THE DREAM OF A LOAFER. (continued 2)

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.