Chapter 10

"George is a fine young man," said Mrs. Fabens, "if the Cressey girls, and Desdemona Faddle do feel above him. They will set their caps in vain for Merchant Fairbanks, for he detests their foolish pride and finery as much as any one, and laughs in his sleeves, I'll warrant, at their dangling curls, and their silly lisping talk, when they try to speak polite to him; although he likes to flirt with them, and make them think he is ready to die for them."

"And why should _they_ feel themselves better than George?" asked Fanny. "They don't astonish the world with good looks, or refinement of manners or mind. Their fathers are rich I know, and they have nothing to do but dress, and study etiquette. They can hardly stoop to what they call common people. But I don't envy them at all. They were always disliked at school, and were always at the foot of their class. If I were going to feel large and boast, I would want something besides wealth to feel large about. I am sure I would sooner envy George Ludlow, if he is not handsome, and is poor, and works out to support his father and mother. He knows something, and has riches of the heart I believe. But I cannot think why he should look at me, as you say, mother."

"I like your ideas of greatness, Fanny," replied Mrs. Fabens, "I like your ideas of greatness, and am glad you do not join those foolish girls in a pride that would despise such a young man. True greatness is of the mind, and riches are of the heart. But let us hurry with our refreshments, for it is beautiful out now, and they must be hungry, and we will enjoy it with them."

They plied themselves briskly, and about four o'clock the white cloths were laid under a cool maple shade-tree, and on them was spread a sumptuous lunch of fricasseed chickens, to be taken leisurely with flowing cups of coffee, and followed with saucers of raspberries and cream, and large and luscious pieces of blackberry pie. The look of thankfulness and cheer which the men all returned for such a refreshment, more than rewarded them, and sweet was the gratification with which they themselves and the good-hearted Fabens partook of the rural meal.

The presence of William Fabens also, enhanced the interest of the hour, and furnished conversation which all were glad to hear. William Fabens was a cousin of the Squire's, whom he had not seen before that month, since they were boys in Cloverdale. William had gone to New York city about the time Matthew went to Summerfield; and was now an intelligent merchant still in trade, and was out on his first visit to the Lake Country. He appeared much like the Squire, only a little more stately and active, and he possessed great practical wisdom and fine common sense. He carried a rich country nature to the city, and he had cultured it finely, and it was bearing fair and mellow fruit. He had a double life in consequence, and country life _citified_, perfected his capabilities and joys.

He had found that life in the country and town, was life in very different spheres, with different manifestations, and each a different set of lights and shadows. Life in the country was more natural, spontaneous and quiet; life in the town was more artistic, ambitious, and flushed with fever heats. Life in the country was picturesque, like the green, lovely landscapes in which it bloomed; life in the town was statuesque, like the flocking forms that pressed upon its sight and jostled it on its crowded way. Life in the country breathed in music; life in the town abounded in incidents and actions.

He remembered with grateful pleasure the noble occupations and amusements of country life. But he had profited well, and not lost, by the change. If it was a noble theme to study material nature in the landscape and sky, he found it still more noble to study moral nature in man; and man as he moved in the town, and acted in the drama of life that was daily brought before him. If it was delightful to read Milton or Beattie in a cornfield, in a clover meadow, under a tree, or on the haymow; it was more delightful to his mind to read the same author in a city, where, seeing more of men, he could understand him better. And whatever was beautiful in country life he carried with him to the town, with its green and radiant pictures still glowing on his heart, and its morning melodies still murmuring through his soul. And he could act out in deeds, what once he meditated in ideas. He was constantly called, by irresistible voices, to go out of himself, and out of his fixed and finite conceits and opinions, and mix with other souls; and transform his conceits to comprehensive conceptions, and enlarge his opinions to universal views.

From this rich and varied experience, and from these elevated ideas, William Fabens spoke, as he conversed with his cousin and the harvesters, while taking the harvest lunch.

"I suppose by this time, William, you are pretty well weaned of the country," said the Squire, after a changing conversation on several themes.

"O no, not at all," said William, "not at all. My love of the country is fresh and warm as ever. It is a singular fact, that almost all my dreams are laid in the country, on the old farm. I am often in the country in my mind, and receive much of my mental, as my physical sustenance, from country stores."

"I thought you would turn your back on the country and never think of its homely scenes again," said the Squire.

