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.