There were other visitors who came, attracted by the little group of singers. There was a young lady, Miss Graubtner from Boston, who touched the piano with the grace of a master. Her German name indicated the stock from whence she sprung, and the training she received from her musical father. There were tenors and basses who were attracted also, but they came and went; the sweetest songstress remained, and the cold days of winter were beginning to give way to the warm March sun when the visit was completed, and we reluctantly gave her back to "civilization."

Among the pleasant occasional visitors was a gentleman who joined in the circle with his flute, who had the reputation, well deserved, of having written some fine verses—some of them are in the Harbinger—and who was in very friendly sympathy with our music man, as an old and, I think, college acquaintance. His accomplishments were varied. He had graced a pulpit, and afterwards made his mark with his pen, pallet and brush. He had a very pleasant gift of imitation, and, with his modest and gentlemanly bearing, made quite an impression on me.

I fancy I see him now, with his tall, graceful, upright figure, his wealth of dark, curling hair, and his young manhood, with his sober, dignified face and large forehead, just retiring from our crowded Eyry parlor to the hall, where under cover, he can more readily introduce his menagerie—menagerie or barnyard you certainly would think it was; for from behind the door comes the imitation of the cow with its young calf; a sow and its pigs are squealing; the lambs and sheep are bleating; the rooster begins to crow, and near by the house dog is heard; soon all is still except his persistent, hoarse bark; then from a distance we hear the bark of another dog awakened by the first; soon another, nearer still, wakes up and tunes his note; presently we hear all the dogs of the village who are now awake. Then the sound of the starting up of the locomotive drowns all other noises, and when it has passed away we hear nothing but far in the dim distance some one solitary dog still barking. The frogs begin to peep, and the turtles whistle, and the doves coo, until you are carried away from the circle, its lights and its pleasant, laughing faces into the bosom of nature. It is needless to say that all these sounds came from the throat of Christopher P. Cranch, the poet-artist, and were clever imitations which were hugely appreciated by the young folks.



CHAPTER X.

FUN ALIVE.

A lady said to me not long since, knowing it from experience, "There was a great deal of fun at Brook Farm." This was true, and I deem it worthy of particular mention, as I can scarce believe that there ever was in New England a body of men and women who for so long a time, maintained such friendly and intimate relations, and yet kept up such an interminable fire of small fun and joke, puns and bon-mots, inoffensively shooting them off right and left at all times and places. Being of an evanescent nature they have mostly vanished from my mind, but the spirit of them remains.

There were "All-Fool's" day tricks played by the young people on such smart, independent geniuses as Irish John; the sending of a letter to him from a supposable lady friend, with a post-mark painted on it by one of the young ladies; putting parsnip ends into his study lamp for wicks, etc. But these are not to be classed with the fun that was present of the genuine sort. There were a few live wits who were Tom Hoods on a small scale, seeing everything with a double meaning, and "double-enders" (double entendres) were for breakfast, dinner and supper every day in the week.

Some little children were chasing one another one very warm day. "Why," queried one, "are those children like native Africans?" "Because they belong to the 'hot' and 'tot' race!"

"Is Mr. —— much of a carpenter?" "Not a bit of one, that's plain," was the reply.

"What sort of a man is that long-haired fellow opposite?" said one. "He is good in the main," replied the other.

"These Grahamites will never make their ends meet," said one. "You may stake your reputation on that," said the other.

"Mrs. —— is a regular steamboat," said A. "Yes, I know it; she goes by steam——self 'steam," said B.——which was smart, but cutting!

If, for instance, Miss Kettell was to be married, one would ask if she was a "tin" kettle, and another would "go bail" she was, and the next would say that "the larger the kettle the more tin it would have." "And the more iron in (g), too!" some one would ejaculate. Then another would say that "after she was married there would be none of the Kettle left," and the next wit would say, "And none of the 'tin' either," and so the badinage would pass about.

It made no difference what the subject was, it was always suggestive. If it was a dog, they would ask, "What kind of a bark he had on him?" If it was a pump, "Is it well with it?" If it was a shepherd, they would like to inquire "if he was not a baa- keeper?" and the first would reply that he would have to "ruminate" on it before he made his answer; and the second would hope his reply would be "spirited; if not he had better be punched up."

"Have you seen my umbrella?" asked one. "What sort of an umbrella was it?" was the inquiry. "It had a hooked end," said number one. "I have not seen it," was the reply, "but I had a nice one once, and the end was exactly like yours; it was hooked!"

