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.