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.



IX.

SEEKING THE LOST LAMB IN VAIN.

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 Uncle Walter; "we couldn't spare a soul from the settlement; we couldn't spare the leastest of your little brats, Troffater! But where are Matthew 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," said Troffater.

"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't cry 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't cry 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 cry now."

"You good-for-nothing torment, hold your lying tongue!" said Uncle Walter, in a rage; "who wants to hear your dream? I'd call for a polecat's dream as quick. Shut your lips. You talk about crying! Why, your very words tear open the woman's heart. I'm struck with what Mother 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."



X.

THE SUGAR PARTY.

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 Waldron had to 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 the heart with 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!" added Uncle 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.



XI.

FABENS PROMOTED TO HONOR.

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.



XII.

A LAWSUIT.

At length a crime was committed in Summerfield, which a summary process could not despatch, and a sense of duty impelled Squire Fabens to permit it to be tried before him, that the offender might receive his punishment, and be set forth as an example of warning to all evil-doers. One afternoon in August, when farmers had finished their wheat harvest, and were enjoying a few days of relaxation before seeding their fallows with winter grain, Simon Bogle came all in a hot hurry to the Justice, for a warrant against Jared Sculpin, and—"Are you certain," asked Fabens, after hearing his long and incoherent story, and learning the name of the accused neighbor, "are you certain that your log-chain was not mislaid, or dropped in some place where the leaves might have covered it? This is a very serious charge for neighbor to bring against neighbor. You ought to be very certain that it was stolen, Mr. Bogle, before you accuse any one."

"Certain!" cried Bogle; "I couldn't be more so, I guess, if I'd seen it took, with my own eyes, I guess. The neighbors all talk about it too, I guess. And there's—"

"But there ought to be no guess-work in this case. Are you not wronging Mr. Sculpin, to charge him with the theft, unless some competent witness will say he saw him take it, or you can prove the chain found in his possession is yours, while he fails to show, in defence, that you did not lend it to him?"

"Lend it to 'im!—Lend it to 'im, eh? Mercy knows, I wouldn't lend 'im a halter to hang himself, since he blunted my iron wedges, and broomed up my beetle so! And I guess, you wouldn't talk about lendin', if the chain had been hooked from you!"

"But I don't like this hurry and passion you manifest. Get rid of this before you think of bringing a neighbor to justice. We become criminal ourselves just so far as we harbor passion and vengeance while calling criminals to account."

"Wal, will ye give me a warrant? tell me that," said Bogle in a huff. "Tell me, Square, if you'll give me a warrant. Cause I ken go to Sempronus, I guess, and git one of Square Moss, if ye don't."

"I tell you this, neighbor Bogle," replied Squire Fabens. "This is a very serious affair you have brought before me. I want time to consider it, and you must go home and think it all over calmly, and sleep on it; and then if you think something must be done in law, come to me to-morrow with your witnesses, and we'll see what must be done."

"Jest as I expected," cried Bogle, turning on his heel in a swelling rage. "Jest as I expected. You're as fit for a Square as my dog Pomp—jest about! I'll go to Square Moss. Ye needn't trouble yourself any more. He'll give me a warrant, I guess. And if I don't vote agin you next year, then my name aint Simon Bogle!"

Away he trudged in a gnashing rage, muttering back his threats and reproaches, and Fabens turned into the house and enjoyed his early tea. By the time Bogle was home, however, he had altered his mind, and went and consulted his witnesses, and ascertained more definitely what was surmised, and what could be proved. Passing Troffater's on his way, that incarnate mischief came out, and hailed him, saying, "Here, ho! Bogle—hello there! How d'ye dew? come back, come back, and see a feller! Don't be scornful!"

"I aint scornful. I'm in a hurry," grumbled Bogle.

"Wal, come back a minute—a man broke his neck in a hurry. What you goin' to dew with Sculpin, eh? He hooked your log-chain, I heern," said Troffater.

"I'm goin' to see Square Fabens agin to-morrow, and try and fetch the feller to justice. Sculpin may be sorry for this. I know what I ken prove," said Bogle.

"I don't b'lieve the Square will try 'im. I never could git a hearin' of 'im. He's stiff as steelyards, and short as pie-crust since he got in office. But mebby he'll knuckle a little to you. If he will, put Sculpin through a course of sprouts, and larn 'im better'n to hook log-chains. But I'm sorry I know anything about it; I don't want to go to court," said Troffater, with a mysterious elongation of his little monkey face, and significant rollings and crossings of his black and blue eyes.

"But what do you know, Troffater?" asked Bogie, with new light animating his anxious eye and cheek. "What do you know? There's somethin' to help me on a bit, I guess."

"O, I'm sorry I spoke," said Troffater, and spit through his teeth. "I don't know nothin' about it. I don't want to go afore Fabens, and be obleeged to look 'im in the face. I wish I'd never seen Sculpin, nor his little thievin' capers."

"Don't bother me, now," said Bogle. "If ye know anything—and I bleeve ye dew—out with it, and be my witness. I'm afraid it'll give me a sweat to beat 'im arter all. Out with it, Tilly."

"O, go long! go long!" said Troffater. "I hope you'll lick the rascal. He's guilty's a dog. But don't ax me, now, what I know! I wouldn't go afore Fabens for a fat turkey, I wouldn't. And then agin, why should I want to hurt Sculpin, or lay a straw in his way? Mebby he'll dew better, sense the trap liked to ketch 'im; and I'm sure I don't want to expose him."

"But tell me what you know, if you stay away from court," said Bogle. "Tell me, and relieve my mind."

"Go long, I say, and don't ax me agin, for I don't know nothin'—that I'd like to tell in court."

"I shall suppeeny you!" cried Bogle, departing in a huff.

"Don't ye dew it, Bogle! O, don't ye dew it for all the world, Bogle! I shall hev a caniption fit if ye dew!" shouted Troffater after him.

The next day Bogle came before the justice with evidence against Sculpin, which Fabens regretted to believe was but too well founded; and he issued a warrant, and a week from that day the action was brought to trial.