"I like the city in many respects better," said William; "so much better, that I prefer living there nine months in the year. But give me the country in the summer. In night dreams and day dreams, I return to the old homestead, to renew my youth, and refresh my sympathies and tastes. I think of the pride of the summer landscapes; and the pomp of summer sunsets. I sit in the shade of my old favorite trees and woods; I bathe my heart once more in the moonlight; my ears seem to tell me again of all the melodies of morning; the babbling brook; the lowing herd; the cowbell's simple chime; the murmur of bees and insects; the choral concerts that ring through the woods; and I am there, young and blooming as ever, and what Beattie's 'Minstrel' saw and heard, I seem to see and hear once more."

"I know not how it may be in cities," said the Squire; "but I have often noticed in our villages, that the countryman gets laughed at for his greenness. This never disturbed me. I have felt that we were inferior to none of their village bloods. Better be green on the surface than rotten at the core. And I have remembered how many great men of the world were bred in the country."

"The cities are often guilty of the same," said William, "forgetting how many angels they entertain unawares. Did ever a mortal man look more of the rustic clown than the country boy, Sam Johnson, when he first went to London? And could he not make dictionaries, and write Rasselas?"

"And who can imagine a more ludicrous object," asked the Squire, "than shabby, and chubby, and warty little Oliver Goldsmith, when he first waddled, staring and gaping, through Green-Arbor Court, and up Fishstreet Hill? And has he not given us prose and poetry that will live as long as the English tongue is known?"

"We might have laughed at Shakspeare," added William, "when, a green country runaway, he first entered the metropolis; we might have laughed at Dryden, coming up from the provinces in his coarse Norwich drugget and wooden shoes--over thirty years old, and not yet aware that he could write a line of verse. But for all that, did not Shakspeare write Hamlet? and Dryden give laws and models for English heroic verse?"

"And some might have thanked the Dumfries gentry for putting the rustic Burns in the kitchen with the servants to eat," added the Squire; "but did not Burns make a song there, to shame his proud insulters; and did he not sing--

'A man's a man for a' that.'

The temptations of the city are the most that I should fear."

"They are many and great," said William; "and I do not wonder that so many perish in the ordeal. Yet I know that people need not fall, if they will open their eyes, and act out their country nature. Evil affords a high and noble discipline when we meet it like men, and overcome its onsets. When men and women from the country have finished a course of city life, with warm hearts remaining in them, unsullied by corruptions they have seen, they are found to possess all the more strength of will, elevation of mind, and grace and grandeur of life, from the school from which they graduate. Each exercise of strength we take in resisting temptation, is the moral gymnastics that redoubles that power against the next encounter, and adds muscle and fire to all the capabilities of life. Each exercise of sense we take to discriminate between true and false life, true and false pleasure, true and false charmers, is a training of the intellect and judgment to more delicate discernments, and more virtuous and vital joys. A man enters the city as Hercules entered the world; the characters that go forth to meet him are like the true and false goddesses that met that hero and determined his choice; and that fine old fable shows that even the exercise of mind which is impelled by the two voices, will add new strength to one's being, cut out the blurs from his eyes, and make the judgment more active and perception more keen."

"That is all very true," said the Squire; "and your own life is an illustration. But if I should enter a city to live, I fear it would cool off my sympathies, and harden my heart."

"I should not fear that of you, Matthew," said William; "although it is the case with thousands. We need not be cooled or hardened. We see more of the evil side of life, to be sure; but it does not harden all. John Howard and Elizabeth Fry saw more of the evils of life than most city people. They visited the very dens of suffering want and imprisoned crime; but to them such sights were nobly instructive, and they grew great-hearted and noble while reading the lessons. Their sympathies were softened and warmed; their interest in humanity was redoubled, and their love for our race quickened and expanded, until they found no rest so sweet, as after long rounds of philanthropic labor; no delight so pure as kindness; no beauty so divine as charity; and no riches so ample and enjoyable as those laid up for benevolence, and those received back to the generous soul in return for gifts and deeds of good."

"You delight me, William," said the Squire; "and if you will go around lecturing the country people, you will see them all flocking to the town."

"The more, the better for us," said William. "They are the best materials of which the town can replenish its numbers and forces. Their great good sense; their healthy and generous instincts; their large and throbbing hearts; their picturesque minds and memories need only the discipline and finish of city life, to round them up into robust men and women of sweet and symmetrical characters, and fair and full-blooming souls."

On this occasion George Ludlow seemed to regard Fanny Fabens with increased attention; and as their glances more than once met, an artless, innocent blush would express on each face the timidity of their natures, if not the emotions of their hearts.

