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.
As Peter was indulging in these and like reflections, the vision upon which he gazed, and which had occasioned them, suddenly vanished. The rustling of the leaves had aroused him from his slumber, and behold! all had been but a dream. Rubbing his eyes and collecting his wandering thoughts, the only realities that greeted his returning senses were the hot sun above him, whose burning rays, no longer arrested by the shadow, which had gradually moved in another direction, had for some time been illuminating his countenance, and the unpleasant recollection that the village and his home were still several miles distant. To have his dreamy fancies thus dispelled by such a disagreeable transition, at some other time, might have urged him to the exhibition of no little ill-temper; but now he had enough to occupy his mind in reflecting upon the diversified visions of his dream. These he reviewed again and again, until unable to submit any longer to that itching desire which so often disturbs the ease of poor mortals when they imagine they have something interesting to communicate, he arose and slowly commenced the exceeding great labor of walking to the village. He reached it at last, just as the sun was sinking into the far west, and panting from the heat, more than from the exertion, he again seated himself in front of the tavern. He had added greatly to his store, and at once commenced to detail the events of his dream, and from that day to this he has faithfully continued to narrate them to every willing or unwilling listener.
M. H.