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.