At the distance of about thirty feet, lay an object, which at first, I had taken to be the fallen branch of a tree. But its dull, earthy colors, gradually changed to the most brilliant hues; its relaxed and flattened form, became rigid, rounded, and curved. Its head rose with a slow motion, and I could now perceive that it was an enormous serpent, gliding with a noiseless motion towards me. Its eye was fixed upon me with a glassy and terrific stare; its jaws were expanded; its tongue brandished, ready to strike the fatal blow. I had sufficient recollection to know that this must be an anaconda, and I expected the next instant to be crushed in its folds. The thought was too horrible to be endured. I felt a faintness come over me, and while a rushing sound filled my ears, my senses departed.
The Old Man in the Corner.
NO. VI.
PETER AND THE PIG.
There was once a youth, who being born in poverty, was brought up to labor for his living. But being of an indolent turn, he felt this to be a great hardship. He was also as unwilling to study his books, as he was to perform other tasks. He hated all exertion; and seemed indeed to think that toil was the only curse, and idleness the only bliss. If he was not the same youth, who, when asked what he deemed the highest state of happiness, replied—“swinging on a gate, with one’s mouth full of molasses candy,”—he was still, of much the same way of thinking.
Now lazy Peter, as he was called, went one day to feed the pig. The animal was very fat, and even when he heard the corn rattle into his trough, he only uttered a kind of affected grunt, pricked up his ears, wagged his tail, and kept his place. Peter looked into the stye, and beheld with unaffected admiration, the luxurious beast, imbedded in straw, and too happy in the enjoyment of his digestion and repose, even to get up and eat. “This is the perfection of comfort,”—said Peter to himself. “How pleasant it must be to have nothing to do, but to eat and sleep; no chores to do; no boots and shoes to put on; no jackets and trowsers to button up; no musty books to learn; no Emerson’s Arithmetic to make one’s head muzzy; no awful looking schoolmaster, whose very countenance makes one’s stomach ache, to watch over him; no sharp voice to call him at 5 o’clock in the morning! No, no—he eats and sleeps and sleeps and eats—gets up and goes to bed just as he pleases. Really, I half wish I was a pig!”
Thus mused lazy Peter—while he rested his chin upon the edge of the pig-stye, and gazed with dreamy eyes upon the lord of the manor. At length, urged by a sense of imperious necessity—for the idea of duty, had not yet taken possession of his head—he tore himself away from these agreeable contemplations.
At night Peter went to bed as usual, but the scene of the pig-stye had made such an impression upon his mind, that it stole in among the visions of his sleep. He dreamed that he was sauntering along upon a highway, and bound upon some long journey. Weary at length, he sat down and began to grumble at the necessity of travelling such a distance, and over such a tiresome road. While he was thus occupied, a Fairy came to him, and said—“Peter, I have heard your complaints, and have come to relieve them! You think it hard to travel this road, though its borders are decorated with flowers; though it leads through delightful regions, and finally terminates in a happy home, where friends gather around to minister to every want and gratify every desire. Your difficulty is, that you must take the trouble to pick the flowers, to visit these happy regions, to travel to this final home of peace. Well, you shall have your way: you want idleness, and deem that this is bliss. I have a stye, in which is the fattest pig you ever saw: you shall be his companion, share his bed and board, and thus find the fulfilment of your wishes!”
Strange as it may seem, Peter accepted the offer, and was soon domesticated in the stye. For a time, he enjoyed himself to the utmost: to be sure the perfume of the place offended him a little at first—but the luxury of having nothing to do but to eat and sleep, prevailed over every other feeling, and he deemed himself perfectly happy.
Thus time rolled on—until one night he chanced to hear certain ominous preparations going on outside of the stye. He heard the rolling of a large tub, and chanced to hear the mistress of the place give directions to a man to butcher her two pigs the next morning. “Two pigs!” said Peter to himself—“and so I am one of them: but I’ll give them the slip!” He waited till all around was quiet, and then attempted to rise, for the purpose of making his escape. But alas he was so fat and unwieldly, and the fence was so high, that he could by no possibility get out of the pen. And there was one thing, which struck him with absolute horror: he now perceived that he had four legs—cloven feet, a long snout, and a tail! Nor was this all—long wiry bristles stood up along his back—his sides were coated with coarse hair, and while he tugged to get out of his prison, he grunted like his companion. “I am, at last, a pig then!” said Peter; “and yet, I am not altogether a pig. I know more than this lazy beast by my side; I know what is to happen to-morrow, and while he is at rest, I am in an agony of fear. I wish I were really a pig, for then I should know no fear, and the butcher’s knife would finish me. But it is really horrible to have the mind of a human being, and the body and habits of a hog.”