interest urged, and a few handsome presents to Fanny and Mrs. Fabens,
for the accommodation. And on being well assured that the note at the
bank had been taken up, and the signature cancelled, Fabens loaned him
another note for two hundred and fifty dollars.
In two months more, other elegant presents were made to Fanny and Mrs.
Fabens, and Fairbanks and Frisbie, together, as a token of their
particular and high esteem, presented Fabens a superb cane, of a limb
from the Liberty Tree, as they said, then waving on Boston Common;
richly mounted with silver, bearing his name, and the names of the
generous donors, on a silver eagle, set in the ivory head; with
appropriate inscriptions, and all polished like the smoothest glass.
"This gift," said Squire Fabens, so touched with emotion, he faltered
and hemmed in his speech, "this gift kindles a warm spot under my vest
here," laying his hand on his heart. "A gift always affects me, if it
is ever so small. And this, gentlemen, is _really_ a handsome gift
_indeed_. I have no words to express my thanks."
"Thanks would only burden us the more, as we have been the most
obliged," said Fairbanks, with his blandest bow, and meekest smile; and
other kind words were spoken, and confident assurances repeated; and
another note obtained for three hundred dollars. During that
delightful visit, in words employed with the most winning selection,
Fairbanks and Frisbie said so much to the Squire about his credit
abroad, about the favorable development of his head for a mercantile
life, about the advantages which he knew merchants always had over
farmers, about the pleasures of store-keeping, the opportunity of
visiting New York frequently, and making honorable acquaintances there
and elsewhere, and several other desirable objects, that when alone in
the field, they proposed to him to come with them into a grand
copartnership of the name of "Fairbanks, Frisbie and Fabens," and
assume all the business of Summerfield; he was actually taken with
agreeable surprise, his head growing giddy, as by some irresistible
charm; and he looked upon the farmer's life and labor, as the life and
labor of a drudge; glanced forth upon visions of opulence, honor and
ease; and hoped to put away, without too much sacrifice, his stony
acres, and enter upon that high and tempting course.
His mind wandered and returned, as between sleeping and waking. He
remembered, at last, what Julia would be likely to say, if informed
immediately, and in full, of the scheme. He remembered how diligently
she had wrought, how prudently managed, to help him to his handsome
property. He knew with what affection she regarded that home and farm,
and every fruit-tree, and shade-tree and sugar-maple; every flower-bed,
and herb-bank, and rose-tree and vine; every comfort and convenience
around them; and how it might wring her heart, and how Fanny might weep
to see the old homestead go to another; and he concluded, it was best
on the whole, to take time for reflection, and if at last he determined
to sell, and become a merchant, he would let his family know but little
of his plan at a time, and prepare them gradually, as Fairbanks
considerately advised, to incline to his will, and consent to try the
change.
Before the end of another week, and before Fabens had decided on their
proposition, Frisbie came again for the loan of another note, of three
hundred dollars, and left, saying, "they were perfectly willing he
should take his own time, to make up his mind about coming into the new
firm; that this note should be looked after and paid as promptly as all
the others had been, and he would find that John Fairbanks as clever a
fellow as ever dealt with him."
XXIV.
A WEEK OF CASTLE BUILDING.
The last assurance of Frisbie was indeed very kind, but unnecessary;
for Squire Fabens was well convinced before the last visit, that
Fairbanks was all he had been represented to be; and that conviction
rose from a simple and cool opinion to a warm and loving faith, when he
considered all the gifts they gave; the generous solicitations, which
merchants but seldom extended to farmers; and the liberty they allowed
him, to take his own time and look the matter carefully over.
It was a mean suspicion, he thought, which could longer fear deception.
Had it been their design to deceive, why all that frankness; that fair
and candid proposing; that trusting to his own mind to weigh, and his
own time to return an answer? Villains would have been more exacting
in their terms, and briefer in their plans and proposals. Villains
would have talked in a lower tone, attempted to hurry him to
agreements, and hastened the signing and sealing. With those
gentlemen, all was generous, candid, moderate, indulgent; and even if
he concluded not to accept their magnanimous offer, he should always
remember the kindness in which it was made.
