Chapter 8

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

XVI.

THE MINISTER.

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

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

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

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

"I think he called you Uncle, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The Bible is my creed and counsel."

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

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

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

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

"Our school-house is small, and our barns are full; and I am sorry it happens so, for I want to hear your message."

"Then I will preach in the open air. Fix me a stand under your shade-tree, and I'll want no better place. I'll be in God's free temple then--a fit place for God's free gospel."

"It shall be done for you; and I will send around notice far and near. And shall we hear something against the sects, and their cant and dogmas?"

"No, not at present, from me. Truth will wage its own warfare when given fair play; and while I leave truth to conquer, I denounce less, and invite the more. Set the Infinite Good before the people, and invite them to rise and accept it; and they are very sure, sooner or later, to come. This was Christ's way. He opened heaven on earth, and invited men to prepare and receive its light and joy to their mourning souls. 'Repent,' said he, 'for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.'"

"If the people heard more of this preaching," said Fabens, "they would rouse from their indifference, and live a heavenly life."

"The world has been denounced for indifference," said the Minister; "but the world is not all to blame. The gospel it hears is too seldom of the inviting kind, adapted to its wants, addressed to its affections and reason. Men have been fed on the letter, while needing the spirit and truth which the letter conceals. Preachers have spun too much gossamer and tinsel; and woven too little solid bang-up and beaver for wear and comfort. The people have been served with too many custards and candies of entertainment, while hungering hotly for the bread of life."

"Very true," said Fabens. "I have felt this hunger myself, though our preacher here has given us very good fare."

"In consequence of this error," said the Minister, "many good people have taken the impression that there is nothing in religion worthy of their first concern. That it has not a spirit which will act on a week day; and neither food nor clothing for the soul can be found among its provisions.--Why, sir, religion is a legacy of infinite love to a world groaning in sin. It has power to change this earth to a paradise, and transfigure its inhabitants to angels. It is the one thing needful for every-day life; the principal requisite for a true integrity and honor; the actual virtue; the legitimate hope; the perfect charity; the paramount peace; the kingdom of heaven at hand. As men permit its warm influence to stream down into their hearts, they will kindle and rise to a new and noble life, and walk and live in heaven."

"I am confident of that," said Fabens, "and I am glad you are out on a mission of this gospel. I am sure we need it enough in this neighborhood."

"Christians should be all on fire with the spirit of this religion now," said the Minister. "They should give it forth to the world as a vital heat warming up the temple of the heart like a furnace; a light, flooding every niche and cranny of that temple with full illumination; a fountain, watering all its sanctities and graces; and music, filling it to overflow with the voice of heavenly song."

"Give me that religion," said Fabens, "and I shall be rich and high indeed. But I cannot hope to enjoy it in such full and actual life."

"The world is like you," said the Minister. "It wants hopefulness. It wants hope in God, and faith in his providence. Here is the grand want; hope in God and faith in his providence. God is doing his work in this world at this hour; his spirit moves on the waters now, bringing peace out of discord, and light out of darkness; and the people should know and feel it as a vital truth. When they do, they will rely on his love, and enjoy his religion."

"I wish you would give us a sermon on this subject," said Fabens.

"I will," said the Minister, and they concluded the conversation, attended prayers and retired to rest.

Arrangements were made, and notice, circulated for the meeting. The hour of the meeting came, and it was a placid and splendid hour as ever gilded a country Sabbath.

XVII.

THE MEETING.

A country Sabbath! who can go out of the city and enjoy that even in imagination, without bringing the day, and all its placid light, and all its green and tranquil blessings home with him in his soul? It steals upon you like the floating raptures of a trance, and O! there are such smiles and splendors of God in the sky; there is such a spirit of worship in the hushed and reverent air; there are such songs of praise from all the temples of Nature rising on wings of holy melody to heaven; and you behold such comely forms and faces descending the green hills, and emerging from the woods and lanes: you forget this prison-durance, and seem to walk in a higher sphere.

The Minister was a little man, of perfect form, lithe as a spirit; ardent, open, affable; with a high and swelling forehead; a deep, warm, lustrous eye that darted forth the living fire of intelligence and love; a long thin nose, winding in a slight and not ungraceful curve toward the right shoulder; an eloquent gesture, a clarion voice, and a face benignant and bland as the mild morning star.