The truth to tell, George had contracted for Fanny an affection which he dared to disclose no more significantly, than by those expressions of the eye and face, which would not be concealed; and since the conversation in the house, he had scarcely been absent from her thoughts. She considered his pure life and enlightened mind, and inquired, "Where is the young man that has more nobleness than he?" She thought of his kindness to his parents, and admired the example. She called to mind his love of nature, and books, his efforts of improvement, even amid tasks of diligent toil; and she honored him in her soul; honored him the more for his own honor of his calling; and began to return a kindling flame of that affection, which she conceived he might indulge for her. But a few words were exchanged between them, however, and it remains for some future chapter to relate the result of those growing loves.

The men rose from their luncheon, when a cool and reviving hour had been taken, and while the women were departing with William to the house, and while Fabens remained under the maple, Merchant Fairbanks came up, and after the usual salutations, he talked a moment with the ladies, and then made Fabens an offer for his wheat crop, and commenced a pleasant talk.

XX.

MERCHANT FAIRBANKS.

Merchant Fairbanks sold goods in Summerfield, and undertook large dealings with the farmers there; buying their crops and bartering in smaller transactions, for butter and cheese, wool and feathers, wood and ashes, eggs and paper rags. He had tarried in town only two or three years, and few were intimately acquainted with him, although many supposed that they knew him well; and few men enjoyed more confidence or love.

He possessed a tall and imposing person; a face that all declared "fine," and "noble;" a large and glowing chestnut eye; a serene and inspiring presence; and hair so dark, that it reflected at times stray tints of purple, and was lustrous and smooth as a blackbird's wing, He was scrupulous in the arrangement of his attire, and still there was a studied contrivance of modest dignity about it all, that attracted attention, and set off his honors.

He was an instant and accurate judge of character; he discerned by a glance of his quick perceptions the lights and shadows of the human mind, and was accomplished in manners that won the esteem of the people, and enlisted them warmly in his favor. He remembered little things, to accomplish great ones; he would call to your recollection some trifling fact of which you supposed all beside yourself unconscious, that would flatter your self-esteem in spite of you, and win for himself your approbation. He remembered the names of his customers and acquaintances, and called them emphatically, if he had seen them never but once before; he was particular to salute each man with his title, and whether that title was military, religious or judicial, if he was in any doubt of its particular elevation, he would be sure and get it so high that, when mistaken, a captain could answer to the appellation of major; a justice to that of judge; a meek disciple to that of deacon, and a preacher to that of doctor.

He knew many children in town, he spoke all their names, and told of some good-looking relative or friend of his on the Hudson, whom they strikingly resembled. He distinctly professed private religious and political opinions of his own, while he knew there were the best of people in all parties and persuasions, and put every one at perfect ease with whom he conversed, convincing them that controversy was unprofitable, and the slight difference between them, after all, would be more in talk than in truth. He was a popular merchant, and the central attraction of several gay circles in the town.

With her searching discernment, Mrs. Fabens had discovered in him more than one design which she pronounced artful; she studied his character, and told her husband and daughter in confidence, she believed him a cunning flatterer, and a cheat; and that he would not always sail in smooth water in Summerfield.

But Fabens would hardly listen for a moment to her surmises. He had dealt with Merchant Fairbanks considerably; he had always believed him honest and manly, and he joined the multitude in much of the praise which they bestowed upon him.

As for Fanny, though she had not given the gentleman a great many thoughts, she regarded him favorably, and found him a most mannerly salesman, an affable and gallant man. She thought him far better than many who ran after him, and she was in no wise averse to consider him her friend.

"But you may depend upon it," said Mrs. Fabens to her husband, seriously--"depend upon it, he is not so particular and loud, in calling you 'Squire' for nothing; and it cannot be always a mistake, when he says 'Judge Fabens;' nor does he consult your opinion on so many things, because the opinion has the value of a straw in his estimation. He may never injure you, and I will not fear that he can; but it will be well to reserve a little confidence till he is better known, and not be too quickly carried away with him."

But Fabens was still confident that Fairbanks was honorable and worthy of respect and trust; he was often at his store; he often relied on his integrity for important considerations; and he was well assured that he was a man of merit and justice, and entitled to his enviable name. And so marked was his confidence, it had induced Fairbanks to come without hesitation again to buy all the wheat he could sell, and ask to have credit till January. He offered a fairer price than Fabens had hoped to obtain that season, and he engaged it on the desired time.

Fairbanks was unusually social and winning that afternoon, when he found them rising from the lunch in the field; and he conversed freely and pleasantly with Mrs. Fabens and her daughter, as they departed for the house; and then turned to Fabens and conversed a long while, saying at last--"That is your _only daughter_, I believe, Judge?"

"Yes, and only child, now, I suppose, that we have on earth," answered Fabens.

"You may think I am too free, comparative stranger as I am, in my conversation with her," said Fairbanks.