A whole week was before him; yes, two or three weeks if he wanted it,
to weigh the proposal and return an answer. He gave his whole mind to
it, and a week was found sufficient for the deliberation. During that
week he seemed to live many years of a life, wide and wonderful;
stirring and instinct with actions, incidents and scenes; a life and
possessions, progressive as the rise of day, and rapid as the bloom of
springtime. It was a week of Castle Building. The days of the week
introduced a succession of views that swept in action and speech before
him like the scenes of a thrilling drama.
Scene first was opened. It pleased his eyes, and sent blissful
sensations running around his heart. It showed him the store of the
company, enlarged and renovated, with a capacious counting-room, and a
pleasant door in the rear, beneath a piazza opening to the cool air and
placid smile of the sweet Cayuga, as it slept or stirred, embosomed
among the lovely hills.
In that store, he saw himself, now moving in the press of business; now
examining their posted legers; and now seated in the comfortable
counting-room, counselling on their growing concerns, or conversing
with an old friend, or neighbor, as the smooth pine whittlings rolled
like ribbons from his hand; and now on the back piazza, enjoying the
air and prospect.
It was a happy change. It was all shaded sweetly from the intolerable
sun; it was more stirring than farm work; it was more gentle, and
suited to his years. It was cleanly; and his cool linen wristbands
would keep all the week as snowy white as Julia had done them; while
she would have lighter washings, and more leisure time.
It was a profitable change. Money was made faster there, Not that his
soul was on fire with a passion for money; he loved money less than
most of his neighbors; he was free and manly with his money as you
would not find ten in a thousand. Still, honest gains were pleasant to
him; the amount he had accumulated somehow prompted a desire for more;
and in a store he could gain faster, and in larger amounts, and perhaps
retire in a few years, from all business, more independent than now,
enjoy the satisfaction of giving more gracious charities, and
dispensing sweeter reliefs; and settling a handsomer sum on Fanny when
she married, and again when he died.
It was an honorable change. Say what they would, farmers looked up to
merchants, and considered their own avocation inferior. Many farmers
honored merchants more than those of their own sphere, and would be
glad to be merchants themselves. As he moved about that store, or
whittled in that counting-room, or sat on that back piazza, and took of
the cool summer breeze, fresh kisses of beauty borne up from the
laughing lake, he would still be called Squire Fabens, but it would
come with more emphasis and meaning than now, while delving in the
vulgar soil.
Scene second was opened. The store was the same, but the business
extended, calling another clerk to the counter; the seats were there,
and the pleasant views around; the company sulky, polished like a
razor, danced on its light elliptics, behind a proud pawing horse at
the post; and the sun literally revelled in the yellow gold that flamed
on the sanded sign over the door.
His eyes were still more pleased, and there flocked around his heart
sensations of more exalted bliss. The chances of his fortune were very
large, and sure; but he would feel rich on a quarter of what would be
required in older sections, and in cities. If he could have ten
thousand dollars, and a clear conscience and good name left, he would
feel richer than many with a million. He would be rich enough, and
thank no man for more. No man ought to accumulate more. With that
fortune he could settle down, in the pleasantest home.
That home rose before him in the scene. It stood fronting the village
green. It supported its piazza and Paris green blinds, and was white
and modest in all appearance. It was a two-story house of course, for
a story and a half would look too much like a squatter's home, in a
village; yet it was not over large. A large house would give Mrs.
Fabens too much care and work, and she would not have a servant to wait
on her. The house was just suited to his family. It was furnished
neatly but prudently; having a sofa indeed, and one large mirror; but
brick fireplaces, frugal lamps, a plain carpet in the parlor, and maple
chairs with simple flag-seats.
In that home, how much comfort he could take when his friends gave him
calls; when Fanny and her children came home on a visit, and when some
poor weary mendicant entered for shelter, alms and rest! To that home
he could retire in a few years, free from the cares of business,
anxious for nothing, but the good of his neighbors, still young in his
heart, and fresh in all his feelings to enjoy life's blessing and peace.
