Matthew and Julia rose in the morning and went into their new home. It was a great change for Julia, and nothing but contrasts reminded her of her home at Mr. Mason's. But somehow it suited her heart the moment she entered its doorway, and she took charge of its interests with pride and joy; and hours, and days, and weeks, and months, and years passed by with a much more rapid flight than before she was a bride.
And following the steps of Time through a few more rounds of his race, and omitting to note the common events that rise up on the way, we will now pause at a new stage of action, and attempt to recall the scenes. The house remains yet before us, the same as when Julia first saw it, except that a small addition has been built and furnished; a partition takes off a bedroom from one end, and another window has been cut and set in the chamber. It is a handsome log house as one would find in all the Waldron Settlement. It is long and wide. The logs are hewn on the inside; it has a white maple floor below, and a white basswood floor above; it has a large open fireplace, and a stick chimney, through which, as through a telescope, the stars may be counted at night; and, whitewashed above and around, it presents a neat and pleasant appearance.
The house stands on an eminence which overlooks nearly every field on the farm, and admits you to sights as distant as the blue mountain fringes lifted away beyond Ithaca in the south. There are maples, ashes, and elms in the door-yard; there is a beautiful garden on the east, and a cool and delightful spring of water on the west. There is a log barn, thatched with straw, on the right; and barracks for wheat and hay, and cribs for corn, on the left. There is already a fine meadow of timothy, with white-ash shade trees, waving on the north; a pasture beyond the garden on the east, and a wheat-field on the south. Then a cornfield greets you west, and your eyes enjoy the scene.
Around this lovely spot, the distance of a field on either side of the house, the woods still wave their crowns of majesty, and hide the Owasco, and most of the Cayuga from view.
As master of this little rural domain, you behold Matthew Fabens, now grown to ample manhood; and he would make a fine bust for Powers to cut in marble. He stands six feet one without his shoes; he is straight as the white-ash shade tree that honors the north meadow; and his body, and arms, and legs, are round, and hard, and clean. He has a fine turned head, deficient most in caution; high in benevolence, veneration, and conscientiousness; and full in the regions that show he can construct his own implements and comforts; arrange his farm with order and taste; estimate values at a glance, and cast up accounts without a slate and pencil. He has a fine turned Roman nose of the cleanest and fairest skin; he has a well-shaped ear, rounded, and separate at the bottom from the head; he has brown hair, and dark gray eyes; he has a noble face and brilliant countenance; he has teeth standing straight, and square and separate, and though they never were brushed, they glisten with the cleanest and smoothest ivory polish; he has a good-sized mouth, not too compressed, like a skin-flint's, nor too open or lax like a fool's. He has a chin, throat, and chest, showing energy of soul and body combined; and if twenty years older, he would do fine honors to a president's chair.
Yonder, in the garden, arranging beds for winter vegetables, and tending a few simple flowers, you behold Julia Fabens, and she has quite outgrown the bend in her good form, which hard work brought on at Mason's, and looks more mature, and hardy; and she is diligent as a parent robin, and rosy and glad as the sweet summer morn.
Wiping the sweat from their frank foreheads and faces, there in the cool, fresh current of air, sit Major Fabens and his venerable wife, come on to this new country to draw freer breath, taste fairer fruit, see greener thrift, and make a good son happy; and they are just returned from a ramble by the lake.
Out near the well curb, toward the green maple on the right, plays our loved little Clinton, the plump and laughing idol of the place; tossing his ball out of sight into that cluster of golden mullens, and then scampering full tilt after the broods of young chickens and turkeys that peep about the door. Clinton is a promising boy, and the worst of it is, he begins to find it out. But everybody likes him. He has most of his father's look, with his mother's force and caution added, he laughs all over his cunning little face; his yellow locks crinkle all over his head; and his hands are so soft, and his neck so fat and clean, you love to catch him to your heart, and hug him, and chuckle beneath his chin, and carry away his sweetest strawberry kisses.
And stretched on the grass-plat before the door, sleeps the good dog Jowler; shaggy and rough as a wolf; yet faithful and kind; resting from a range in the woods, and dreaming of squirrels and coons.
Look around you a little, and tell us where is a handsomer spot! True, it has not the ornament and regularity of an old estate. Handsome buildings, and the smoothest meadow-lands are nowhere to be seen. The stir and strife of a village are not here, nor the signs of ancient opulence, except what Nature boasts; nor the voice of cultivated music. But walk about, and view the scene.
The woods are arrayed in all their pomp and splendor; the fields have the warmest and richest light to kindle their royal verdures; along the trails, and in every little tract of sunshine, the flowers of the forest hold forth their sweet and modest blooms; and while birds of every wing and song, continue their full concert from twilight to twilight, you may hear, if you listen, the chime of the cheering cowbell, made mellow by the distance, wakening the music of contentment in the heart, tolling the steps of the tripping hours, and sounding the notes of rural bliss.
We set out in company to visit the settlers, and the birds salute us on our way, and the air comes cool and fragrant to our lips. We pause and survey the sugar camp, and a herd of fleet deer caper by, leading a troop of frolicking fawns, and seeming to send back the word, "see our darlings." Casting your eyes aloft to the top of that tall maple, you discover a bee tree, and behold numberless diligent little beings going and coming on the business of a miniature state. Then you hear the chip-squirrels chirrup, and the red squirrels mock; then the hen-hawks chatter and shriek in the air, and the crows caw and clamor; the thrushes and swamp robins bandy their boasts in challenges of music; the blue jay gossips, and the cuckoo cries.
"Whose cabin is this?" do you inquire? Tilly Troffater's. A swaggering, boisterous little body too, is he, and his legs are short and bandy, as you have seen a creeper cockerel's: he has one eye black and one eye blue, and both are glazed and dull as the knobs on earthen tea-pot covers. His ears are round, and stick forward like a weasel's; his form is square and supple, and he stands more than perpendicular. Ready and sharp is he for a joke, cold and unfeeling in manner, and troublesome as the varlet blackbirds that sit on a tree and gabble and moot, while other birds give you music.
There sits his wife, milking the late-found cow. She has a ludicrous look. An old rag of linsey-woolsey hugs her spindle form; her teeth are shovels, and cleave down her nether lip; her eyes catch every point of the compass across each other's glance; her forehead is low, her hair, a smoky white, and her voice, now flat, now treble, and now sharp. But a kinder, or more guileless heart never warmed a human breast, than that which lies in Dinah Troffater's; and whoever were in fault regarding her strange looks, they cannot criminate her as accessary. She milks the cow, and yonder come leaping like vagrant foxes, her half-wild children, with a few dry sticks for the cabin fire.
Going on two miles farther, we come to Mr. Waldron's, and find him nestled quietly under a hill in his double log-house, with a view of the lake on the west, and with comforts all around him. We find Aunt Polly too, and she lays down her distaff, welcomes us in, tells us a story of the backwoods, and gives us a taste of her new metheglin.