A large concourse of people assembled to hear him, and after the usual service of introduction, he rose, and casting those kindling eyes around on the audience a moment, in a voice round and clear as a forest warbler's, he said, "_The Spirit of God moved on the face of the waters._" This was his text, and,--"I suppose it is commonly conceded," said he, "that the book of Genesis is the most ancient, if not most sublime of all the writings that enrich the world. The learned have cited the first verses of this book as specimens of sublimity unequalled by any language. And though the prophets, and the gospel authors outsoar Moses, I think, in the morally sublime; yet there are two or three touches in Genesis that roll and roar like Niagara before me, and stir me so strongly, fill me so full, and lift me so high, I find it an effort to rise to any grander conception than they give.

"The verse on creation; the void and formless earth rolling off in darkness; the Spirit of God on the waters; the mandate for light; the dividing of the floods; the fixing of the firmaments; the lifting of the sun and moon to the heavens; the arrangement of day and night; the bringing of the seasons; the making of man: all sweep before our mind in visions of awe, and might, and gloom; magnificence, glory, peace and love; and we may study the chapter till we shall seem to be there in the midst of the awful scene, and find ourselves throbbing and swaying with a rapt spirit, and a bounding heart.

"'The Spirit of God moved on the face of the waters.' This, my friends, is an assurance of God's Providence, only surpassed by the highest announcements of Christ. And the text has moved me profoundly, and come in a thousand times to exalt my faith amid trials, and sooth my griefs, and calm my solicitudes, when anguish has pierced me, and storms have raged. The text finds a thousand illustrations. The world was called from chaos, and warring elements, and confused and conflicting principles have not yet been restrained from their fury, or soothed to perfect peace. There are wars among the waters of nature; there are wars among the waters of the moral world; there are wars of passion in our souls, and we lose our confidence often, and often our peace and rest. But 'the Spirit of God moves on the face of the waters;' and they who believe this, will never feel forsaken, or lose their balance or their hope.

"_The Spirit of God moves on the waters as they flow in the course of Nature_; and at this very hour He is present in all her stirring scenes, commanding her mighty forces, preserving her general harmony, and leading all her rushing rivers of motion, power and life, into one wide ocean of purity and peace. And this is that gracious Providence asserted in the text, and announced so often by the Savior. It requires a lofty faith to discover that Providence, at all times; to detect its personal presence, and rest in its parental love. What a time it was in the beginning, while the earth was formless and void, and darkness brooded over the seas that embosomed her--if we could have witnessed the scene--what a time to shake and shatter this faith! And during long ages afterward, while the land was forming in little islands above the waters, how impossible it would have been for one of us to see the Divine Presence on the waters, look for harmony, beauty, life and peace to be brought out of all!

"And then in times of confusion, we have seen, when storms have fallen, when winds have howled, and the waters roared with trouble; what an effort was required to believe the Lord was in the storm speaking peace; and the Spirit of God moved on the face of the waters!

"Then, there are storms we know of, but cannot see at all times. Electric and magnetic storms, when all the vital forces of nature are in commotion, and wars are waged from pole to pole: when the thunders growl, and lightnings flash, and the ruddy aurora dances and flames. What apparent confusion reigns! You think the thunder, lightning and aurora, are announcements of war and commotion scarcely yet begun, and you fear and tremble.

"But how will knowledge and faith disperse these terrors, and reduce their confusion to harmony and rest! The very war of waters at the creation was their effort after peace. When the world stood in islands above the lonely seas, the Spirit of God was on the waters, bringing forth continents in order and beauty, and preparing for these times of wide-spread lands, and gay-green verdures; and nations on all, with intelligence, commerce and joy. And the terrible storms we have witnessed, were the movement of God's Spirit, restoring equilibrium in nature; while, instead of announcing conflict and trouble to come, the lightning and aurora were the reports of peace; saying, the electric and magnetic storms were over, and their forces were at rest.

"Again; '_the Spirit of God moves on the waters as they flow in the course of History._'