The crowd of spectators was large, and the interest felt by all, at least, curious and wakeful. Squire Fabens took his magisterial seat with an air of unaffected gravity, glanced around the assembly with a mild, intelligent eye, and presented before them a noble form and reverend mien, which inspired the virtuous, with new admiration for goodness, and filled the vicious with secret remorse and apparent shame for the evil of their doings.

Cicero Bray, Esq., appeared as counsel for the plaintiff, and C. Fox Faddle, Esq., was counsel for the prisoner.

Lawyer Bray was a mountainous man, about thirty-five years old; and he had impudence ingrained with his brawny meat and muscles, and his tongue, let loose, would run like a mill-stream. His head rose a little above his ears, and was huge of girth in a horizontal measure. His hair was a sort of wolf's gray, was clipped all over within an inch of his head, and stood up like the bristles on a wild boar's back. His brows were bushy, and jutted, roof-like, over his deeply-sunken eyes; his nose was bluff as a bull-dog's; his cheek-bones were rough and high; his eyes were wide-set; his mouth was cut square across almost from ear to ear; his chin was square and massy; he had an Adam's apple as large as a gilly-flower ripening on his throat; his hands were large and bony, and his voice "grated harsh thunder," as Milton said of the gates of hell.

Lawyer Bray was prompt and saucy in court, and often won his case in other towns by the thunder of his voice and the force of his action while on the floor. He could always read an abundance of law to sustain any point he argued, although the law quoted might not be found written in the book. He was a capital shot, and kept a pair of the fleetest hounds, and often hauled in his shingle and hunted week in and week out, leaving business to follow suit. He made light of religious and sacred things; he could curse the sky when it thundered, and swear the lights blue with the boldest voluble tongue; and yet he would appeal to God to judge him in a plea, and silence, and exclude a witness for any unpopular religious belief. He rose to an extensive business in the towns about, at last; and is quoted at this day, for some wild gale of a speech, or some saucy joke, or strange adventure.

Lawyer Faddle was equally original. He was as tall as Bray, whenever he straightened up in an animated speech; but his long form commonly bent over, and described a segment of a rainbow. His head was small, and his hair long and thin, and light and shiny as flax; his eyes were almost white, and were set obliquely; his nose was long, aquiline, and pinched together in the nostrils; his teeth were long and broad, and those above shut over upon his lower lip and kept it in a constant chafe. His voice was clear enough, and it never failed in a speech; but it seemed to reside in his little thirsty throat, and it piped like a killdeer's in its proudest swell.

Lawyer Faddle excited some mirth for his originalities, and more contempt for his vices among the farmers of Summerfield. The opinion of the town at that time may be given in the language of Uncle Walter, who declared he was "hollow and foul as a sooty stove-pipe."

Lawyer Faddle however succeeded in creating an extensive business in time, though most of his cases an honorable lawyer would have scorned; and he reared a large family, and wanted to figure in later times as one of the aristocracy of Summerfield.

Cicero Bray opened the case by a lengthened speech of very ambitious eloquence, paying several unfelt compliments to the 'justice' and 'wisdom' of the 'worthy magistrate;' while he glanced through the course of the trial, with an air and tone of triumph, stating in thunder what he should undertake to sustain in evidence; and after a most exhausting peroration, he hauled in his ragged voice, and arrested its rumbling echoes, and gave way for a brief remark from the counsel for the prisoner. A son of the plaintiff, Welcome Bogle, was then introduced to the stand, and testified that his father had owned a log-chain with the initials of his name, "S. B." marked on one of the hooks; and the chain in court being shown him, he said with audible and honest emphasis, "Yes, that's the article." He was cross-examined, with considerable tact and much severity by C. Fox Faddle, Esq.; but he stood the trial with remarkable composure and consistency, making no variation of the facts testified, although he gave them in different connections and words.

'Becca Ann Teezle was next introduced. She had again and again declared she was not afraid of a lawyer, and on this occasion her words proved true. Without the slightest diffidence, but with a boldness rather which encouraged the other witnesses, and with a toss of the head that Lawyer Faddle did not like, she said, "she had been out in the woods pasture picking blackberries, and saw Mr. Sculpin pass that way from the direction of Mr. Bogle's barn, with a chain on his back."

When cross-examined, she stated that "it was slung over his right shoulder, and under his left arm, and it was not a trace chain, nor a halter chain, nor a breast chain, as Mr. C. Fox Faddle endeavored to have it appear, but a log-chain; yes, sir, a log chain, for I saw it with my own eyes."

"Then you sometimes see with eyes not your own, do you, Miss Teezle?" said Lawyer Faddle with a comical leer, and a peculiar pipe of that killdeer voice.

"Yes, I take owl's eyes when I want to look at a lawyer."

"Why do you do that, Miss Teezle? what can owls see that you cannot see with your own eyes, Miss Teezle?" asked the lawyer, attempting to turn the laugh back from himself upon her.

"They can see low fowl creatures in the dark," replied the blooming maiden.

"Enough of this," said the lawyer; "and if Miss Rebecca Ann saw these things with her own eyes, can she name any circumstances? Did you notice Mr. Sculpin very particularly? Did he seem confused and agitated when you met him? or was he calm,—was he possessed?"

"He was possessed—at least of the chain."

"Indeed, Miss Teezle, and you are certain of this; and now can you tell me if it was when you were going after the berries, that you saw him; or after you had picked them, and had started after home?"

"It was after we had been after the berries, and after we had started after home."

"Yes; and did you notice the gait in which he moved along; notice it with your own eyes, Rebecca?"

"He was in the gate of the woods pasture south of Mr. Bogle's when we saw him last."

"Yes, and you are so wise and discerning, you can tell whether his course across the field, was straight or crooked?"

"Crooked, sir."

"About how crooked? can you tell this court, Miss Teezle?"

"Crooked as your questions, sir," the confident girl replied; and though the lawyer appealed to the court several times to "silence the insolence" of this witness before she was through; the court protected the witness and rebuked the lawyer for impertinent questions, and the insolence he charged upon her.

