict around him, the passions of men are arrayed against each
other, and the good sentiments of their natures compelled to yield
before the concussions they encounter. It is a struggle in which he
sees the most vicious too often carry off the greatest prizes, whilst
none retires from the field without leaving a portion of his soul
behind. Others may follow the alluring promises which tempt them, and
be carried away by the first surging wave of excitement that sweeps
along, he remains unmoved. Let the world go as it will, he betakes
himself to the sweet shade of some friendly tree, and calmly, though
rudely it may be, philosophises upon the vanities which dazzle other
eyes and bedizzen other heads, but never soften the bed of the grave,
nor promise repose beyond it. He knows that heaven is not to be
purchased by the fleeting things that charm the eye and gratify human
vanity, and the harmony of his spirits is never broken up in conflicts
to possess them. Happily the dial of time moves on, never too slow nor
too fast for him, and his even temper keeps him in a perpetual calm.
Unmoved by the discord around him, he remains content in his solitary
leisure, or quietly takes his ease with his companions, furnishing a
worthy illustration of genuine and perfect freedom. Even Tully himself
could not look upon that man as properly free who had not the privilege
of sometimes doing nothing--a privilege rightly appreciated and justly
exercised only by the loafer.