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?"