Nancy Nimblet was called, and she testified that "She was with 'Becca Ann Teezle, on the time specified, and she remembered it too, as if it was yesterday; and the prisoner came from the direction of the complainant's barn, with a log-chain round him, over his right shoulder, and under his left arm." Lawyer Faddle declining her cross-examination, Adonijah Nixon was called. He testified that Mr. Bogle and he were second cousins. Cicero Bray objected to this as not relevant; C. Fox Faddle insisted that it was relevant, and after some arguing and sparring, the justice ruled it out. Then Mr. Nixon said, "on Simon's having expressed to me a suspicion that Jared had taken the chain, I went with him to Jared's house and found the chain which you see before you."

Seneca Waldron and Crispus Flaxman were called; but their evidence was challenged and ruled out for non-age.

G. W. Pugg was called, and no one answered. G. W. Pugg, repeated the magistrate, slighting the initials and laying most emphasis on the name. No one answered; but two persons in the corner, a father and son, exchanged significant glances and looked very acute and wise. The Squire raised his voice, and let it fall like an auctioneer's hammer on the name.

"G. W. Pugg—is Mr. Pugg in the room?"

At that imperative question, the gray-skirted, bushy-headed, grog-bruising hunter of a father in the corner, rose and said, "Call 'im George Washintun, then I guess he'll cum!"

"George WASHINGTON PUGG; will you come and testify?" said the Squire with an emphasis on all the names, but rising and fairly hammering the last; when a greedy-eyed, brockle-faced, over-grown blade of seventeen opened up like a flax-brake, and loped forward over chairs and benches, responding in a houndish flat-and-treble voice, "I reckon I'll doo't! O yis, I reckon I will, Square Fabens."

The business of the court then proceeded, and when his evidence was taken, Tilly Troffater mounted the stand, with an affected hesitancy, and a genuine restlessness of his little earthen eyes; eager to indulge his meddlesome humor, anxious for revenge upon, he little cared whom, and yet awed to a look of shuffling shame, by the commanding mien of the justice. Clambering to his place, he was questioned by the court.

"Well, friend Troffater, what do you know of the action pending?"

"I telled Bogle I was sorry I knew anything for I didn't want to come to court," said the witness.

"But, what do you know, Mr. Troffater, that would tend to convict the prisoner? Tell us that," said the court.

"I don't want to tell," said the witness. "Let the critter go clear, for all me. I wouldn't lay a straw afore im. Mebby that's the last o' his thievin' capers. If 'tis, I wouldn't tell what I know for all on airth."

"You do know something, Mr. Troffater," interrupted Cicero Bray, Esq., obstreperously; "you know something, upon which we greatly depend to convict the prisoner, and vindicate the majesty of law, and I insist upon your evidence, sir."

"Insist, then, dew ye!" asked Troffater, gathering up into a comical attitude; crossing and flashing his black and blue eyes, spitting through his teeth, and ranging the stand, like a dancing bear. "Insist, dew ye, eh? Wal, I spose then I must free my mind; but, think I'd ruther not."

"Go on, go on, Mr. Troffater, and bother us no longer in this way," said the court.

"Wal, I spose I must, if Mr. Cis-a-roe there raily insists. All I know about Sculpin is, one night I went down there, and we got to playin' cairds, and he acted green as a mess o' cowslops at fust, and then he cheated; and—O, I can't, I can't tell the story. I wouldn't hurt Sculpin for the world. Carry me off, and stick me in jail, if you want to. I won't tell, so there! I'll go to jail fust, and let the pismires carry me out o' the keyhole!—But what's this, I say? Mister Cis-ai-roe Bray, Esquare, insists that I shall tell. Wal, then, as I was goin' to say, he cheated, and so, so, I cheated a little tew, and by'n by, he got mad, and knocked me into a next-week sleep, and in that sleep I seen a dream, and in that dream I seen him steal the log-chain. And now, if ye'll hand over my witness fee, I'll be out o' this quicker'n ye ken say Jack Robison."

Needless, indeed, were the task, if possible, to describe the sensation created by this amazing disclosure; and we may only add in conclusion, that the prisoner was convicted on other testimony; and after an earnest admonition from the justice, on the turpitude of crime and its dreadful miseries, Jared Sculpin was sentenced to give Simon Bogle one good day's work, and one good fleece of wool for his time lost in hunting the chain, and in bringing the offender to justice; to carry the chain on his back through the main travelled road, in open daylight, and humbly ask Simon Bogle's pardon.

The terms of the sentence were promptly and fully complied with, and it was ever afterward said of Jared Sculpin, that he was an altered man, and a virtuous citizen.



XIII.

HAPPINESS.

For agreeable cares, and solid interests and pleasures, the life of the farmer is one of the first to choose. It is indeed a labor, but a labor peculiarly blest for its manly pursuits and ennobling mental exercises. Every farmer should be educated in useful knowledge, and elevated tastes and sentiments: every farmer should have a religion of the head, and heart, and life.

The farmer goes out upon his fertile fields and plants, and stands by his own work to behold the growing increase which the Lord waters and gives. Surrounded by symbols of the Father, he has but to open his eyes, and read the signs of His wisdom, providence, power and love. He stands in a temple of beauty and worship. His subjects of thought are the sky and mountain, the woods and waters, the genial fallow, the growing crop, the ripening grain. His companions are legion, for all things in Nature flock to his fellowship; his orchestra is the air and forest; his singers, the bobolink, bluebird and robin, who may be fancied incarnate with spirits from the next region, paradise, come down to gladden his heart with God's hallelujahs, and cheer his mind in the rural toils. God may appear most intimately with him all his days; he may plough God's fallows; he may plant sweet affections, and harvest ripe graces and joys; and every step on the green hills, and through the warbling groves, may seem a step toward heaven.

Matthew Fabens was a farmer in genuine heart and soul. Of mere book learning, he did not speak, although he was quite a reader; and in many acquirements which the world calls knowledge, he was limited as a child. But for acquaintance with a few fine histories and stories, and with the ways and wonders of God; for a knowledge of Nature and Scripture; for an enlightened reading of the lessons of Providence and human life, he might have been accounted wiser than many who possessed the wisdom of the schools, and looked down with vain contempt on his humble sphere. One of the few lovers of learning he was, who could say, with the shepherd David, "O, God, Thou hast taught me from my youth, and hitherto have I declared thy wonders!"