Then we come to Uncle Walter Mowry's, and hear he is off on a hunt in the woods, while Aunt Huldah excuses the soap and sand on her hands, and welcomes us in with joy.
Then we give Teezle a visit; then we see Wilson, and enter the shop on the stream, where he makes chairs, shoes, and carpenter-work on a rainy day; and he reminds us of the bear hunt. Then we see Flaxman, and hear him and Phoebe sing the same old nasal song, and observe their thrift and comfort. Then we visit Colwell, and the wives and children of all greet us with kindness, and a frank good-will in all their words and looks. Upon every heart among them, excepting the heart of Troffater, fraternity, courage and hope, luxuriate in harvests as rank and rich, as the woods and fields around; and through their clear eyes, we can see the honest thoughts of their free and guileless souls, as we see the shells and pebbles through the waters of the lake.
We find it a goodly settlement, and you can picture in your mind the happiness Fabens enjoys, as he brings each new acre to the harrow, and reaps the rewards of his manly toils. You remain a whole month in his hospitable home.
You miss many comforts and luxuries, found in country and town, at the present day. You remark the absence of all outward polish and ornament, which get names for refinement in established society. There are no capacious parlors, or splendid lamps to attract you; no sofas but moss-cushioned logs in the woods; no ottomans unless a green bank of wood-grass will serve you, and neither harp nor piano but the distaff and wheel. All is simple; all is arranged for convenience and comfort, as new homes in the backwoods ever are found; and to you it may seem odd enough to live so.
You may fancy how simple a lad from this region would appear as he might pass your city streets, with his long arms and loping gait; reading signs and staring at all the city wonders. You may fancy the backwoods maiden would look verdant and soft in her rustic frock and clumsy calf-skin shoes, leaning well to her way as she walked, and seeming to devour all city sights and sounds. But think you, they have not drank great spirit and beautiful sense from the breasts of Nature? Is it nothing that the backwoods boy lies down in clover meadows, and rambles in maple woods, and hears the bobolink and swamp robin sing; starts at the sound of Logan's cuckoo, and imitates her lay?
And is it less that the backwoods maiden spins flax and wool; makes the fields and woods her flower garden; washes the freckles from her face in Aurora's rosiest dew; romps like a wild doe in the valleys; brings apples from the orchard, and berries from the hills; and like Lavinia, gleans Palemon's fields?
But your heart imbibes the lovely simplicity; your voice falls into tune with voices around you; and more and more do you love that rural little home, and all its verdant views.
Happier and purer are you made by the wise words of Major Fabens and his wife. Kindly and more free-hearted you grow in the sphere of Julia Fabens, whose innocent, womanly nature breathes in unison with all that is joyful and pure; whose presence is the life and smile of the place. If you have in your soul one sympathy that takes to children, you must also love that rosy miniature Fabens, the idolized Clinton, as he vies in his sports with the birds and squirrels; gives chase to butterflies and bees; and races around the house drawing smiles on his antics; darting from sight now and then like a spirit, and making house, and fields and woods resound with his merry warble and glee.
A month goes away so pleasantly, you conclude to spend the summer with them; and a bright and blissful summer it is as your young heart has ever enjoyed. You cannot stand idle, despising labor. You catch the impulse of the place and people, and none are more ready than you for tasks that test courage and strength, and make the warm sweat flood the glowing face. You are up and away in the morning before the whippoorwill closes her song; and are breathing the fragrant air, and enjoying the brisk exercise that gives the best sauce for breakfast.
You would hunt the stray cow, but you fear being lost, or devoured by wild beasts. You are out on the fallow as they prepare to burn it; and you carry fire to a dozen brush heaps, while Fabens and his father fire the rest; and behold, the flames meet together in a curtain, and run and roar like the waves of a burning sea.
You count the ages of the trees by the rings on the stumps, and say, here is a walnut that flourished with Washington; there is a maple of Milton's age; and this old oak was a brave young tree when Columbus was born. This ring records a dry season, and that a wet season; this a warm one, and that a cold. What made this elm so stocky and firm and high, and gave it such mighty roots and massive limbs? It grew quite alone on the hill, took the storm with the sunshine, and battled the blast while others slept in peace. What made this poplar so weakly? It grew in the thicket, and was sheltered from sun and storm. You see in the trees fine types of human life.
You lead rosy Clinton on many a glad ramble. Your strength increases, and you assist in the labors of the field. You plant corn and weed it; and in that act you sow the seeds of energy and hope in your soul, and weed it of vices and weakly shoots. You cut down fireweeds and thistles; and still dress your soul withal, more and more. You set deadfalls for corn-pulling squirrels; and entrap with the squirrels your follies and fears. You watch with a watering mouth the growing melons and blackening berries; and find sweeter than all, the melons of health, arid berries of rural bliss.
Through wood and through opening you wander free; are now on the lake in a birchen canoe, and again on the shore in an Indian wigwam. Your time runs out at last, and you return to society with a lagging heart, preferring the hale and cheery comforts of backwoods life, hard and homely as are its labors, to a life where the multitude gather, and Pride and Luxury rule, and Self seeks all honors, and Fashion stands a god. Your memory remains pictorial with the waters, fields and woods of the Waldron Settlement; your dreams are illuminated with its lights and verdures; and its pleasant times and seasons roll their rounds in music through your mind.
Another year passes over our little wood-bordered world, and summer again smiles on the settlement. The achievements of labor are exhibited in the progress of each new plantation, in the thrift, comfort, and hope of each pleasant estate. A few more families have joined the neighborhood; a few more clearings are given to the area of civilization; a few more homes and joys. A new pledge of love is added to the Fabens family, and a troop of blissful and tender interests succeed.
The hanging woods flourish in full foliage. Cowslips and pond-lilies star the green marshes. Wild strawberries, large, fragrant, and sweet, redden all the knolls, crimson the horses' fetlocks, and cluster in the corners of the fences. Herd's grass and clover struggle into bloom along the trails and wagon roads in the forest; and the native grasses grow scattering and small. Young orchards have shed their snowy blossoms. Corn is past its first hoeing; wheat approaches the ear; flax holds up to the light and dew the bowls of its clear blue blooms. Silver suckers and ruby mullets still linger in the inlets and valley-streams. The horns of the deer are in the velvet. Fallows look clean and mellow, as if ready now for the seed. Signs of promise wave; symbols of blessing bloom on all that gladdens the eye; and Fabens thanks God both morning and night for the bounties of his love.
