Читать книгу Summerfield or, Life on a Farm - Day Kellogg Lee - Страница 6

"Yes, and such a wilderness of game! My word for it, you would like it out there. The fat deer scamper from thicket and opening; foxes and wolves, and bears are plenty; wild turkeys romp and fly in flocks; wild ducks dip and skim like swallows on the lakes; trout and sturgeon, lusty and sweet; Indians good-natured as the yellow sun:—and such hunts as I've had there!—I tell you what, Matthew, they would cure you pretty quick of being homesick; and you would hardly look towards the Hudson again, if you were only once in the lake country."

"I should like to go there, Uncle Walter. It must be a very fine country, and the encouragements for young men must be great. I should like those grand old forests you speak of; and those pleasant lakes, and the hills, and the valleys. Just so strange I am—I should soon have affection for them, and reckon them among my friends. I should bring away their sweet summer fragrance and verdure in my soul. And the deer—how I'd like to see them bounding all about me! and the ducks and wild turkeys enjoying their free life. But to make them game—I'll leave that to you, Uncle Walter, if I cannot soften your heart. If I could leave father and mother, I would go and see what sort of a life I could accomplish in a land so free and inviting; and what kind of a home I could build. The thought of this sets my blood a-bounding."

"Well, come, make up your mind, and get ready by then I start, and I'll be right glad of your company. I shall start in a fortnight."

"What say you, father and mother? My heart flutters as I ask you! But what say you to Uncle Walter's invitation? Can I not make a shift in the wild woods of Cayuga, and could you not get along without me awhile, in hopes something might be done for the good of us all?"

"It pleases me, Matthew, and it pleases your mother. We talked it all over last night, and concluded, if you would like to venture, we would make up our minds to part with you, and comfort ourselves with the hope of your doing well. Yes, go if you want to, and the Lord go with you, and help you all the time. I know by experience it is a good thing to learn to live away from home, and shift for one's self, and be independent. It makes a clear head, a ready hand, and a nervy heart. My father used to say, an upright mind, with a knack of self-assistance, was better for a president's son, than pockets full of money. I have found it true, and I hope you will remember it.

"It will try our old hearts a little to part with you, Matthew. All the rest are gone to the grave, and somehow we cling closer to you now. We are trembling on the edge of the grave, and waiting for Death to trip us in. We need to have hold of your hand, and lean on your shoulder. But I know it is for your good to go and build your own home and fortune; and if you prosper, as Mr. Mowry thinks you will, may be we shall live long enough to sell our little place here, and go into the woods again, and clear up a farm. It is a hard sort of work; but then it stoutens the knees, and knits the knuckles, and gives a capable soul, and a pleasant, pleasant life."

"That's the thing, Major Fabens. Tell the boy of the fun of clearing land; but don't talk of trying hearts, and old age, and the grave. You'll make a baby of him if you do; and he'll get a foolish dread of leaving, and want to hang around you all your days. Stir him up a little. Tell him you'll be glad to get rid of him; and to pack up his duds and be off, lickety-cut; and it will not be a great while afore he can pop over a deer without whimpering; and a log shanty in Cayuga will seem smarter to him than a city spare-room. Come, Matthew, get ready by then I start, and I'll take you to the handsomest country in all America!"

"Life is a wilderness journey, that all must go, having many struggles and trials; meeting many dangers, enduring many griefs. But if one does right, and keeps acting the noblest and hoping the best, that is the main thing; and it matters not so much where we go, nor where we build our home, and perform our labors of life. Hard indeed shall I find it, to take my soul away from all I love in Cloverdale: hard to leave father and mother, and all my young friends; but it is best I should go. Return in a fortnight, and I will be ready. God help me to be a man, and make my life an honor and a joy. If I could get a home that father and mother would like better than their little one here, would we not be happy?"

Such, my dear reader, was the beginning of a manner of life which it is the design of this volume to unfold. Such a conversation occurred at Major Fabens' many years ago. Major Fabens and his wife were very fine old people, who lived at Cloverdale, on the banks of the Hudson River. Matthew was their only surviving child; the solace and stay of their aged years; and Uncle Walter was a neighbor, who had been out to that beautiful region of western New York, called the Lake Country; taken up a tract of wild land; made a clearing; built a rude home; and returned, saying many a good, frank thing, to induce others to "pull up stakes," and follow him.

On the evening with which our story begins, a long conversation had been enjoyed at Major Fabens'; much had been said of the western country, in description of its climate and soil, its lakes and forests; and young Fabens listened in a spell of delight, more and more convinced that there was the land for his future home. He resolved upon going to the Lake Country. He hastened the preparation for his departure. His clothes were put in readiness; he passed around the neighborhood on all his farewell visits; and the morning of his exit smiled kindly and glad, as if to welcome him on his way.

It was a morning in August. Recent rains had refreshed all the woods and fields; recent thunders had cleared the air and sweetened the morning breeze; the pure sky spread like a curtain of clear blue satin to the sight; and all nature was afloat with those lofty and tender influences which soften the feelings, and induce meditation. A fit season for the scene that ensued at the Major's, when numbers gathered in sadness there, to take leave of their favorite. The sensations of the company can be fancied by those only who have joined in similar scenes, and shared their affecting interests. Kindest words had been exchanged, and a full flow of love was indulged through an hour prolonged, when it came for the father to speak, and give the farewell charge and blessing.

"A good son, a very good son, you have been to us, Matthew," said he; "and we have little fear that you will forsake the principles you take with you, or give us trouble for any unhandsome act of your life. But this world has many temptations; singular and strange events fill up our experience; and a little counsel never comes amiss. I have lived longer than you. I ought to know more of life and its dangers; and be able to tell you many things that will do you good. I have fought my way through difficulties, under which many have fell; and I have seemed to see a light of heaven rising on the darkness, and have followed it, when others like lambs have strayed into troublesome ways.

"Be faithful to the right, and good, and true, my son, and you have nothing to fear. Let no puff of praise, or flush of good fortune lift you up with vanity. Stand erect and keep your balance, if you step on ice or walk on wire. Be a man always. Keep from castle-building. Insist on the honor of your calling; and don't burrow up in the soil like a woodchuck, but range abroad like a deer, and soar on high like an eagle. Good-bye."

The last word was spoken; the farewell moment fled; young Fabens was on his first long journey; and six weary days were numbered with past hours, before the last opening in the forest revealed to his anxious eyes the home of his eager guide—the Waldron Settlement.