Passing a rosy-cheeked, unkempt boy, Miss—remarked to her friend, "Isn't he a little honey?" "Yes," she replied, struck by his traits, "honey without a comb!"

"Do you not think Miss B. is beautiful? She bows to perfection." "Yes; but she hasn't bowed to me. Has she to you?"

"Who are those girls out in the boat with the old man?" (The name of the boat was "the Dart.") "Why, his darters, of course," was the reply.

And how could any one do differently when the great Archon himself was first and foremost in the fray, poking fun at all? "Don't do that," he said one day to me when I put something unusual in the swine's mess, "the hogs will all die after it!" with a most serious look on his pleasant face. In my seat at the table, looking down the hall to where the Archon was, I saw him full of frolic, and oftentimes wondered what he could joke so much about.

There was one occasion when he quoted Watts in a comical way to an offending member which brought him to terms. It was at the Eyry. There was a meeting of the Industrial Council. It was necessary to have a quorum to pass certain important votes, and one of the members, being a trifle weary of business, had stepped out to converse with a friend in the vestibule. After a while, hearing some one coming, he slipped behind the vestibule door. It was the "Archon," who came for the member to make a quorum. Presently, discovering his retreat, he hailed him—as he remembered it—thus:—

"'And are you there, you sinner d—d, And do you fare so well! Were it not for redeeming grace You'd long since been in hell.'"

The unworthy member succumbed and returned to the meeting, wondering whether the verse was an impromptu or whether it was part of one of the inspiring Sunday hymns our grandfathers sang in their cheerless, unwarmed meeting-houses. In a version of Watts' Hymns this verse is found:—

"And are we wretches still alive, And do we yet rebel? 'Tis boundless, 'tis amazing love That bears us up from hell."

It might have been the one Mr. Ripley quoted.

I have heard it said that a prominent literary man "could not understand the condition of mind it required to make a pun." It would be out of place here to try to explain that condition to him or to any one else. It is certainly not an unhappy frame of mind, and I am not aware that it indicates any depraved condition. I don't know of any very bad men who make puns, but I have known of many good men who make bad puns. It is not an avaricious state of the mind, for who ever heard of "puns for sale or manufactured to order," or of a man getting rich in the wholesale or retail pun trade!

In fact, a pun is like an egg—the moment you crack it the meat is out. Some men carry things to extremes; I wouldn't myself like to be a punster in toto, but only now and then to have a finger in one. But really, the condition of mind seems to be the same as that of some of our criminals who profess they committed the deed because they "couldn't help it," or the boy who was asked angrily "why he whistled?" "He didn't," he replied, "it whistled itself." I imagine our literary friend thinks that a punster draws the steel blade of his intellect, discovers some close-mouthed, hard-fisted sort of a word or sentence doubled up like an oyster and deliberately splits it apart, one shell on one side, one on the other and the soft thing drops out between. I could only despise the sort of brain that would do such a deed.

A pun is a part of the sunshine of words. It gives a sparkle and a glow to language. It is a big pendulum that swings from torrid to frigid zone quicker than a telegram goes. If you hold on to it, you will find yourself in both places in a jiffy, and back again to the spot where you start from without being hurt, and the jog to your intellect, if you happen to have any, is only of an agreeable nature.

But it was not alone in puns and conundrums that the social life of Brook Farm was rich. It was rich in cheerful buzz. The bumble-bees had no more melodious hum than the Brook Farmers. They had thrown aside the forms that bind outside humanity. They were sailing on a voyage of discovery, seeking a modern El Dorado, but they did not carry with them the lust for gold. They were seeking something which, had they found the realization of, would have carried peace to troubled hearts, contentment and joy to all conditions and classes. They were builders, not destroyers. They proposed to begin again the social structure with new foundations. They were at war with none personally; as high-toned, large-souled men and women they were ready with their expressions of hatred and contempt for the unchristian social life of our generation, but they were never ranters.

In general little was said on the farm of these matters, except in private discussions; all were too busy with the active work. We felt that we had put our ears down to the earth and heard nature's whisperings of harmony; that we had gone back from the uncertain and flimsy foundations of present society, and placed our corner stone on the eternal rock of science and justice; that the social laws God ordained from the beginning had been discovered; there could be no possibility of a mistake, and therefore, we felt that our feet were on eternal foundations, and our souls growing more and more in harmony with man and God.