A morning of June tinges the reddening east with its first delicate blushes, while the cold pale moon still rides on her lonely way. Whippoorwills leave the neighboring boughs and retire to the heart of the woodlands; and robins and bluebirds, and thrushes and sparrows, in a grand hallelujah chorus, salute the sun on his flaming way. The howl of the wolf ceases; the voice of the water-fowl swells softly and sadly from the lake; and the cowbell's chime, and house-dog's bark, make harmony in the general song of Nature. Foxes are home from their felon excursions; squirrels are astir; deer are on the upland, feeding. Mother Fabens abandons her pillow, and is out from the door, enjoying her usual draught of sweet morning air. The home of her son looks good to her as any that the round world can show; and her heart warms with joy as she gazes on all the signs of thrift around.
But what object is that which attracts her attention, just bursting from the distant thicket? The meadow is between them, enclosed on three sides. It moves toward her. It enters the meadow from the woods. It is lithe as a fox; and the sun, just peering above the tree-tops, reveals more and more of its beauty. A felon fox it cannot be, out at this bold hour in quest of poultry; nor a panther, nor a wolf. O! We see now; it is a fairy fawn, looking innocent as a baby; and its round sides are dappled as the trout and pickerel in the lake. What a sight of the lovely!
She hastens into the house and calls to Matthew, now rising, and he is out in a twinkling, back side of the meadow. The gentle creature observes him, and still is not afraid. He approaches nearer, and the fawn makes slowly for a corner, then, fearing captivity, it tries to escape between the rails. "Attempt that again, my beauty," says Fabens, "and I'll have you in my arms." Again goes its head between the rails, and Fabens clasps it, struggling and panting like a captive bird, to his breast, and bears it in triumph to Julia in the house.
"Beautiful creature!" "lovely lamb of the greenwood!" are the exclamations that go round, as the family stand and view it.
"It has strayed from its dam," says one; and, "How it must feel at this moment!" "How soft and sleek its speckled coat!" adds another. "And how mild are its little eyes, and gentle as a sperit's," exclaims Mother Fabens.
"Will they kill it?" do you inquire. Kill it? No! How could they lay a knife on that delicate throat? Its tender looks would soften a heart of stone, and insure its safety. But what will they do with the panting prisoner? Not let it go! Little Clinton would put in his decided "No, no!" if they motioned to do such a thing. See how he dances and jabbers around it; touching its cool dewy nose with his little fat palms, clasping its velvet neck, soothing it, kissing it, and driving old Jowler out of the house, lest he may have a savage heart, which he proudly disdains, and offer to bite the beauty. A darling prize is that trembling fawn, as ever graced a dwelling. "And we must keep it," say they all. Some warm milk is offered it; but it turns its head from the basin. It is placed in a roofless corn-crib, on a bed of hay, with food before it; and Fabens works briskly for half a day, building a house for it. The time now is of leas value, as no crop is suffering, and he had designed a leisure day of this. About one o'clock the house is completed, and the lovely captive is removed to its new home, as gently as you would lay a meek babe in its bed.
They sat down to dinner, and the fawn was the subject of all conversation. "It shall be Clinton's pet and playmate," said Julia; "and it shall have a bell on its neck, and eat bread and berries shortly out of his hand. I wish little Fanny was big enough to notice the pretty thing, and put her hand on it."
"Dear thing!" said Mother Fabens, "it would seem like my pet lamb, in Cloverdale, and I should love it, myself, as I would a child, I'll warrant. But there, it does seem too hard to keep its nimble feet from the wild woods, whore it was made to caper?"
"So I think," added the Major. "I go for giving all their liberty. I would not keep a saucy squirrel shut up in a cage; it would be better to kill it."
After a hasty dinner had been taken, they all went out again to see the pretty captive, and found it lolling in the hot sun, and looking sad and forlorn. A fresh dish of milk was placed before it, and crumbs of sweet Indian bread were offered, but it laid down its poor head on the ground, and refused all food and comfort. Fabens was melted to a tear of pity by the sight.
"The poor thing is too sad to eat, I suppose," said he, "and longs for a frolic in the forest."
"I would say, down with the bars, and let it away, if it was not Clinton's," replied Julia. "It looks really hard to see it shut up here, when its very life is liberty. But how can we spare it now?"
"See how meek and wishful it looks up to Clinton, when he pats and strokes its neck," said Major Fabens. "I'd like to have the pretty fellow around well enough; but it is not right to keep it from the woods. There, it seems to sink into the ground as if all hope was gone from its heart."
"The flies buzz about its milk, and bite its tender sides, and still it don't mind 'em at all. It is too hard to keep it, so there!" added Matthew.
"But, wouldn't it be better for it to keep it with us, than let it go into the dangerous woods to be killed?" asked Julia.
"We div it more to eat," said Clinton, "and I'll tum and seep with it, and cuddle up to its back, and Dowler shan't touch it."
"Do what you think best," said Julia; "but Ishouldlike to keep it for Clinton!"
"But how should we like to be in its place?" asked Matthew, "away from our family, confined from our native sports, shut up from the free air and hills, though they would feed us well and fuss over us? I want to let down the bars now, and see how quickly it will scamper from its prison."
"I feel for it as much as you can," answered Julia. "I feel for its poor mother; and what would I do if Clinton had strayed like the fawn, and we knew not where he was? But do keep it one day longer. Its gentle looks may make Clinton more tender. I'll pull fresh clover, and make its bed softer, and it shall be shaded more coolly from the sun."
"Let it away," said Major Fabens. "It looks so sad, may be it'll die before morning if you keep it penned up here;" and down went the bars, and into the house they hastened, and turned, and looked to see it leap to the woods. But it was not away in such a hurry. It rose, and walked gently into the house after them, so tame had it become already, and remained a few moments, looking thanks for their kindness; Clinton patted its soft shoulders, and kissed it tenderly, and then it walked gently away, and vanished in the woods; leaving the beholders more tender and kind for the visit, more in love with liberty, and more admiring the beautiful creatures of God.
The autumn time had come, and fields, and woods, and waters were lit with its yellow beams. The blooms of spring, the splendors of summer had departed, or were sobered for the dust. Still a beauty was on the world. A pure, ethereal mildness breathed as from heaven, and the sun was so kindly and glad as he rode on in glory, he gave a sweet glance to every suppliant, whether plant or flower, or tree or man; and you could have looked into his warm face and felt regaled by his gracious smile. And the holy sky seemed now to stoop down and poise its breast on the bending hills, and again in majesty retire to a loftier archway of the fair blue Infinite, and glimmer and glow like a sea of glass. Eloquent type of the face of that Father whose glory lights the heavens, whose spirit breathes, and whose love abounds in every world.
The year had not been all sunlight or joy. Clouds had gathered and dissolved, and disappointments now and then occurred to our manly farmer, and called for more faith and courage. In the summer, the rains were so frequent, and superfluous, his crops were damaged, and the slopes on his fallows were cut into gullies, and swept of their soil. Premature frosts had nipped his corn slightly, and his buckwheat was not worth harvesting. A tolerable crop of wheat and other grains; and a harvest of loves, and lights, and strengths, however, were yielded him, to supply all his natural and spiritual needs, and the Lord was praised for his gracious care.