Nature surrounded him with symbols, and by the light of Christianity he sought their interpretation. And to his admiring mind, the presence, the beauty, and sublimity of God continually addressed their revelations; and he discovered in the water a mirror of this form; in the sun, a symbol of His light; in the thunder, an echo of His voice; in the wind, a delegate of His spirit and power; in the mountain, a ladder to His sanctuary; and in the rain and dew, the medium of His favor, and the means of His love.

Yet, with all his faith, wisdom, and virtue, he was by no means perfect. Several of the frailties of humanity he had failed to overcome, and a few of its sinful impulses he found the discipline of life no more than competent to rule. He was honest and upright to a nice conviction, and a large and gracious heart lay beating in his breast; but brief moments would now and then take him by surprise, in which he sighed for another and more pretending sphere; and he regretted to feel growing almost imperceptibly upon him, an unwarrantable love of show and praise. Still, perhaps we should regard these and other little errors more as misfortunes than sins, and attribute them measurably to the effect of growing fortune, and the influence of the world with which he had more and more to do.

Nor did such a faith in the Father, nor such an estate of beauty and affluence, render his life a perpetual or unqualified joy. Men would not be men if perfect joy and peace were theirs, and the glowing robes of angels dressed them. He had never prayed to be taken out of the world of trials and griefs; but to be kept from iniquity. Religion had not power to remove all sorrows from his life; but he prayed it might aid him to overcome them; to rise above them stronger and better, for the strength and courage required and employed to quell their stout assaults. That early, and most trying, unaccountable sorrow of his life, the loss of his beloved Clinton, still chastened his joy, and returned at times in all the freshness of its agony: and it was rendered more poignant and lasting by the painful mystery which concealed his fate, and fed suspense, and excited solicitous thoughts and cares.

But faith had a power so to lift and sustain the troubled spirit, and draw it away from communion with its griefs, he enjoyed a preponderance of elevated bliss. He had loved his parents with an affection which could endure the loss of their society only with the hope of having them restored to him hereafter; and many of his pleasures had been sobered, and life itself became more serious, and at times more desolate, since they both had been gathered to the grave. But there was a serene and unsubduable joy of the spirit abiding all the assaults of sorrow, that shone forth like gold from the fire of the refiner, and glowed like cheerful sunshine through the dusky wings of a storm.

His home had still remaining much solid happiness, for Julia lived to participate his fortune, to share his affliction, and strengthen his hopes; and the genial ardors of her youth, with love of Nature, and delight in rural fellowships, though calmed and refined by suffering, were yet her being's light and joy. Her simple home, and its peaceful scenes, and lovely enjoyments, were symbols to her mind, not unprophetic of the home of the soul on high.

It was a simple home, for their new frame house was not then commenced, except in the piles of boards and shingles that were gathering around the barn; but what if there was no embroidered muslin, or garish damask at the windows, and they looked through little narrow panes of blue and blistered glass? Did not their eyes find a recompense in the twinkling wings and warbling songs that flitted and floated in the air around? and in glorious landscapes of fields, and waters, and woods, that a glance could catch and hold through the smallest light! Did not the curtains of verdure beneath and about, and the infinite canopy of splendid sky above, make the bravest of all ambitious ornaments hung by man or woman's hands, look little and coarse as a rag of baize?

One only sorrow remained for Julia to conquer; and how could the triumph be won? She sorrowed still for the loss of her lovely first-born. She could not doubt but God permitted it in love. Perhaps had Clinton been spared, he might have imbibed some sentiment of evil, which would have poisoned his beautiful nature and prompted him away into paths of sin. Young Walter Mowry was a prodigal, and likely to bring down his poor old mother in sorrow to the grave. George Richmond had no idea of the value of the money left him as a father's hard-earned legacy; no self-reliance; and was likely to die miserable and poor. Perhaps, had Clinton lived to enjoy the blessings of such a home, he had been a poor prodigal, or met misfortunes and griefs.

Then she must acknowledge, that while her heart had been afflicted, it had been softened and refined; while her faith had been tried, it had grown strong and buoyant as an eagle's wings. Heaven seemed all about her now, as it had not seemed before her bereavement; the lights of its holy joy came gleaming through the veil; and its pure inhabitants were felt to range around, and sympathize, and bless.

As a central bliss of existence, Fanny had grown to early womanhood, while her mother seemed still young to be her companion, and Fanny was blooming as the flowers and trees that had been her communicants, pure as the fountains that mirrored her loveliness, and blithe as the birds that welcomed her rural walks. Fanny stood above a medium height, and though she stooped a little at the wool-wheel, and in a ramble on the hills, she presented a comely figure and interesting mien.

She was too white to please all tastes; her hair was almost a cream-color; yet it was long, abundant and glossy, and was greatly admired by some. Her eyes were the lightest sky-blue, yet they were full and quick, and flashed the fire of a luminous soul; and not glassy and languid, as blue eyes often are. She had a nose, mouth and teeth, like her father's, with her mother's cheeks, all ruddy-red with her mother's maiden blushes. She had hands and feet for a Bloomer, had Bloomers bloomed in her time. She had a round, clear, hilarious voice, that gave the birds lessons in melody, softened and sweetened the gentlest gales, and gladdened the day and the night on the farm. She loved her home and friends; she loved Irving, and Scott, and Goldsmith; she loved Beattie's Minstrel, Milton's Comus, and Campbell's Wyoming; she loved the garden and fields; she loved the woods, and lake, and sky; she loved bee-balm and clover; she loved double-pinks, and double-roses; she tasted the fragrance of peaches and apples, with a purer zest than that which relished their pleasant pulps; and every lovely and tender creature found in her a friend.

In Fanny, her mother found more joy—upon Fanny her mother centered more lavish affection than she could have afforded or realized, had another grown by her tide, to divide the endearments of the household. But, O, the agony she would sometimes feel at the recollection of that year of sorrow! How it would bow her spirit, and run thrilling along the delicate fibres of her heart! That night of woe! That panther scream! That dream of Troffater! That recovered hat, now sacredly treasured to remind her of her idol! That lingering, sad suspense! Those sleepless nights, and comfortless days! How could she forget them, nor shudder in convulsions of anguish, as often as they rolled back like lava-floods on her soul?

