“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.
When Peter emerged from the cottage, he came into a dreary street, studded with rows of dilapidated houses on either side, each of which seemed to give ample evidence of the wretchedness existing within. Here he encountered three “ministers of mercy,” who visited this locality on pretence of relieving the wants and distresses of the people. Their holy mission at once arrested his attention, and claimed his regard. How happy the influence of charity, reflected he, coming like the sweet sympathy of angels to bless this suffering community. It was a maxim of Plato, that the “end and aim of all human actions is some good;” and in no other channel can more be accomplished than in the one in which these seemingly worthy men appeared to be engaged. Who can ponder upon the mission of the noble vivandiere, the providence of the French soldier, as he sees her following the camp, extending to the weak and weary, the disabled and fatigued, the hand of help and hospitality, without feeling how small are all things compared with human sympathy and love? Her self-sacrificing and sublime benignity,—attending the rough warrior in his danger, relieving him when in want, aiding him when in distress, ministering to him in sickness, tenderly raising him when he falls upon the field of carnage and providing a place of safety, binding his wounds with her salves, her balsams, and her rolls of soft linen, and freely sharing her delicacies, her smiles, and her good wishes,—gives us a foretaste of that eternity of bliss which shall be the just reward of the good, after a separation from the blighting struggles, and contentions, and jealousies of human life. How well for the world were each a vivandiere, alike in peace and in war! What suffering would be driven from our midst, what misery averted, what wretchedness reclaimed, what happiness dispensed around! Peter imagined he here saw an imitation of her example, and it acted like a charm upon his easy nature. How sad, then, was the sudden change of his feelings when he discovered his mistake, and ascertained that these were nothing but shrewd pretenders after all, who had succeeded, by cunning and hypocrisy, to secure somewhat of a reputation for honesty and charity. Affecting religiously to help the poor, they were only magnanimously helping themselves, at the expense of the little generosity left in the community. How often, thought he, do people obtain credit for possessing a “big heart” just because they have none at all?
Peter was no longer inclined to follow these unworthy administrators of the public bounty, and turning round he beheld a small, hump-backed individual, who at once excited his interest. There was something peculiarly repulsive in this man’s countenance, which invariably prompted all who came in contact with him to put their hands into their pockets and their fingers upon their purses. Peter was not long in ascertaining that he was a broker and usurer, who, following his profession in the midst of these poor and humble creatures, seemed to fatten upon their poverty as does the vulture upon its unfortunate prey. Whenever Peter relates this incident of his dream, he declaims with all the vehemence he possesses. These inhuman and unfeeling wretches, he declares, are the most formidable servants of the devil, and always inherit his qualities to so eminent a degree that no stranger could distinguish the servants from the master. As the hawk pounces upon the helpless and trembling little sparrow, they fasten their greedy talons upon the tatters of a ragged dress with inextricable clutch; and as the savage beast licks the gore of its victim, they suck the blood of theirs until crimson to the dewlap and purple to the elbows. Pandora let loose her horde of evils to trouble the world, said the heathens. The Christian acknowledges that God has not so restricted the power of Satan as to prevent him from sending his scourges upon the earth, of which he has liberally availed himself by establishing his agents in the form of usurers and brokers in every section of the world. Of old, they were justly regarded as little better than murderers, and decidedly worse than thieves; for, says Cato in Cicero, “our ancestors enacted in their laws, that a thief should be condemned to pay double, but an usurer quadruple.” The Jew has at least bigotry and prejudice, inherited from his fathers for nearly two thousand years, to offer as an excuse when he robs the Gentile, and yet it is a common saying, “that every day he takes an oath to do what he can to cheat the Christians;” but these indiscriminately plunder heathen and Christian, exhibiting no emotion beyond a satanic chuckle over their success. They are ravenous pests who speculate upon poverty and misfortune, and digest the misery around them with savage glee—knaves who, for want of souls themselves, seek to crush the souls of the unfortunate and distressed, apparently finding happiness in their agonies, and nectar in their tears. Ah! thought Peter, what worthy denizens of the pit they will make, and what amusement they will afford to their master in their efforts to prey upon each other, for doubtlessly they will follow their unrighteous trade, as the only one fit to be pursued in hell!