Fabens was now advanced to years of more grave reflection, and every object in Nature and Life addressed his mind with more suggestive and serious words. His religious impressions were deepened; and his religious sentiments, active and susceptible. He had studied a few fine books, and transferred their wisdom to his heart; he had studied Nature and Scripture; and he walked in light and peaceful ways. He relied on God as the Infinite Friend; and never a cloud was brought over the earth, whether of storm or grief, but he called to mind the promise of the Father, "the bow shall be seen in the cloud."
A few frugal comforts were added to his stores, and though he labored early and late at tasks that demanded strong arms and rusty raiment, where a gentleman in straps and ruffles would have met mortifications without number, still he was happy; and like the man of faith described in the Scripture, he abounded in blessings.
His parents remained to bless him. His wife responded to all his sympathies, and rendered his home a perennial joy. Clinton had been told of his fourth bright birthday, and the gladness of life budded on his heart, and bloomed on his face. Fanny unfolded the graces of childhood as you have seen water-lilies unfold leaf after leaf. Fabens tore himself away from his lambs at seven in the morning, and taking his luncheon in a basket, he proceeded to a distant clearing to work till night. At ten o'clock Clinton was presented a new coat and trowsers, which his mother had just finished, and he bounded about as proudly as a young deer with his first pair of antlers. Nothing would do but he must trip away to the clearing and show them to his father. It would be something of a venture to permit him; but he had been there several times with his father, and knew the way, and he was allowed to go. A kiss to sweet mother, and a kiss to Fanny were given, and one left for grandmother when she returned with her basket of green corn for dinner, and away he glided, and Julia looked after and smiled on his glee, little suspecting what might spring up and harm him on the path. Hour after hour expired, and Julia's mind ran after the boy; and she asked her mother again and again if anything would be likely to befall him. A slight fear occasionally rose, to be suppressed on a second thought; and evening advanced while yet their hearts were cheerly and at rest.
A fair and jocund day departed, and suddenly a dark cloud mantled the heavens, and the moonless night was falling dismal and drear. Fabens was expected by sunset, and at the usual hour, Julia tripped to the wood-path with a light heart to meet him, and take his swinging hand in her own, as she was accustomed to do, and talk all the way to the house. Hastening on half a mile or more, she spied her husband rising over a distant eminence, but he came alone! Her fears were all roused in a moment; she hurried, out of breath, to meet him, and approaching him, called in a broken voice—"Where is Clinton? where have you left him?"
"Clinton?" replied Fabens in surprise; "I have not seen him since morning."
"Not seen him?" ejaculated Julia; "O dear, he started to go to you this forenoon. I'm afraid he's lost, or the wild beasts have caught him!"
"Started to come to me this forenoon?"
"Yes, I finished his new clothes, and he was so pleased, he wanted to go and show them to you. 'Twas all done without thinking a moment of any danger."
"Mercy, Julia! what shall we do? He is gone; here it is coming dark as pitch,—whatshallwe do?"
"What can we do? O Lord, help us!—help us!—Dear me, I can never forgive myself if he's lost or hurt!—WhydidI let him go?"
"Hurry home, Julia, and tell father and mother, and I'll run over to Troffater's; he may be there; Tilly is always teasing children and coaxing 'em; he may have seen Clinton and coaxed him home with him. He was chopping by the road when I went along this morning, he may have coaxed him home: but O, if he is not there!"
Fabens started on a run for Troffater's, and met two neighbors who had just come from his house; they had seen no Clinton; and assured him Clinton could not be there. They all hastened to Fabens', and met Julia and the parents; but no Clinton could be heard from. Darkness extinguished the last gleam of heaven, and they shuddered and wept in agonies of grief for the lost boy.
"How can we let the night pass without our lamb?" cried Mother Fabens.
"Dear, dear boy!—whydidI let him go, when I cannot bear to have him out of my sight? WhydidI let him go?" sobbed Julia frantically.
"Will not God be gracious? O will he not be gracious?" cried Fabens.
"There! I thought that little fawn was a forerunner of something!" exclaimed Mother Fabens. "That little fawn that came here last June. It has haunted my mind ever since. O I fear it did not come here without a warning?"
"But we let it go again," cried Julia; "and will not my pretty, pretty fawn be given back to his mother again? O! O!"
"An Indian shot a fawn the same day we let that go, and in the same direction he went. I always thought it was that handsome fellow," said Major Fabens.
"Mercy! it cannot be the fawn was a forerunner! O it cannot be that I shall not get my Clinton again!" cried Matthew, looking as if ready to reel to the ground. "O friends, do rouse the neighbors! if he's only lost, I'm afraid the wolves or panthers will catch him. You know how the wolves have howled of late; and I heard a panther scream last night, I thought. Do rouse the neighbors to advise and help!"
The friends seized torches and were away to the first dwelling. The news flew around as fast as distance would permit; and by nine o'clock the whole neighborhood were together with throbbing hearts and anxious looks.
"I fetched my horn and cow-bell," said Mr. Waldron; "I made a noise on the way. Horns will scare off painters, and wolves don't like tootin' or clatter a mite."
"And I brought mine," added Uncle Walter.
"And I mine," added Teezle.
"We'll blow horns and ring bells," said Teezle; "and you, Colwell and Troffater, go and call out the Indians. They're dreadful good to scare off animals and look for lost children."
"Do, for Heaven's sake,—do what you can, if it is dark!" ejaculatedJulia fainting with grief.
"O, I know you'll not leave a thing undone!" added Matthew, beseechingly. "God give us strength to bear our trouble! It is hard—it is hard to bear trouble like this!"
Colwell and Troffater started for the lake to call up the Indians from their wigwams on the shore. But they were hardly out of sight before an ominous change passed lowering over the scene. A low moaning wind swept through the woods and fields, and round the house; and the leaves rustled, and the well-sweep swayed and creaked in the blast. Then a drearier dusk succeeded; a fierce and freezing gust from the lake shot by; and a long and rending roll of thunder announced the rising of a violent storm. A fleet of ghastly vapors sailed over the zenith; and feathery clouds floated after, opening and shutting with the thunder and silence, and showing and hiding the stars as they flew. Then a long rift of lightning leaped forth and trailed its blazing banners of white, red, and purple in loops and festoons round the sky; and the thunder redoubled its might, and closed in, and labored and roared, as if wrestling down the world. Flame after flame, and peal on peal, succeeded, and the storm halted over the lake and ran along its course, as if bridled for a time, and struggled, and rolled, and roared; then a wild thunder rent the rein, and it ran and rested over the settlement, and spent its fury, and spun its fire. The wind blew a hurricane; the rain dashed in cataracts; and every electric bolt seemed to shiver the cisterns of heaven, and empty rivers of rain. Then the lightning was uninterrupted, and you could have read a book, or counted the trees, or viewed the lake by its constant blaze; while now and anon a wilder volley exploded, and a more furious flash flew its zigzag flight from the zenith to the ground.
