Summerfield / or, Life on a Farm

by Day Kellogg Lee

The camp was within hearing distance of the house, and his father, though trembling with age, went out to keep him company, and attend to the fire and kettles, while he was away with two pails, gathering the delicious flowings of his maples.

And Julia, too, was there on many a pleasant afternoon, plying her busy distaff in the shanty; and Fanny lent gladness to the scene; leaping like a merry fawn about the little opening, and amid the clustering bushes; her face lustrous and soft as a velvet peach; her voice blithesome as the pee-wee's, and clear and sweet as the robin's.

"And if Clinton could be here, too!" sighed the bereaved mother.
"Dear, dear Clinton! if he could be here, O would we not be happy?"

"How I would kiss him, and say, 'Good brother,' and feed him, and crinkle his curly hair, if he would come back!" added Fanny.

To one fond of the romance of rural life, a scene like this addresses many attractive charms. The evenings were clear and beautiful; a class of the grandest constellations took their course in the sky, and rained their holy lights, while the winds were asleep in their caves, and keen frosts came down each night to increase the morrow's run; the days were warm and agreeable with bracing air and kindly sunshine; and the forests were roused from their stillness by the sound of the axe, the shrill reports of the frost escaping from the trees, and the notes of a few birds that carolled of the coming spring-time.

Fabens had, for some time, felt the advances of spring in his heart; and he had a heart in the season and in its manly toils. He remained in the camp over night when his maples had given a copious run, and tended his kettles, to boil and save what the bounty of Providence so lavishly furnished. He had no one with him but his dog, and yet he was never alone. His thoughts were his companions, his hopes, his pleasing pastimes. A veil of blinding atmosphere hung over him, and his eyes perceived no objects beyond his camp but the solemn trees and the lofty stars; and yet his mind was not muffled up in that veil. When Jesus died, the veil of God's temple was rent in twain; the veil between earth and heaven; and though that veil would continue to hang in its place for a time; and he could not make maps of the heavenly world, or locate the constellations of all its starry glories, or gossip with its unseen citizens, as with familiars here; still Faith saw light enough streaming through the rent in the veil to raise and enlarge his soul; and Hope saw light enough to replume her wings and re-adjust her vision. God embosomed him in his spiritual presence; Christ was to him not a cold and distant phantasm, but a warm and intimate friend. Good spirits were all about him, he believed, though he heard not their voices, and knew not their names; and they were coming and going on God's errands of love and light. A soft breath fanned his forehead; a sweet emotion filled his heart; a burst of light broke like morning on his mind; and he found it easy to conceive them the touch and gift of some guardian being whom God had sent with the answers of his prayers. And who could say but it might be the spirit of Clinton, or Matthew's ascended mother, whom God had thus employed?

Call it not superstition, if such were his thoughts. It is a guileless heart, and a lofty faith that can thus sense the presence of God, and dwell in the blissful assurance that angels guard the inhabitants of earth, though we see and hear them not; as we believe, at noonday the stars stand sentinels above, although they are veiled from our view.

At times, moreover, that wild encampment was the scene of social enjoyment. It was a custom in the settlement to give parties in the bush, and cultivate feelings of love and friendship. They were rude indeed, and there was observed none of the pretence of etiquette which passes for refinement in fashionable circles. Still there was genuine sentiment manifested, and an honest and simple refinement of soul, superior to any outward elegance. Some of the settlers, it is true, were strangers to those religious sensibilities enjoyed by Fabens and his family; and they read Nature and Humanity with a different eye from his, and received different impressions. There was that in the manner of the Teezles, the Colwells, the Flaxmans, and others, which at times might appear low and vulgar, to persons educated in a different sphere of life; but even in their hearts, there was an open truthfulness which gave signs of real nobility; and a full flowing sympathy, a solid common sense, a love of principle, a love of the good and noble, against which mere surface refinement and polite words, empty of soul and meaning, would weigh but as feathers in the scale.

They possessed heart and soul in the richest raw material. They were full-grown, ripened specimens of aboriginal life. They had a plump berry, as the farmers say, and came to the sickle without cockle, or rust, or weevil, or smut. They were as thrifty vines, and needed only to be trimmed and trained. They were as virgin gold in the bullion, and wanted to be melted and minted into coin. They were as statues rough-hewn at the quarry, and would have ripened to forms of majestic beauty, with brows like Jove and Minerva; with bosoms like Venus, cheeks like Ceres, and lips like Apollo, had the chisel of art but sculptured them out, rounded them off, and polished them down to an elegant, ornate life.

During the season in mention, there had been several sugar parties, and now came Fabens' turn to reciprocate the compliment. So, one pleasant day, when there was a slight cessation in the run, he received a few neighbors to his camp, to spend an afternoon and evening.