And the suspense which still haunted her! The dream and dying words of her mother breathed hope to struggling desire, but reason banished assurance as soon as it rose, and how dreadful the suspense that supported the mystery! Could she have known that he was devoured by a wolf or panther, and suffered no more, what an occasion of joy it had been! what relief to sorrow, what an end to disappointments, compared with this dreary and brooding uncertainty, which preyed upon her nature like a never-dying worm! How precious must have been the faith which could mitigate a sorrow like that, and introduce the suffering heart to seasons of joy and intervals of peace!



XIV.

THE COLD SEASONS.

For a good, long period, fruitful seasons and liberal blessings came on the Lake Country. The last was a year of unusual abundance. Plenty poured her horn at every happy farmer's. Barns looked as if ready to burst with fulness, and stacks of hay and grain studded the pleasant fields. Cribs were piled full of corn, and cellars were stowed with provisions.

But earth would be heaven too soon if all evil and vicissitude were ended. Checks upon our prosperity must fall, and changes tax and interrupt our gains; and he is not most of a man who meets least evil, and loses least of the reward of toil; but he who endures with the manliest courage, the mightiest will to overcome, and most dexterous hand to manage for decided good, all troubles that assail him.

In the autumn of that abundant year, it was predicted that cold seasons were near at hand. The Indians saw their approach in the fur of the foxes, and the masonry of beavers. Farmers were confirmed in the prophecy by the extra stores of the bees, and extra husks on the ears of corn. A cold and snowy winter would certainly come, and they were but too truly assured that a cold spring and summer would follow. Several people heeded the warning, and hauled extra supplies of fire-wood, kept larger stores of provisions, and lived more thoughtfully and saving. Fabens took forethought, and prepared for the winter. He sold but little of his abundance, saying, "If cold seasons were to follow, stores of provisions were better to lay up than money or notes." He talked with his neighbors on the subject, and a number heeded his advice. He proposed making wood bees for several of the poor, and succeeded in seeing ample piles of beech and maple at their doors. He got up a committee to visit the poor throughout the winter, and see that no child of God suffered in so bountiful a world. Some people thought he was taking a great deal of trouble on his hands, without the prospect of any reward; but he assured them that, with every fire of comfort he built on a poor man's hearth, he built a new fire of pleasure in his own cheerful heart; and in the thing itself which they called trouble, he received such full and flowing tides of bliss, as made him think heaven could begin on earth. "It is not the crusty turtle," said he one day to Wilson, "it is not the crusty turtle, that slinks into his selfish shell, and twinkles so coldly his little haughty eye, that receives or communicates most pleasure or delight. No, it is the kindly lamb, that gives you his fleece for a winter garment; it is the sweet-hearted robin, that carries the seeds of abundance over God's plantations, and sings of His love by the poor man's cabin, and feeds and covers the babes in the woods."

There were some who laughed at his superstition for believing things in nature could warn men of the weather a month ahead; and they made no preparation for a change. But he remained confident, and believed God was speaking to him in symbols to set his house in order.

"God must stoop a good 'eal, I reckon, to become an almanic maker," said Colwell.

"God forges the snow-flake, and sprinkles down every drop of rain," said Fabens. "God teaches the squirrels to prepare for winter, and instructs the ant, and beaver, and bee; and why would it be stooping for him to teach as, by signs in nature, to be ready for the changes he may bring? He does his own work, and speaks his own mind on this world every single day; and if we look for his signs we shall be acquainted with his ways."

The prediction began to fulfil. On the last day of October a snow-storm fell, and Gloom cast her shadow on the chilling scene. Fabens called Fanny to the window to gaze at the scudding clouds and driving snow. With wondering eyes and open mouth, she stared and sighed on the dreary, howling winter. "We must train you, my dear," said he, "to court the winter blast, and laugh, and be thankful amid storms. That goodness of our Father which pours in the rain, blooms in the flowers of summer, and smiles in the sweet spring mornings, speaks also in the wind, floats on the clouds, and sifts softly down in the white, white snows of winter."

That is called the cold winter to this day. It was deep, and long, and dreary. Snow that fell in October was not melted away till the last April rains dissolved it. Wild animals died of cold and hunger; sheep and cattle perished in numbers in the warmest pens; tame and wild fowls were killed by the cutting frosts; and several families suffered extremely, notwithstanding the committee kept astir on the busiest labors of love. Fabens' woods were easiest to enter, and by the exertions of many, a road was every week opened to them, and the destitute were furnished free with new supplies. Yet, such was the pinch of one long storm, that Dickey Shymer burned up the bark he designed to sell for grog; and the poor mischief of a Troffater, having not so much as bark, burned his best bedstead, then burned his eel-rack, and was unstocking his musket for a last lonely fagot, when Fabens drove up with a towering load of green maple wood. Grog-dealers were kept from freezing and starving, but they did no business to speak of that winter. Even Tilly, with his desperate bandy legs, could not lead his gang to worry a way often to a tavern. They were forced to live soberly.

The spring at last came on, and by the tenth of May it was quite warm; and many believed the cold season story was told; and some laughed at Fabens and others, for sowing the last fall so many acres of wheat, and putting into the ground now such crops of peas, potatoes, and oats. Some sold off grain they had laid up in store for a famine, and the May sun shone so warmly, they planted considerable corn, expecting speculation.

The corn came up finely, and looked thrifty and dark. The forests were heavy with foliage. Fruit trees and meadows contended for the fairest blossoms. Dairies were diminished, so great was the prospect of summer grain; and Hope smiled sweetly on Summerfield. But clouds came over when the corn was at the first hoeing, and terror and disappointment stormed upon the land. Snow fell three feet deep on a level, and the cold stung all nature with a chill, that seemed blown from the lips of February.

The sun again shone, and the snow went off; but the corn drooped, and the leaves of the trees withered, as if a fire had scorched them. And the season proved a cold and frosty one; and many there were that wished they had sown winter grain, and oats, and peas; ploughed up less green sward, and kept larger dairies. Another cold winter and summer followed, and drearier days were never seen in the Lake Country. A few speculators thrived, and the forehanded had chances to make much money; but the poor, and those who had laid up small supplies before, and lived sparingly, were overtaken as by a wild storm on a moor, and suffered greatly.