It lasted a long hour, and you may imagine the terror and gloom it poured on hearts already faint with grief. You may imagine the shrieks and cries of the household; how they called on God to guard and save; how the wild, wailing mother rushed out into the storm to recover her precious boy, and was beaten back by the wind and flood; what were their thoughts of his situation; what were their sobs and sighs.
At last the storm rolled away, and Colwell and Troffater returned, and led in a band of Indians. Counsel was had, and arrangements were made for the night. Horns were sounded; bells were rattled; tin pans and hammers were clashed together; and the dark woodlands wailed with the echoing sound. Fires were kindled, and torches flamed on every hand; and for one long night, sleep sought no pillow in the settlement. And to thrill all hearts with keener agony, and strain each nerve and cord to its utmost tension, a little before daybreak, not a mile from the desolate home, the fierce, wild scream of a panther was heard, startling the very air to a violent shudder, and receiving angry answers from the low lakeshore.
Darkness retired. The twilight glimmered on the tallest trees. Morning, so wearily watched-for, came. The clouds broke in masses, and rolled tardily down the sky. Day gilded the heavens, and the tranquil bosom of the low Cayuga mantled in his beams, and reflected the glory of his face. But to the Waldron Settlement that smiling day brought little hope, and no enjoyment. A favorite child was lost from a goodly family, and ill feelings were agitated, and all hearts ran after him through thicket and field, over hill and valley, like shepherds after a lost lamb. Comfortless and faint, the family assembled at the morning altar, and one general sob of grief, and one leaping pulse of anxiety went round. They kneeled for prayer; and the venerable father bore their petitions before the Lord. He prayed for grace to sustain them in the trial. He acknowledged their errors; but bending at the feet of Infinite Kindness, he was encouraged to ask for a Father's blessing. He prayed for more faith in Providence. He prayed that they might have resignation, and that comfort might come to their hearts in the recovery of their little boy.
Grief brooded not over that altar alone. It sat upon every face; it occupied every home; it assailed every heart in the settlement. Tilly Troffater even seemed to share somewhat of the general sorrow, though seldom shedding a sympathetic tear.
"I never tuck a great likin' to childern," said he; "but I kindy liked little Clint; his cheeks was so soft, and smooth, and his eyes snapped sich funny fire; and he was olers so full o' his cunnin' jabber. I hope the painters haint ketched him. They yelled despotly last night; but I hope they haint ketched him yit. I'd like to see him agin, and baird his dimple face for him; the pretty mischief."
"He's worth a long hunt," said Colwell, "and my farm won't suffer if I search a month."
"I did not see how I could leave my work," said Wilson; "but I must give one hunt for Clinton; I must."
"We mustn't give him up yet. O, we can't give him up," added UncleWalter; "we couldn't spare a soul from the settlement; we couldn'tspare the leastest of your little brats, Troffater! But where areMatthew and the Major?"
"They followed Julia to the woods, very early, to see if they could find a trace of the boy," replied Mother Fabens.
"Then we must follow them in a trice," said Uncle Walter; and a general council was had, and it was agreed that they should form a line of all the men and women, four rods apart, and sweep the woods for a distance round; and with horns and bells to give salutes, and luncheon to refresh them when hungry, they marched through the moaning woods.
Night overtook them while they looked still for day, and they returned heavy-hearted and weary to their homes. Large and diligent had been the search, and all the kind Indians were out with them, but no trace could be found of the lost boy. The Indians shook their heads dolefully, and gave signs of despair, though little was said in discouragement, and all volunteered to continue the search the next day. No fires were kindled that night, and only once, in an hour, the horn was sounded, from each house, to give signs of watchfulness, and keep the wild beasts in their distant dens. Morning returned, and another council convened to compare suggestions, and commence another search. Mother Fabens related a dream of the last night, and all gathered around, to hear it. She dreamed that Clinton was passing near the sugar camp, and a creature standing on his hind legs, rushed upon the boy, and bore him off to a multitude that looked like the creature, and let him go free among them. That Clinton wept at first, and tried to get away, but after awhile he looked cheerful again, and stayed with them till she awoke.
"Dreadful!" cried poor comfortless Julia; "can it, say, can it be true?"
"But that does not show he's killed; and I will not give him up yet," said Uncle Walter.
"The wolves hev muttoned him afore this, you may depend," saidTroffater.
"I don't believe that," said Colwell.
"And I don't believe you do aither," said Mr. Waldron, to Troffater."There's a good 'eal in that dream, I say now; and it gives me hope.Come, let's give another good hunt."
"Hugh!" groaned an Indian, dolefully; "he gone, he dead; we no find 'im."
"So I b'lieve," added Troffater. "I dremp las night tew, as wal as Granny Fabens; but then our dreams don't agree azackly. I dremp a shaggy wolf ketched 'im.—O,don'tcry so, Miss Fabens!—as I was goin' to say—I dremp a shaggy wolf ketched 'im, and craunched the little feller down, as ye'd eat a tender quail. Miss Fabens,don'tcry now!—he was all out o' misery perty quick. I dremp he was dead afore he was stript, or his little dimple hands was chanked to mince-meat; don't crynow."
"You good-for-nothing torment, hold your lying tongue!" said UncleWalter, in a rage; "who wants to hear your dream? I'd call for apolecat's dream as quick. Shut your lips.Youtalk about crying!Why, your very words tear open the woman's heart. I'm struck with whatMother Fabens tells."
"It seemed as if I must be awake," resumed Mother Fabens, "it was all so plain and natural. How I did feel when the creature sprung and catched little Clinton in his paws!—Awful! But then, I've a little more hope from the dream."
"So've I, Miss Fabens," responded Uncle Walter, in a tone of great animation. "So've I. Come on, boys, let's look awhile longer. Come, Wilson, come, Colwell and Teezle. Come, Uncle Mose, your eyes are keen for a look as they were when you hunted Hessians in the Jarsies. But Troffater may step out, we can very well spare him."
Three or four gave over, and went home. Troffater winked and crossed his black and blue eyes, took in a quid, spit through his teeth, struck up a whistle, and departed; and the Indians manifested less zeal than yesterday; but a large company took up the march and searched a day longer. As night returned once more with its first faint shadows, while yet there was light on the thin carpet of newly-fallen leaves to discern colors plainly, a cry of "here's blood!" rang out in a fearful shriek on their ears, and they halted, and gathered at the spot to which attention was directed. "It is blood!" said another; and "here's more!" cried another. "See, it is sprinkled all around here!" "And there! see there, it looks as if there had been a scuffle!" added another.