"O, no; I like to see folks familiar and friendly. Familiarity is the life of company, while stiffness and formality give it a chill which is quite disagreeable to me," said Fabens.

"Perhaps I should not be so familiar to her; but she reminds me so much of a dear sister of mine on the Hudson, that I feel attracted towards her; and it seemed every moment as if my sister was going to speak to me. She is a good sister, too, and quite intelligent, if I am her brother; and I think I have a right to say it. And there is that same trembling modesty, that same blushing innocence and blooming beauty, to remind me of my sister; and had her hair been a shade or two darker, and her teeth not so ivory white; I believe I should have forgotten I was talking to a stranger. You will pardon my frankness, Squire, I know you will. I am apt to talk right out just as I happen to feel."

"Certainly, certainly, Mr. Fairbanks. I always admired frankness. Perhaps you say too much of our daughter; but she is a very good sort of a girl; and we tried, as far as we were able, to give her a common-sense view of things, and have her respectable. I am thankful that she is not as brazen as some girls; and good health has flushed her face with fresh and blooming looks."

"You needn't fear for _that_ girl--pardon my freedom, Squire. No young lady of such a turned forehead, and such eyes and address, ever came short of what good parents desired."

"Then you are a phrenologist, Mr. Fairbanks?"

"I have studied such things considerably, and am not often mistaken. High and full in all the frontal and coronal regions--such heads are never given to flirts or fools."

"She is just as the Lord has permitted her to be; and we are thankful that she has filled our home with so much light and joy."

"I know she must be dutiful; and at the same time wishing to know the whys and wherefores of things, she asks a few questions, I suspect, that she may know something, and have an opinion of her own."

"She never did a thing, as I recollect, that caused us an hour's regret; but, as you say, she wishes to know things for herself; and sometimes, when we have been tired and dull, she has wearied us with questions. She has a great mind to acquire knowledge, and have an intelligent opinion; and we ought never to be impatient with her, or refuse an answer."

"She may thank father and mother for that disposition, I suspect. How much she looks like her mother! And still she has your forehead, and eyes, _almost_--if I remember right; and I should know she was your daughter, if I met her in France."

"Her eyes are much lighter and bluer than mine; but they may resemble them in shape and size. As for her hair--"

"I was just a-going to ask where she got that fairy flaxen hair?"

"We cannot tell where the color came from, except from our white blood. My hair was light when a boy."

"That then accounts for hers."

"But never so milk-white as hers."

"Hers will grow dark, you may depend; it will be dark as yours when as old. But what if it is not? I should like it all the better as it is; it is handsome _enough_, and it is not so common as brown or black."

"But here it is nearly dark, and I have not had the manners to invite you to the house. Come, go in with me, and take a dish of tea."

"O Squire, I beg you to excuse me. I have some business at home that I must attend to to-night, and I must go. But that is the way with me, always! When I am in good company, I never know how time flits by, nor where to break off my talk. Come over and see me, Squire! Do come and see me. Good night." And as Fairbanks went for his horse to go home, Fabens ordered his men to quit work, and they all returned to the house in excellent spirits for supper and sleep.

Fabens had made it the effort of his life to resist flattery, and preserve a decent self-respect without a vain emotion; but it never grieved him to call him Squire; and there was much in what Fairbanks said and suggested, which he thought evinced uncommon discernment, and a clear and discriminating mind; and he was happy in the belief that it came right up from his heart, warm and sincere. He determined that he would not allow his own heart to take any flattery from what he had heard; yet what was said of Fanny--and her father and mother also!--could not be displeasing, coming as it did from one of an elevated station and mind: and he concluded that it was right for him to be encouraged by the compliments, and congratulated himself on the happiness of such a family and such a friend.

He enjoyed a fine conversation with his cousin William that evening; and showed him his farm, and visited with him all he could, the next day; and the day following, William departed for the city, leaving many warm regards behind, and carrying home a large supply of sweet country summer in his soul.

XXI.

THE HUSKING.

In modern times the Husking Party has gone out of fashion in Summerfield; but in ancient times, while the manners of the people remained primitive and pure, this festival (for festival it was) continued of great account. It was sometimes held in barns, and sometimes in the open fields; and the attendance of good wives and maidens, and the occurrence of music and dancing at the close, was no unusual joy. We may call it a 'movable feast,' for every autumn it moved the rounds of the Settlement; and now in rare October, and near the wane of the month, it came Fabens' turn to hold it again.

It was one of those golden weeks when the pleasantest house seems a prison, and you feel as if you must live day and night out of doors. The breeze from the cool Cayuga never fanned the brow nor tingled the blood with a more hilarious spirit; and the orchards were never more fragrant, nor the silver moon more round or fair.