As Peter was gazing upon this unhappy scene, a smiling little gentleman crossed his path, whom he was now compelled to follow. This interesting individual appeared to be the friend of all whom he encountered, being exceedingly social and affable. His friendly greetings were always returned with the same politeness, though frequently with much less affection. He had acquired a great reputation for benevolence, which so elicited Peter’s esteem that he was pleased with every mark of attention exhibited towards him. It was a maxim of the Stoics that “men were, for the sake of men, brought into the world, that they might assist and benefit each other,” and Peter fancied he here saw one, at least, who lived up to this magnanimous aphorism. This good opinion, however, was suddenly changed upon reaching his residence and discovering that he was the head of a mongrel banking institution, and so well adapted to his business that he experienced little difficulty in defrauding and plundering his customers, even whilst swearing how much he designed to befriend them. He was extremely pleasant to all in front of the counter, and though profusely lavish and exceedingly fair in promises, these were only made to afford him amusement in devising the most ingenious modes in which to break them. He had long robbed the State of its just portion of the dividends, used the funds of the institution in fraudulent transactions, and placed them out secretly at usury. After thus plundering thousands, he very generously gave a little of the booty in charity to the poor. How very easy it is, thought Peter, to win a good name, if you but know how to play the hypocrite behind a fortune.
When Peter emerged from the bank, his eyes encountered a character whose odd appearance at once challenged his notice. He seemed to “take the world extremely easy,” being quite philosophic in his indifference to passing events, yet prided himself upon always rendering full justice to mankind, and their good and evil practices, their virtues and their vices, their errors and their follies. Peter ascertained that he had been suddenly raised, by some fortunate occurrence, from abject poverty to considerable wealth. The cruel manner in which he had been neglected when poor by many whose flatteries now daily greeted him, had somewhat soured his disposition; and although he was generous to those who had once befriended him, he felt little sympathy for the rest of the species. Peter learned that he had engaged to give to a stranger, who contemplated removing his residence to that place, some knowledge of the people, their character and habits. Nothing could have been more gratifying to Peter Easy, so he kept close to his heels until he arrived at the corner of one of the principal streets, the place appointed for their meeting, where he found the stranger in waiting.
There, said he to the stranger, as a poor, though apparently happy individual passed by, is a personation of honesty. With such a man, the old peasants used to say, “one may safely play at mora in the dark.” This, however, is a very questionable compliment in our day, and has brought him nothing but poverty as his reward, than which few evils could be greater under our present social organization. Possessed of a good nature, and feeling a proper interest in the welfare of his friends, he never refused to extend his helping hand, until he has been placed in the deplorable condition of being compelled to hunt for aid himself. A task, thought Peter, which Pluto should have devised for human punishment, instead of providing a hades.
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.