A cold thrill of horror ran around from heart to heart, and it was well for the Fabenses that they did not arrive, or hear the cry, until a glance before the grieving company showed them the remains of a deer, and reserved a faint hope for the morrow.
To-morrow came and went, with no tidings of poor Clinton. Another and another day was spent by several, who still insisted that the boy must be alive. Mother Fabens' dream made a strong impression, and it held them up from utter despair; while the Indians added a little more to their courage by denying that the captive fawn was killed by them; for they had not killed a fawn in a great while. The white people all believed more or less in portents, warnings and dreams; and trusting a little to their vaticination now, they could not yield the lingering hope that he was still alive. But when they came to reason, that hope was quite extinguished. Had he been alive, and within any reasonable distance, he would have been discovered. But no trace of him could be found even by the sharp-sighted Indians; and then the screams of those panthers, on the first dismal night, increased the probability of his awful fate. Still a search was continued by three or four, and on the fifth day, they discovered a hat about a mile from the path he was pursuing, and it was found to be Clinton's, and a present to him from a cousin in Cloverdale. Again was the settlement set in commotion, and again many surmises and opinions were expressed regarding the poor boy's fate.
But after that, no trace in wood or field was discovered to clear up the painful mystery. The people settled down into the belief that a panther had taken him, and after he had carried him that distance, on the way to his dark lair in the forest, the hat fell from his drooping head, and the loose leaves settled partly over it, and concealed it from view on the first day's search. The parents of the child, and all his friends, except Mother Fabens, were forced at last to the dreadful conclusion which assured them their little fondling was no more; and their grief was deep and lasting. And Mother Fabens grieved sadly with the others; but the impression of her dream still whispered hope to her soul; and the liberation of the fawn she had never forgotten. And when she sickened and died a few months after, she said "it was more than possible that Matthew and Julia might live long enough to see Clinton alive again on earth."
But her kindly-attempted consolations could rally their hopes no more. It was a thought that wrung their desolate hearts; but they were forced to regard their lost boy as having perished in the grasp of some wild beast. And that was the grief of griefs. With all the faith and hope they could command, it shook them and bowed them down, and all the bright world for a while looked dreary and sad on their account. It gave them ghastly dreams. It burdened their waking reveries. It wailed in the winds, it wound the sunbeams, flowers and trees with weeds of melancholy wo. [Transcriber's note: woe?]
In the darkest day, however, their faith and hope did not quite desert them; and after the first heavy stroke, these Christian graces rose up and strengthened them; and never were comforts so sweet as those received from the Scriptures and from their religious trusts.
"God is good," said Fabens. "He may give us trials and griefs—and we have had a portion. He may tear our beloved from us when least of all it may seem we can spare them. His Providence may appear in the storm and tempest; in anguish, bereavement and death; still he is good, and he will bring good out of evil."
Time went on its course like the constant roll of waters, and seasons came and went as usual in the Waldron Settlement. A deep and early snow having fallen, and remained with frequent additions, a long and rigorous winter reigned in absolute sway. But now, on the last of February, the sun wheeled high on his circuits; thaws and rains ensued, and the first robin on the leafless maple sang, sweet harbinger of spring. Winter recalled his tyrant ministers, or restrained them in their wrath; and milder days and warmer skies appeared in pleasant alternation, with many still of tempest and gloom.
The milder days multiplied; the snow had less depth on the earth, and now came on the season of sugar making. In all our forest region magnificent sugar maples abounded like an orchard, and Fabens prepared for his spring encampment in the bush. His shanty was repaired with new bark on the roof, and a fresh carpet of clean wheat straw on the rough bark floor; his kettles were hung; his troughs were turned up by the trees and cleaned of the mould and cobwebs of the last season; sleek slanting boxes were cut in the sides of the noble maples in the process of tapping, and spouts driven under to conduct the sap to the troughs; and quick was his step and diligent his labor, to gather and boil so fast that his troughs would not run over.
The camp was within hearing distance of the house, and his father, though trembling with age, went out to keep him company, and attend to the fire and kettles, while he was away with two pails, gathering the delicious flowings of his maples.
And Julia, too, was there on many a pleasant afternoon, plying her busy distaff in the shanty; and Fanny lent gladness to the scene; leaping like a merry fawn about the little opening, and amid the clustering bushes; her face lustrous and soft as a velvet peach; her voice blithesome as the pee-wee's, and clear and sweet as the robin's.
"And if Clinton could be here, too!" sighed the bereaved mother."Dear, dear Clinton! if he could be here, O would we not be happy?"
"How I would kiss him, and say, 'Good brother,' and feed him, and crinkle his curly hair, if he would come back!" added Fanny.
To one fond of the romance of rural life, a scene like this addresses many attractive charms. The evenings were clear and beautiful; a class of the grandest constellations took their course in the sky, and rained their holy lights, while the winds were asleep in their caves, and keen frosts came down each night to increase the morrow's run; the days were warm and agreeable with bracing air and kindly sunshine; and the forests were roused from their stillness by the sound of the axe, the shrill reports of the frost escaping from the trees, and the notes of a few birds that carolled of the coming spring-time.
Fabens had, for some time, felt the advances of spring in his heart; and he had a heart in the season and in its manly toils. He remained in the camp over night when his maples had given a copious run, and tended his kettles, to boil and save what the bounty of Providence so lavishly furnished. He had no one with him but his dog, and yet he was never alone. His thoughts were his companions, his hopes, his pleasing pastimes. A veil of blinding atmosphere hung over him, and his eyes perceived no objects beyond his camp but the solemn trees and the lofty stars; and yet his mind was not muffled up in that veil. When Jesus died, the veil of God's temple was rent in twain; the veil between earth and heaven; and though that veil would continue to hang in its place for a time; and he could not make maps of the heavenly world, or locate the constellations of all its starry glories, or gossip with its unseen citizens, as with familiars here; still Faith saw light enough streaming through the rent in the veil to raise and enlarge his soul; and Hope saw light enough to replume her wings and re-adjust her vision. God embosomed him in his spiritual presence; Christ was to him not a cold and distant phantasm, but a warm and intimate friend. Good spirits were all about him, he believed, though he heard not their voices, and knew not their names; and they were coming and going on God's errands of love and light. A soft breath fanned his forehead; a sweet emotion filled his heart; a burst of light broke like morning on his mind; and he found it easy to conceive them the touch and gift of some guardian being whom God had sent with the answers of his prayers. And who could say but it might be the spirit of Clinton, or Matthew's ascended mother, whom God had thus employed?
Call it not superstition, if such were his thoughts. It is a guileless heart, and a lofty faith that can thus sense the presence of God, and dwell in the blissful assurance that angels guard the inhabitants of earth, though we see and hear them not; as we believe, at noonday the stars stand sentinels above, although they are veiled from our view.