Easy Peter regarded this as truly an afflicted street when he was drawn from the usurer to the rendezvous of the speculators. Amid the wretchedness and poverty of this locality, there was an abundance of ill-gotten gain, as he had sufficient opportunity to witness. These new visions of his dream had assembled for the purpose of making a renewed effort in their swindling schemes, and were engaged in revolving their plans with evident satisfaction. Brigands have their leaders, pirates their captains, and these, brigands and pirates sanctioned by society, had their master spirit too. The common bands of freebooters generally select as their chiefs the most desperate and daring amongst them—these had elevated the most heartless to equal distinction. Peter watched them framing their lies, and fortifying them with plausibility, and pronounced the loathsome mass a fit dish for public gullibility to digest. Here were schemes for particular purposes and special individuals—there preparations for each, however large or limited his means. Their enterprises had but a single basis: a design to enrich themselves, at whatever cost to their fellows. This one end had swallowed up every principle of integrity, every entity in morals, every sympathetic impulse of the heart. The misery and distress, the tears, and suffering, and despair, necessarily occasioned by their deceptions, and frauds, and robberies, never disturbed their quiet, but were simply regarded as pleasing comicalities to amuse them whilst pocketing the plunder. Homer assures us that the profession of the robber was regarded as glorious by some of the ancients, and Plutarch informs us that amongst the Spaniards his exploits passed for gallant adventures. Though we punish the bold and daring rogue, without making the least allowance for his hair-breadth escapes, the treacherous plunderer in our midst, who does not even possess the redeeming trait of physical courage, receives our countenance and esteem. As Peter was witnessing this excellent illustration of selfishness and thievery, which a credulous people first pay dearly for and then honor, their operations were interrupted for a moment by the entrance of the Chief, or President of the band, in company with a well-to-do looking individual, on whose arm he was affectionately leaning. They had been friends for many years, and through the false yet plausible representations of the former, the latter soon fell into the snare. Unsuspectingly he became the victim to their designs, and though he left perfectly content, another revolution of the earth was certain to find him a bankrupt. It is true, reflected Peter, that villany is often disguised under the garb of friendship, and where we most confide suspicion is most required.
Peter now heard a great noise in the street, and hurrying to the place from whence it proceeded, he witnessed a grand display of pugilistic skill. What had given origin to the quarrel he was unable to ascertain, yet so bitter was the rage of the antagonists, who numbered some dozen or more, that it had already lasted a considerable time, nor did it seem to be in the least abating. There were but two spectators to the scene, one of whom appeared to be much frightened and concerned, and was using every persuasion to pacify the heated combatants. The other looked calmly on, perfectly composed at what he saw, until unable to contain himself any longer, he approached his friend and very mildly addressed him: “Sir, I crave your pardon for having been amused at your generous but mistaken efforts to quell this foolish quarrel. You must know that there are those in this strange world of ours who have totally blunted every feeling of refinement, and utterly destroyed whatever moral sensibility they may once have possessed. Upon such your honest appeals are always in vain. That they should not be entirely placed beneath mortality, however, God has kindly endowed them with a physical sensibility, through which you may often successfully reach their depraved minds and obdurate hearts. You have appealed to the moral feelings of these rioters to no purpose; and now, to demonstrate what I have said, let me ascertain what impression can be made upon their physical sensibilities.” Thus saying, he threw off a portion of his cumbersome apparel, and giving notice that he had watched their proceedings for upwards of an hour, he declared that the battle must now be ended. This proving ineffectual, he entered into their midst, and making several (to use a technical phrase,) “feel the unpleasant weight of his fists,” he soon dispersed the boisterous crowd. An odd mode, thought Peter, of making peace, yet in this instance a very effectual one.
Immediately after quiet had been restored, the street suddenly became very populous, and Peter’s attention was arrested by the occupant of a splendid conveyance, who was industriously engaged in answering the polite recognitions that greeted him from every side. That this was a personage of no little distinction seemed so evident that Peter asked of the first passer-by what place of trust or honor he filled to such general satisfaction. The inquiry simply elicited the information that he was a private gentleman, who had succeeded in amassing great wealth by taking usury from the poor, and selling worthless stocks to all whom he could deceive into a purchase. He was but one of many illustrations of what Juvenal has written,
“That sins alike unlike rewards have found,
And whilst this villain’s hang’d, the other’s crowned.”
Though every one knew him to be a rogue and a thief, the good condition in which his practices had placed him, secured public obeisance. What a multitude of sins, thought Peter, can be covered by a coach, and what monstrous respect we extend to the knave when blessed with the smiles of fortune!
Turning from the occupant of the coach, Peter beheld a singularly ludicrous, but withal a very distressing spectacle. A poor, poverty-cursed creature was dying of starvation, whilst a wealthy gentleman, who had been pitying him for days, was tenderly bending over him and deploring his great distress, but could not so much open his heart as to reach into his well-filled purse and draw forth a paltry dollar to give relief. Strange, thought Peter, that men will whine, and fret, and lament, over human misery and suffering, and yet so fastly clutch a shilling as not to use it freely in obtaining aid and giving succour.