Mr. and Mrs. Fabens made every exertion in their power to mitigate the griefs of the neighborhood; and they influenced several to join them in missions and labors of relief and love. Agreements were made, that they would sell all they could spare at the lowest possible prices, be lenient about pay, inculcate and practise the sternest economy, and regard speculators, in that time, as foes and oppressors of the people.

More forethought was exercised, and the last of the cold seasons was met with preparations that mitigated and cheered the grievous glooms. Dairies were enlarged, corn was abandoned, and the hardier grains supplied; and though suffering and anxiety abounded, the people were enabled to escape a famine; and with hearts poured out in thanks, they welcomed the return of seasons warm and fruitful.

There were many good people staggered by that stern and afflictive vicissitude. They could not conceive why it came. They could not reconcile it with the goodness of God. They saw not why, if He was good, there should be winter and storms at all; and not perpetual sunshine and summer. They questioned Fabens on the subject. Mr. Nimblet questioned him, and Colwell asked him to "clear up the character of his God." Mr. Nimblet had heard Fabens express a hope that God would overrule evil for good, questioned him on that hope, and adduced the cold seasons as illustrations.

"And how can you explain these things in accordance with such a hope, Squire Fabens?" asked he. "And why are there so many sufferings in which we can see no good?"

"Because with our blind eyes we cannot see the result of all that happens," said Fabens, "does it follow that we never shall behold them issuing in good?"

"O no; but why should we have winter at all, when continual summer would be so much more pleasant?"

"To me perpetual summer would not be more pleasant. We are so constituted that diversity of air, weather and prospects, is indispensable to our enjoyment, and progress. Would you appreciate the beauty and blessing of spring, summer and autumn, you must experience in their unfailing turn, the gloomy rigors of winter."

"But why have these last been colder than others, causing so much suffering and need?"

"I cannot see all the Divine design, but I can see a lesson of good in the cold seasons. We learn wisdom, and get strength and breadth of life by suffering. These last winters have taught many of us wisdom and forethought; made us prudent; showed us how dependent we are, and yet learned us self-dependence. After this I'll warrant, the people of Summerfield will do and save more in the summer, to lay up comforts for the winter; and provide for unseen needs. And I feel in my heart a warmer sympathy for suffering, and know a little of the satisfaction one enjoys assisting his neighbors; while I see our neighborhood bound together in stronger bonds of love, by the concern which those bitter cold storms forced us to take of one another. What would become of charity if there were no wants to relieve? or hope, if we could not keep looking for pleasanter springs and more fruitful summers?"

"But, cold summers came, and the corn was all cut off, giving nobody good for the labor of ploughing and planting."

"Good was done to our lands, neighbor Nimblet, good was certainly done to our lands. We had run our corn lands too hard; fruitful seasons tempted us to imprudence, and we were running them all out. They have had a long rest now and will be more productive. Beside, we have found out that there are many honest ways to get a living, and have learned how to shift from right hand to left. A knack like that is well worth learning."

"From lessons of evil?"

"Yes, from lessons of evil. Would the maples stand the storms as they do, and grow all the more; would the oaks get so great, if they sprung from a city hot-house?"

"Are you as happy as you would be, Squire, if you could remember no affliction?"

"I enjoy happiness of a higher, sweeter and solider kind, I assure you, as I think of all past sorrows. Who can have so sweet an enjoyment of health, as one that has recovered from sickness, and walks out in the animating air and light? Yes, some of my best joys come and cheer me and strengthen me, after I have suffered. From anguish and bereavement the brightest views of God have shone on my soul, as you have seen rainbows shine brightest in the darkest skies."

"I cannot see everything as you do," said Mr. Nimblet, and went his way, while Fabens was preparing to speak of several more blessings, that would follow the cold seasons.



XV.

A WAR OF EXTERMINATION.

The people of Summerfield were never so thankful or happy as in the beautiful year that followed the Cold-Seasons. Plenty returned to abide there, and Prosperity re-appeared, leading Hope, Comfort, Peace, and Joy in her jocund train. Still that continued a land of the earth, bearing the thorn as well as the rose, having briers as well as berries.

The people were greatly offended. Wolves and foxes still infested the woods, and many of their lambs and fowls were killed and eaten by the animals. They were hated with increased hatred. Not because they were any worse than they ever had been before; but the people grew impatient of annoyance, and found it more and more difficult to see why wolves and foxes were made; and why they were suffered to live, and prowl about the abodes of men.

The birds too were very troublesome. Woodpeckers pecked the trees, and robins plucked the first ripe cherries. Hawks pounced upon the chickens, and crows and blackbirds pulled the corn. What were they all made for, and poised upon wings, with an omnipresence to annoy our race? Robins were good to eat, and they were more harmless, than others; but why were blackbirds let loose on earth? and for what did crows and hawks take flight in our air? Why were the brutal beasts and troublesome fowls, saved out of the things that were drowned in Noah's flood?

Fabens confessed he could not see for what good purpose wolves and foxes were made; farther than the vagabond sort of happiness they might enjoy, and the discipline they gave to man in griefs and vexations. The predatory birds he thought were made equally in vain. He was tired all out with their felon ravages. He judged at last that wolves and foxes, and the blackbirds, and birds of prey, ought to be exterminated. Nothing now could so benefit the town, as a war of extermination, He could not raise a perfect crop of corn; he could not enjoy his ox-heart cherries; he could not raise a full brood of chickens, nor keep what were raised; he could not trust his geese from his door, nor turn his sheep and lambs into his fresh woods pasture, without suffering depredations; and something must be done to destroy the evil beasts and birds.

"We told you the first winter you was here, Fabens, that you would have to come to that," said Colwell. "It is high time a town meeting was called, and a general plan hit on to kill off the critters. I have my plan about it, and I have told it to a good many who fall in with me."

"What is your plan? The woods are alive with foxes, and there are a great many wolves yet away back in the swamps and hills, while the air is black with crows and blackbirds. How can we lessen their numbers much?"

"Club together and buy at the apothecaries a hundred dollars worth of pison; fix it in scraps of meat, and scatter it through and through the woods; and if it don't make the animals scarce, I'll quit a guessin'. Then git up a hunt for the birds—a univarsal hunt, and have judges and give premiums to them that count the most game; continue the hunt a week or fortnight for two or three years runnin', and the birds won't pester us much after that."