At times, moreover, that wild encampment was the scene of social enjoyment. It was a custom in the settlement to give parties in the bush, and cultivate feelings of love and friendship. They were rude indeed, and there was observed none of the pretence of etiquette which passes for refinement in fashionable circles. Still there was genuine sentiment manifested, and an honest and simple refinement of soul, superior to any outward elegance. Some of the settlers, it is true, were strangers to those religious sensibilities enjoyed by Fabens and his family; and they read Nature and Humanity with a different eye from his, and received different impressions. There was that in the manner of the Teezles, the Colwells, the Flaxmans, and others, which at times might appear low and vulgar, to persons educated in a different sphere of life; but even in their hearts, there was an open truthfulness which gave signs of real nobility; and a full flowing sympathy, a solid common sense, a love of principle, a love of the good and noble, against which mere surface refinement and polite words, empty of soul and meaning, would weigh but as feathers in the scale.
They possessed heart and soul in the richest raw material. They were full-grown, ripened specimens of aboriginal life. They had a plump berry, as the farmers say, and came to the sickle without cockle, or rust, or weevil, or smut. They were as thrifty vines, and needed only to be trimmed and trained. They were as virgin gold in the bullion, and wanted to be melted and minted into coin. They were as statues rough-hewn at the quarry, and would have ripened to forms of majestic beauty, with brows like Jove and Minerva; with bosoms like Venus, cheeks like Ceres, and lips like Apollo, had the chisel of art but sculptured them out, rounded them off, and polished them down to an elegant, ornate life.
During the season in mention, there had been several sugar parties, and now came Fabens' turn to reciprocate the compliment. So, one pleasant day, when there was a slight cessation in the run, he received a few neighbors to his camp, to spend an afternoon and evening.
Uncle Walter and his wife came over at an early hour; Thomas Teezle and his wife, and their bouncing, cherry-lipped daughter, Rebecca Ann, were present, confessing to none for a lack of pleasure. Mr. Wilson and his wife were on hand, with kindly word and cheerful face, and tarried to share the latest social sweet; and the son and daughter of a new family, Lot and Nancy Nimblet, came with them, and expressed much delight with a feast so rural and agreeable.
A new carpet of straw was spread on the shanty floor, and the neatness of the ground before it, and around the little opening, gave evidence of the neatness and interest of Julia Fabens. All declared it a pleasant afternoon, and just in the nick of time for a sugar party. Uncle Walter was called on for a story, and he gave one of his best, with a witch of a tongue, that fairly reversed the wheels of time, and trundled them back to the wild, wild forest again, and tumbled them out amid screaming panthers, and howling wolves. Mr. and Mrs. Flaxman sang a merry song, in a merry nasal tune. Aunt Polly Waldronhadto tell of the tory that fired her barn and ripped up her feather bed; and how he whooped and keeled when she dropped him, and how many tories and Indians ran away. Then, Mr. Waldron told a story, and Major Fabens followed.
Fabens the younger, and his sensible wife, contributed their share to interest the party, and though they were unusually cheerful and social, there was an elevated tone of sobriety in all they uttered, which had its happy and refining influence on every heart.
Early in the afternoon, a kettle of sugar was set before them, and little banks of the clearest crystal snow were placed around for coolers, and then with wooden spoons, and grateful appetites, the feast was enjoyed. As the sugar but increased their relish for the evening refreshment, they partook of that when served, with a still better zest, and many kind expressions and feelings, and many jets of wit and glee, were interchanged at the meal. A pleasant plant grew in the marshes of that country, called evan-root, which, when boiled in sap, and tempered with cream, made a delicious beverage, tasting like coffee; and their nice broiled venison, and Indian bread, washed down with flowing cups of that favorite drink, was a banquet worthy of a president.
"A president should go hungry," said Uncle Walter, "if his dainty palate didn't relish a supper like this."
"A president should relish any food that is fit for his humblest fellow-citizens," answered Fabens. "And a president worthy of his station, would honor our rude occupation as much as his own, and share with pleasure the humblest wholesome meal. What is a president after all, but the servant we employ to look after our affairs, to be respected according to his competence and faithfulness, and the amount of service he does? And nothing, I am sure, can be found in the grandest entertainment to exhibit refinement, and call forth honor, so well as theheartwith which it is given and enjoyed."
"I guess Troffater would kindy like to be here," said Colwell. "I seen him when I was comin', and he looked sour, and said he wasn't invited. Did ye mean to make a bridge o' his nose?"
"I would do Troffater a kindness as soon as anybody," answered Fabens; "but his shocking levity, I have often told him, displeases us, and his company was not desired. He is old enough to speak with cleaner lips. If I could hope to improve him any, I would invite and visit him often. We do mean to visit his family, and ask them to our house."
"He's havin' the sulks the natteral way," said Colwell.
"He's mad as a March hare, and says, he axes no odds o' Mat Fabens," added Teezle.
"Speak low," said Wilson, "I'll warrant, he's near us this very minute; he's olers spookin' about, and eaves-droppin'."
"Let him spook about and eaves-drop," said Fabens, "I owe him nothing, but pity for his disposition, and I would say all I have said, and more, to his face. There is one comfort! God has power to give him a better heart, and I hope some day he will."
"I dun know about that," said Colwell. "Mebby he can, but it will take more brimstun than the critter's worth to cleanse his rotten sperit."
"And they'll have to break in an egg or two after that, I guess, to make it white and clear, as Aunt Polly does her sugar," added Teezle.
"Don't make light of it," said Fabens. "With God all things good are possible. I would not add a single pain to his misery. Who of us—"
"There! there, see that light in the bushes yonder!" screamed Nancy Nimblet, who had been frightened by the idea that they were watched, and had been looking around the camp for sights of alarm. "That light yonder!—what is it?—what is it?"
"A Jack-o'-lantern, may be, and may be somethin' wuss," said Colwell, rising.
"A ball of fire!—what can it be? see, it comes towards us!" addedUncle Walter.
"It's right where we found little Clinton's hat," cried Mrs. Fabens, pale with terror. "O, dear, what can it be? He couldn't have been murdered, my dear Clinton couldn't have been murdered, and that appeared to reveal his fate!"
"I'll warrant that's it!" answered Teezle. "Square Peasley seen a light, and heerd a gugglin' groan where the pedlar had his throat cut in Cloverdale, you know."
"See there! see there!—it comes nearer!—look at it now; it has eyes, and ears!—see its awful nose and mouth," cried Aunt Polly Waldron.
"What shall we do?" screamed Nancy Nimblet, all in a tremble. "It will hurt us!—it will kill us! where shall I go?"
"Be quiet, be calm, it cannot hurt you," said Fabens soothingly; "it can't hurt any one. God wouldn't let it."