Scene third was opened. The store remained, with an increase of
business, and an enlargement of the building. He still continued in
business; but it was from choice, and not necessity; for all of his ten
thousand was made; and it was made so easily, and in so much less time
than he anticipated, and so pleasantly withal, he might just as well
keep on to twenty thousand; if a clear conscience might remain, and he
might be a little more happy.
Mrs. Fabens could be lady of a handsomer home, and perhaps persuaded to
keep a servant or two, and take some comfort in her old age. His first
object should be to force happiness on her; for a better wife never
blest a devoted husband. Mrs. Fabens should be urged to extend the
sphere of her enjoyments, and Fanny should be well provided for. He
would try for twenty thousand. Then a larger house could be built, and
a good horse and carriage attend at the door.
That sum was accumulated, and that home and its opulent comforts and
equipage rose in the scene. He was glad he possessed it. The poorest
of his friends, the most humble of his fellows were welcome as ever
there, and he was happier, showing how a rich man could unbend, and how
much more was in his power to bless them.
Now he could travel some. Neither he nor his family has seen anything
of the world at all, and he would take them around to see it. They
should go to Saratoga a week, thence to Albany, thence to New York, and
Philadelphia. Perhaps they would go through the country in their own
private carriage, taking all the comfort of the journey. It would be
grand to visit Niagara, and bring home in their souls the sublimity of
the falls. May be they would go to Boston, and set their feet on
Bunker-hill, where his father fought in the Revolution; and if he
should ever be honored with a seat in the Legislature, or in Congress,
he would take his family with him, for he could do it as well as not.
Scene fourth was opened, and that was pleasanter than all the rest.
But he found that even twenty thousand would not be sufficient to
accomplish all his plans. Yet, he was in no dilemma. Fairbanks,
Frisbie and Fabens, had grown up into a mammoth business, and it would
be as easy to make his thirty thousand, as to turn his hand over. Make
it honestly too: and the money was all made, and he said now he had
enough in all conscience, for one man to possess. Now his comfort
would be complete.
He wondered why he should have taken it into his head to build his
house in the village, where he could not turn himself without knocking
his elbows, and where he could get no good views of nature, and hardly
land enough for a patch of green grass to spread-out washings on.
Judge Garlock had a country-seat overlooking the Cayuga, scarcely a
bow-shot from the pebbly shore, and he must have one too. He sells his
village home, purchases ten acres on a gentle and beautiful slope,
builds him a splendid house, with polished marble mantels, with
cornices, centre-pieces, and folding-doors, furnished in several rooms
with mahogany chairs and sofas, with ottomans and divans; the large
parlor graced with a fine piano, for Fanny and her sweet daughters,
when they shall come home; and his lovely acres are made more lovely by
a profusion of trees, circles and lines of white pebble walk, pink-beds
and tulips; and flourish not long without a deer-park and duck-pond, as
symbols of ancient times.
And how his heart leaps with delight as he beholds that home in
contrast with the old ones, and imagines the comfort they will find
there. Not the wet grass, or slumping soil of a farm, but the white
pebble path of a villa will he now tread, as he goes forth to enjoy the
morning and the night. And while he is out, if he chooses not to sit
down in his summer-house, and read, or look over his last paper, under
one of his maples, and has nothing else to busy his thoughts, and no
one to share his company, he can fling corn to his ducks in the pool,
and feed his gentle deer, delighting to see them enjoy his care.
Who has not a right to build as handsome a house as money will buy? He
cannot withdraw his eyes from the charming scene! He retires and
returns again and again, to linger and look upon it. The clear and
cool Cayuga shines beyond, as if hung for a mirror to reflect it; and
he sees the whole magnificent estate, the house and its terraces, the
grounds and trees, the walks and waters, the ducks and deers; even the
tulips and pinks, as plainly in its placid splendor, as you can see the
sun in the silver sky.
But he must turn, at least to breathe, for the fifth scene opens.
Still he remains a member of the firm of Fairbanks, Frisbie and Fabens.
Still at times he is seen in the store, waiting on customers, when the
others are absent, sitting now and then in the counting-room to counsel
or converse, or enjoying a cool hour on the back piazza. Still he is
very happy, yet not quite satisfied.