"The plan is a good one, and I'll do my part to carry it into execution. I am all out of patience with the creatures. If we do not kill more of them, they will get to be worse than Egypt's plagues."

A town meeting was called, and Colwell's plan was adopted. A large sum was contributed to procure poison; and bird hunts were arranged. The poison was scattered abroad, and hundreds of foxes and wolves lay dead all over the woods and swamps; while the money was returned with interest to the people, by the sale of furs gathered from their bodies. The bird hunts came off with equal success, and there followed a marked cessation of annoyance.

Only now and then a robin molested a fruit tree; and the tap of the woodpecker was seldom heard. Hawks and crows that were left, looked so wistful and lonely they were not begrudged the little they ventured at times to take. Blackbirds troubled the corn but little, and were more reserved of their mannerless clack. The fowls could repose at night without fear of foxes; and lambs might wander in the wide woods pasture, and lie down unharmed by wolves.

It could not be denied however that the fields and Woods were less cheerful, if they were more safe. Some could not sense the change, except in an increase of harvests, cattle and fowls; others again, more spiritual in feeling, hearing and sight, discerned a gloom in the air, and a gloom on every scene, that seemed ominous of woe. Fanny Fabens took all that gloom to her heart, and she seemed another being. Her nature was glad and joyous, as a grove full of robins; but now she grew sad, and wept and moaned, where once she laughed and sang. She could hardly account for all her grief; she seemed to inhale it from the air, imbibe it from the light, and taste it in the breath of the woods, and the odor of the flowers.

But the death of the birds she knew was the beginning of her sorrows. She wept the loss of her favorite robin, from the ash tree in the middle meadow; and it was no longer a bliss, but a grief, to lie in that lovely shade, and sing her jocund songs, and scent the clover blooms. She missed the little sparrow that had come three years in succession, and reared three broods in a season, from a nest in the honeysuckle that curtained her window. She missed the robins from the cherry-trees, and the cherries palled on her tongue. She missed the bluebirds from the cornfield, and the yellow-birds from the flax; she missed the meadow-larks from the lawns, and the quails from the oats and wheat; she missed the bobolinks from the hayfields, and the jays from the girdling; she missed the ground-birds from the pastures, and thrushes and sweet swamp-robins from the woods; and the poor girl wandered about for months very sad and lonely, singing no songs and sharing no delights.

Mrs. Fabens felt the bereavement quite as keenly as Fanny, and she declared, if the ox-heart cherries were fairer and more abundant now, their sweetness was bitter to her taste, and it seemed like devouring so much beauty and song to eat them; for beauty had been banished and song silenced, to bring them to such a yield. Fabens could not deny that the gloom invaded his heart also, and he took no comfort in the cherries, while he missed the music of the birds, and missed the songs of joy that the birds prompted Fanny to sing.

Yet, to him it seemed a just and victorious warfare, and he exchanged congratulations with his neighbors. He was pleased to get free from plagues, and he thought that relief was a good achieved of a real evil. His next argument with Mr. Nimblet, was less confidently urged, while Mr. Nimblet brought new illustrations to his aid. Fabens, indeed, staggered at the reasons that now opposed his view. Prowling beasts of prey were evil as anything that had started up to devour his idea, and good to all must come, he thought, for sweeping them away.

Another season bloomed, and the birds were very few, and the bark of the fox, and the howl of the wolf, were very seldom heard. But now was the beginning of plagues more appalling. Flies that had served the robins for food, swarmed forth unmolested, and stung the cherry-trees, so that they bore little fruit at all, and that little was wormy and worthless. And worms that had served all the birds of the air with meat, now multiplied greatly, and cut down all the vines, and destroyed double the corn that the fowls had taken; while caterpillars and locusts trimmed the orchards, and plagued the oats and wheat.

"I begin to think that the poor birds were our friends, after all, and we shall now get our pay for killing them," said Fabens to Colwell, one day, while talking of the new annoyance.

"Prospects for crops never looked so squally afore," said Colwell. "I can stand crows and blackbirds, I can stomach wolves and foxes, better'n them nasty worms."

"We called that evil which God sent for good," said Fabens.

"I know not what we are coming to," sighed neighbor Nimblet.

"But, we done some good, our lambs and geese are safe, sense we pisoned the animals," said Colwell, cheering up his heart.

"I have noticed that the woods looked very yellow of late," said neighbor Nimblet. "What can be the cause of that? My maple orchard, my chestnut woods, my cedar swamp and pine groves, look as though they were dying."

"I have noticed it," said Fabens; "but I did not think to examine till yesterday. My most valuable pines and cedars, and my chestnuts and sugar maples are dying. And come to examine them, I find the wood-mice and rabbits have girdled them. This is something I never saw before. The woods fairly crawl with creatures that are destroying them. And we are at fault for it all, neighbor Nimblet. Say what you will, wolves and foxes were our friends. They destroyed vermin and rabbits, and protected our woods. But because they took a goose, and a lamb, once in a while, in part payment for the good they did, we saw in them nothing but evil, we hated them and killed them. Now, creatures more destructive come forth, destroying all before them."

"It cannot be quite so bad, Squire," replied Mr. Nimblet.

"It is the solemn truth, bad as it is, and I know it, and we are having our punishment for our error," rejoined Squire Fabens.

"I must go and see," said Mr. Nimblet; and the conversation ended.

He went to see his woods, and found it even so; and he was greatly grieved, for much valuable property was wasting as in a fire. It proved a greater calamity than the cold seasons. It was long before the fine forests of Summerfield recovered from their wounds.

But that scourge was a good lesson, from which all took profit in the end. Men learned more of the designs of God, saw more good in all His works, let the birds and animals live, valued more preciously what was left them, enjoyed more wisely and sweetly such blessings as came, and were more thankful.