"Awful!" shrieked Mr. and Mrs. Flaxman in one nasal; scream, "let us run, let us run!"
"It's an evil spirit," said Wilson.
"The old pot-metal Cuss himself has come for us!" cried Uncle Walter. "If I know anything about the Devil, that's him; that's his head and ears, and eyes and teeth, I'll bet a turkey they are!"
"No, no, it cannot be an evil spirit or the Devil," said Fabens, calmly. "The Devil would not appear in such a form to us, and God will guard us from evil spirits."
An agony of terror shook the whole company. Stern and brave Uncle Walter, who could stand before wolves and bears; who could beard the fierce panther in his den, and count his snarling teeth,—even he believed in ghosts, and was afraid of sights and apparitions. It was a horrible object, spirit, devil, or whatever it might be. It looked like a ball of fire, and had features of a grim half-human thing, with huge ears, a wide mouth and grinning rows of monstrous teeth; and they fancied they saw a black body and long tail below it. As they gazed in a transport of terror, Fabens escaped unobserved from the company, passed softly around through the woods, and coming up behind the foul fiend, he grasped its dark form in his arms, and found as he suspected, that it was no other devil than little tantalizing Troffater, with a carved squash shell, set out with an ox's ears, on his head, bearing his idea of a devil's image, and lighted within by a brilliant candle!
The terror of the company soon subsided, and Fabens admonished them against yielding again to such senseless fears; while they all departed for their homes, and the poor transgressor was discharged with a reprimand so sharpened by kindness that it seemed to cleave his heart.
In four years more, the Waldron Settlement had grown to quite a colony; for the area of civilization extended from the Cayuga to the Owasco, and ten miles north and south; and though the population numbered several hundred families, and the inroads of fashion and pride began to be perceptible there, still it remained a neighborhood; and with few exceptions, the people exchanged neighborly offices and loves throughout the settlement.
The inhabitants now felt the importance of their flourishing community, and made a movement to be organized into a township, and have town officers, and better regulations. That movement was successful, and the town took the name of Summerfield, and a warm and summer-green town it was as the Lake Country had to show.
Walter Mowry was elected the first Supervisor, and Matthew Fabens, the first Justice of the Peace.
At this late period, public offices are so plenty, and so often held by persons whose devotion to party, or whose failure in other pursuits is their only recommendation, that the plain and humble office of Justice of the Peace receives little respect, and would find few candidates, but for the lucrative interests which induce many to ask it. It was not so, forty years ago in the Lake Country. At that primitive period, that responsible office was given to no one who had not moral qualifications to recommend him; and the person who held it was honored as possessing capabilities equal to his duties, and holding along with these the affection and faith of the town.
When the organization was first proposed, and the several offices were named, the eyes of the settlement, with two or three exceptions, were turned to Fabens, as the man best qualified to administer justice and peace among them; and to elect him to that station was simply to say 'thus shall it be with the man whom we delight to honor.'
Of written laws, and their points and subtleties, Fabens confessed himself ignorant. Coke and Blackstone were never on his shelves. He had read a stray leaf from Hooker, and these words were incorporated as so many notes of divine music in his soul—"No less can be said of Law, than that her seat is the bosom of God, her voice is the harmony of the world. All things in heaven and earth do her homage; the very least, as feeling her care; the greatest, as not exempted from her power. Both angels and men, and creatures of whatsoever condition, though each in different sort and manner; yet each and all with uniform consent admiring her as the mother of their peace and joy;"—and this was his idea of law, and about all he had gathered on law from books.
And as for the responsibilities committed to his trust, he fain would have refused them, and proposed another candidate for the office; but knowing the simple principles of justice; having a heart attuned to the harmony of earth and heaven; having Peace as an angel dwelling in his soul; knowing and loving what was right and lovely between man and man, he discharged his duties with distinguished success, and his influence went far to lift up his people to the light and sphere of spiritual peace.
He still carried on the labors of his fine farm, with the duties of his office, and made his own private house the seat of that justice which once in a long while he was compelled to search out and sustain.
The manner and spirit of his administration were therefore patriarchal, as those which the poet describes of the venerable Albert, of Wyoming; and to the present day, traditions are preserved, and incidents related in that peaceful town, which prove the practical wisdom and eminent justice of "Old Squire Fabens."
Those early and eager pioneers of new countries, the lawyers, found their way to Summerfield; that is, two or three unruly members of the profession, while yet Squire Fabens held the wand of peace. They had not been long there, however, before they joined Troffater, Adonijah Nixon, and Simon Bogle, to oppose his administration; and made very desperate efforts to elect another in his stead.
As for the lawyers, we are not at all surprised by their opposition. He destroyed their business, and they played as checks and interruptions of that harmony to which his life was tuned. And as for the troublesome little bandy Troffater, his ill-will was expected, as a real compliment to the wisdom and justice of the magistrate. We have heard of an Irishman at Donnybrook Fair, who was likely to be disappointed of his addicted battle, finding no one to answer his challenge; and who cried to the crowd, "I'll thank any gentleman, just once to tread on the tail o' my coat, that my sport may begin!" A similar character was Tilly Troffater, and never more thankful was he than when opportunity encouraged his quarrelsome mood; and never more amazed or provoked at the manner in which the laws were administered, than when his broils were suppressed while rising, and his litigations closed as soon as he began them.
The hardest thing, under heaven, did it seem for a lawsuit to make any progress, while Matthew Fabens was Justice of the Peace, in Summerfield. Pestilent Tilly was always scheming to provoke such evils, and was always threatening his neighbors with a lawsuit. Sometimes he would come post-haste for a warrant, or summons, or attachment; again, he would be in hot distress to swear his life was in danger, or his squalid character was at stake; or his neighbor's pigs had rooted up a few weeds in his garden, or some mischievous boy had thrown a stone through a paper pane of his window; or mounted his most personable scare-crow on his chimney-top, arrayed in a potato necklace, and holding a dead snake in hand; or he had secrets to disclose which would reveal astounding villanies, that threatened the peace of the town.
But it had always been his misfortune to fail of his designs. Not a scrap of a warrant or other process could he obtain. Not the lisp of a word or oath would the good Squire take from his lying lips. "Get rid of your passion; go home, and work, and help me keep the peace," was Fabens' reply to all quarrelsome fellow-citizens.
And yet, the happy fortune to sustain his long administration, without having to confess a case of law had been brought to trial before him, was not reserved for Squire Fabens. Numberless little difficulties had been dragged into notice by three or four uncomfortable bodies, who sought the excitement of a quarrel to rally the lagging pleasures of indolence; and a few of these demanded his attention. But he had ever found it for the good of the parties in trouble, as for the general welfare, and his own satisfaction, to calm the raging waters of passion, by counsel, kind and wise; reconcile the antagonists, and bring them to an amicable peace, without the sifting of testimony, and the labors of litigation.