He has run upon the idea that a high-school is wanted in Summerfield,
and that he cannot more nobly enhance his happiness than by
establishing a school of the first class, in a building erected for the
purpose, endowing it amply, and making a present of it to the town.
Ten thousand dollars more could easily be made, and it would enable him
to do that very handsome thing for Summerfield.
In comes the money without effort, and without delay; the school is
established on a pleasant eminence, in full view of his mansion, and it
makes a fine ornament to the place; while he finds it a pleasant sight
indeed, to see talented young men, and accomplished young women, going
forth from Fabens' Academy, to improve society, and ennoble their own
life with learning, and graceful manners and ways.
And while revelling in this new source of joy, his fortune continues to
grow, and the sixth scene opens. It will be thought a novel enterprise
in that community, and he is prepared for it, and even for a few sneers
and witticisms; but these will not move him at all, and he resolves to
build a meeting-house, and call a pastor, and settle a salary upon him.
He has always supported Elder Darling's meeting--the Elder is an
excellent man, and he will continue to support him; but he is not
perfectly suited with the Elder's preaching; it wants heartier life,
and a more evangelical power and effect; and he knows of many who
hunger for a gospel of larger faith and charity; which shall feed and
refresh the people, and raise their aims and views; which shall
identify religion more with a pure and benevolent character; which
shall not be sectarian; and, free from cant and vain pretension, shall
enter into every-day life, and make smiles its hymns, and deeds of good
its prayers. Such a minister can be procured, such a church
established. He can establish it himself, and not mind the cost. He
will do it, and ask no man's assistance. Up goes a beautiful church as
there is in all the country, and on comes the eloquent preacher; and
full meetings, and joyful seasons follow. If ever he was a man of
perfect happiness, it is now.
And what can prevent the continuance of his bliss? The evangelical
gospel sounds sweeter than ever in his ears. New interpretations of
Scripture enlighten him, and higher views of God and heaven open like
elysium around. And can anything, out of heaven, flood his heart with
a fuller satisfaction, than on a still, bright, silent Sunday, such as
God gives in holiest beauty only to the country, to ride in his
carriage to that lovely church, which nestles like a white dove in
among the hills, and hear preaching that will fatten his soul with
celestial manna-dew, exchange warm greetings with hundreds who thank
him for the privilege they enjoy at his hand, and ride home, rejoicing
all the way, to be the agent by which a door is opened for light and
truth in a new region?
His happiness continues to flow. All his reasonable expectations are
fulfilled, and he seems to live longer in a single day, on a single
Sunday now, than he once did in a twelvemonth; it makes him so happy to
know he has made many others happy. But with the increase of fortune,
comes the increase of desire, and he finds another thing lacking; a new
project leaps into his mind, and the last scene opens.
There are a great many poor people in Summerfield. Several causes have
combined to make them poor. Most of them are very worthy, and have
interesting children. All of them are God's sons and daughters, and
should not pine in want and grief amid so much wealth and country. If
a Poor Man's Home were established on a large and productive farm, and
put under judicious management, how much suffering might be alleviated!
How many aged heads lie down on soft pillows of peace! How many aged
hearts, unburdened of grief, and made to run over with flowing tears of
gratitude! How many of the disabled and unfortunate, placed beyond
reach of want and misery! How many bright children snatched from the
errors and temptations that lurk in the way of poverty, and clothed and
educated in virtues and lessons, that would place them on a footing
with rich men's children, and lead them to lives of usefulness and
honor! How many orphans provided for, and how many widows made to sing
in their hearts for joy!
He has means sufficient to do most of the building himself, and endow
the Home; and with a little help from others, the institution is
completed; and he sees bright glancing wings of joy hovering at doors
where grief has been a constant guest; Comfort wiping tears from eyes
long accustomed to weep; and Virtue and Knowledge leading large
processions of rescued children on their heavenward way. He is rich
and happy as he can hope or desire to be on earth, and he lies down to
sweet dreams on the last night of his Week of Castle Building, and with
those dreams the visions of affluence close.
XXV.
A WEEK OF REALITY.