There were none who took more instruction from that lesson than Mr. and Mrs. Fabens. It elevated their views, it increased their faith, it enlarged the sphere of their spirits, and cleared up more of the mystery of evil. All of that mystery they did not expect to see unveiled below. It was not a possible thing to make mortal men see and understand it. But if the dark cloud still spread its dubious dusk on the sky, more and more of it melted into the rainbow as they gazed; and while part of that bow was still involved in the cloud, and part hidden away far below the horizon, enough was still glowing in glory on their sight, and enough gleaming and breaking through the darkness, to enable them to know it would burst at last on their blessed eyes, in a perfect circle of the light of love.

"We should all be happier and more fortunate," said Mrs. Fabens, "if we had faith to see a blessing of God in more of the things we regard as evil. It requires great faith, I know, to be reconciled under all griefs, and see a good design in all that afflicts us. It has been hard for me to see why God made wolves and foxes, and how they could minister good to man. They may be evil, for all I know, but if they do not fulfil a good design, why has it proved an evil to kill them?"

"It does, indeed, require great faith to accept your suggestion; but that faith must be the true one after all," said the Squire. "They made incursions on our folds. They took now and then a lamb, or fowl; but how much less have they taken than enough to pay them for the good they did. How few of us would do the same good to them for the same small reward. We are impatient of griefs and vexations. We chafe, and foam, and champ the bit that curbs in our passions, and reins us around the wisest way. We think it hard that wolves should sometimes bring us a disguised blessing. We find it difficult to discover the good design of apparent ill. But at last we shall see how evil may issue in good. The end will reveal the good design of all. As I understand it, evil is the imperfection which necessarily follows our nature. The moral difference between an imperfect world and a perfect God. The shadow of the Tree of Life. The cloud that veils the Mercy-Seat. The sad and the bitter, the dark and dreary, that serve but to reveal the joyful and sweet, the bright, and glad, and beautiful.

"And we know by experience, Julia, that the evils of this world may be turned into a high and fruitful discipline; and from that discipline we may rise to a life of maturer powers, and more ample and energetic character; with thriftier faith and greener hope; and clustering graces all around the heart, of juicier pulp and rarer flavor."



XVI.

THE MINISTER.

It was now past the middle of September, and the farmers of Summerfield had finished their fall seeding; most of them had spread their flax; some, cut their corn, gathered their pumpkins, and dug their potatoes: and all were enjoying a September of the soul.

Fabens was enjoying it out on his accustomed seat, beneath a favorite shade-tree, in the green mown meadow before his home; and indulging one of those golden reveries that rise in the autumn time. The June-like lustre of the glowing sky; the beauty of the fields now blooming in second verdure, like aged souls with new hopes and loves in the light of Christianity; the affluence of orchards, dropping the burden, diffusing the fragrance of their mellow fruit; the opulence of woodlands, exhibiting signs of the first frost, yet still withholding the wealth of their bright foliage; the pride of his gallant horses, liberated from the plough, and galloping here and there, on sports of majesty in the upland pasture; the appearance of fine cattle grazing on the distant mead; the sight of yellow stubble-fields, sleeping in remoter view; the neatness and abundance of his farm-yard, proclaimed by the lordly cock in a rousing and resonant crow; the odor of hay and grain from his barn near by; the quiet and cosy comfort of his home; the presence of Julia and Fanny, the one reading David from that noble old ode called the Sixty-fifth Psalm, and the other at his side, embracing his neck in a clasp of leaning affection: those pleasant sights that regaled his gaze, and those ardent emotions of gratitude that thrilled him through and through in the sweet contemplation, directed his thoughts to the God who gave them, and he thanked him for his bounty; attained still more lofty conceptions of his love; and, as Julia concluded the psalm, repeated the words, "Praise waiteth for Thee, O God! Thou crownest the year with thy goodness, and thy paths drop fatness. They drop upon the pastures of the wilderness, and the little hills rejoice on every side. Praise waiteth for Thee!"

As he concluded the pious apostrophe, a stranger, till then unobserved, stepped before him, and inquired if it was Squire Fabens of Summerfield whom he had the honor to address. Being answered in the affirmative, the stranger continued—"I know one Daniel Fabens on the Hudson, at whose house I have often tarried, and aware that I was about to visit the Lake Country, he informed me of you, sir, and insisted on my giving you a call."

"Daniel Fabens?—Daniel Fabens;—Let me see. O, it must be my Uncle Abraham's son; he had a Daniel; the only one of the name I know of. It must be he."

"I think he called you Uncle, sir."

"No, cousin. Our fathers were brothers. I am often called Uncle by cousins and neighbors. But it's of no consequence, sir. You are just as welcome. I was only casting in my mind what Fabens it could be. I am glad to see a friend from the Hudson, sir; and what may I call your name?"

"My name is Lovelight. I am a minister of Christ. I have a message to your country."

"I took you for a minister. You are welcome to Summerfield; and to a home with us while you tarry. This is my wife, sir, and that is my daughter. Walk into the house, walk in; and I will take care of your horse: you both look weary."

The horse was unsaddled, and washed with cool water from the well, and turned into a field of fresh clover; and the stranger followed Mrs. Fabens and Fanny into the house; and, after resting and bathing, a good supper, with a dessert of peaches and cream, was taken. Evening came on, and with it a long conversation, and before they retired, the hour was approaching midnight.

"As you are a minister, sir, will you tell me of what persuasion?" asked Fabens, while they conversed.

"The persuasion of Christmas I believe," said the minister with a gentle affability. "I think little of sects. They are too exclusive and formal. I love the church of Christ. That is catholic and real; that embraces the good of all sects, and is the mother of us all."

"I agree with you there. A sect is a body too little and low for the spirit of Christ. But I didn't know but you held to one of the particular creeds of Christians."

"The Bible is my creed and counsel."

"That is right. But you preach a doctrine peculiar to some one of the Christian denominations, I suppose? I am not particular to know, however. It was only my curiosity."

"I am not particular to conceal my views. I would be glad to preach in your neighborhood, and allow you to judge of my doctrine. I would be glad to preach next Sunday."

"The only meeting-house in town, I am sorry to say, is occupied every Sunday. I have no doubt but Mr. Darling, our minister, would be glad to have the people hear you. He is a good man; and, if he is a sectarian, he is not so exclusive as many."

"I would not ask him to give up his pulpit to a stranger. It would not be best, I think, to apply to him. Have you not a school-house, or barn, that would convene the people with comfort? I am used to such temples of worship."