During that memorable week, while those splendid scenes of fortune
passed his view as on a rolling panorama, there were moments when
Fabens felt that the scheme was too magnificent to contemplate alone,
and Mrs. Fabens and Fanny ought at once to be admitted to the blissful
secret, and participate his joy. Then again, he happened to remember
Julia's love for the old home, and her questioning, slow-footed
caution, and he refrained from a disclosure.
But he could not refrain from sounding her mind a little, as he
returned from the field for his meals, to ascertain if his own dreams
could possibly be too extravagant, and if there were any hope of a
consent from her, provided in the end he should have an earnest desire
to accept the tempting offer. He asked her several questions of
considerable meaning to himself, which she answered, with little
suspicion of the thoughts that lay concealed beneath the surface of the
words.
"Our fields never looked more beautiful to me, not even in June, than
they have for a few days now of this lovely weather," said Mrs. Fabens,
gazing from her favorite window upon the rich landscape in view, on the
first day of the Week of Reality.
"We are somewhat retired, and cannot see a great distance north or east
from the house, but what we can see is so bound up with all my dearest
feelings and pleasantest thoughts, I would not change it away for more
pretending views from new situations. I love to look at our east woods
very well; and the hill pasture; and the orchard in blossom is a
charming sight, and more charming still when tossing the yellow pippins
to the sun, as in this pleasant breeze."
"You think the old farm is pretty near the centre of the world, I
suppose," said Fabens.
"It holds my heart as if balanced on the world's centre," replied Mrs.
Fabens.
"And nothing would tempt you to leave it? not even a larger house, or
nearer sights of lovely water, or pleasanter walks?"
"No, indeed!"
"But, you always thought Judge Garlock's place very handsome."
"O, it is handsome to look at as you pass; it is nearer the lake than
ours; and no doubt it is the dearest spot on earth to Mrs. Garlock, she
has lived there so long; but I would not leave this place for that."
"But you forget her splendid house, her white pebble walks, her grounds
looking like an Eden; and--"
"No doubt they are very dear to her, but I would not exchange houses,
or grounds, or gardens, or sights with her."
"Not if we had more money, to live as they do!"
"No! not for a house full of silver dollars."
"Not to have such a splendid view from your door and windows of the
silver-breasted lake, and the grand old hills beyond?"
"Hardly, if the river Jordan rolled there, and Canaan bloomed opposite;
though I always thought that would be the loveliest sight on earth.
But what are you talking about, Matthew? do we not see the lake from
our house, and the hills, too, beyond?"
"Only from a distance."
"'Distance lends enchantment to the view,' as Fanny's poet sings."
"Only in little patches; and they are dull, and without interest,
unless the sun happens to shine. But would you not like to live there
if I was a merchant or lawyer; and had given a school, a church, and
hospital to the town, and grand folks were flocking from all quarters
to visit us?"
"No, I would not, as true as I live and breathe; not if you were King
George, and kings and queens were flocking to see you. Nothing but
Heaven would tempt me to change away the old home; we have taken so
much comfort here. It seems a part and parcel of myself. I would as
soon think of changing you off for Merchant Fairbanks, because he may
be called a little handsomer, and goes dressed up like a lord every day
about his dainty store. I would as soon think of selling Fanny, and
buying Desdemona Faddle to fill Fanny's place, just because she has a
mess of dangling curls, and paints her face, and wears more rings and
flounces."
"How you do talk! That would be quite a different thing; wouldn't it,
Fanny?"
"No, father, I think mother is right. I'm sure I never can love
another home as I love this. I should feel dreadfully to hear you talk
of selling. I never could love another home."
"Not if you had George there, to increase your happiness?"
"Another home to call father's and mother's I mean; where I could
return and enjoy all the old things that are grown so fast to my heart.
But why do you talk so, father?"
"That I was going to ask. You have no intention of leaving here, I
hope, and why _do_ you talk so? You act wild."
"You began the talk, Julia, and I was seeing to what a stretch you
would carry your feelings. But here, it is time I was out in the field
at the plough again, and I will leave you now, to think it all over,
and see if there is nothing on earth that would tempt you to sell the
old home."