Imagine, indifferent reader of my story, the state of mind you would be in if you could feel that you were placed in a position of positive harmony with all your race; that you carried with you a balm that could heal every earthly wound; an earthly gospel, even as the church thinks it has a heavenly gospel—a remedy for poverty, crime, outrage and over-taxed hand, heart and brain. And every night as you laid your head on your pillow, you could say: "I have this day wronged no man. I have this day worked for my race, I have let all my little plans go and have worked on the grand plan that the Eternal Father has intended shall sometime be completed. I feel that I am in harmony with Him. Now I know He is truly our Father. With an unending list of crimes and social wrongs staring me in the face I doubted, and my heart was cast down. Now the light is given me by which I see the way through the labyrinth! It is our Father's beautiful garden in which we are. I have learned that all is intended for order and beauty, but as children we cannot yet walk so as not to stumble. Natural science has explained a thousand mysteries. Social science—understand the word; not schemes, plans or guessing, but genuine science, as far from guess or scheme as astronomy or chemistry is—will reveal to us as many truths and beauties as ever any other science has done. I now see clearly! Blessed be God for the light!"

And after sound sleep, waking in the rosy morning, with the fresh air from balmy fields blowing into your window, penetrated still with the afflatus of last night's thoughts and reveries, wouldn't you be cheerful? Wouldn't the unity of all things come to you, and wouldn't you chirrup like a bird, and buzz like a bee, and turn imaginary somersaults and dance and sing, and feel like cutting up "didoes," and talk a little high strung, and be chipper with the lowliest and level with the highest? Wouldn't your heart flow over with ever so much love and gratitude? Wouldn't it infuse so much spirit into your poor, weak life that your words would sparkle with cheeriness, frolic and wit? I believe so! I know so!

Such was to me the secret of the fun, wit and frolic of the Brook Farmers. The jokes were, it is true, largely superficial, but they were inseparable from the position. The bottom fact was, the associates there were leading a just life, and could go to their labor, hard beds and simple fare—down to plain bread and sometimes mythical butter—with cheerfulness just in proportion as they were penetrated by these great ideas. They could make merry with their friends over a cup of coffee, and sought not the stimulants that college days and college habits might have allowed.

It was with one of our little social groups of friends, that Mr. Dwight gave the toast, "Here's to the coffeepot! If it is not spiritual, it's not material!"

There was a gentleman who resided with us who had promised, on a certain day, to assist a department of our industry with a loan of cash, and had taken the light wagon to Boston for the purpose of securing the funds and bringing them home for use. Somewhere about nine o'clock in the evening the dwellers at the "Hive" were disturbed by the approach of a team and the groans of a person. Going out, they discovered that it was our team, and our member, who had apparently fallen into the back part of the wagon in a helpless state. They assisted him out and conveyed him to his chamber.

He did not seem to be much hurt; but he stated that in passing through the little patch of woods on the "back road," some one came out and knocked him off his seat and then robbed him. He had lain in the wagon, unable to rise, and the horse had come home of his own accord. This is the outline of the story. Parties went out on the road with lanterns, but found no lost pocket-book. The news of the robbery spread. It was the common talk the next day. There were suspicious circumstances. It might have been a ruse to cover a personal loss of the money, or to deceive us in the pretended loan. Who could tell?

A few days later a stranger called at the Hive door. He had an announcement to make; he had seen a mystery—doubtless it had something to do with the robbery. He had been travelling that morning through Muddy Pond woods, in a thick part of which he had seen—what? Why, a shirt hanging on the bushes to dry; and had heard voices in the woods near. He had no doubt marauders were encamped there. We might find there the man who committed the assault and robbery. His manner was excited, but he seemed to believe his own story.

It was Sunday. Work would not prevent us. We would hunt for the robbers. We would go to Muddy Pond woods and investigate. We were not over sanguine, but there was mystery in it, and we were bound to solve it. I don't think anyone of us thought there was any danger in the affair. A party of volunteers, consisting of some six or eight, was formed, and the valuable Glover placed himself at our head. "By the by," said he, as we were about to start, "I'll go and borrow Mr. Shaw's pistols." What insane idea entered his head at that moment who can tell. Did he have the thousandth part of an idea that he was going to put a bullet into a man's body? I don't think he had! Returning soon with the pistols, we started on our way.

It would be worth a thousand dollars now if we had a picture of that party on their tramp. As I remember it, there were some four of us who were of the "young group" and had not quite attained our legal majority.

"The Admiral" and "the Hero," with "Glover," made the older portion of the party, and as we strayed along with our clear, sun-browned, young faces, our classic locks and natural beards—those who had any—with our unique tunics or blouses, with a certain regular quaintness running through them, were picturesque enough. The idea of arming ourselves, suggested by Glover's pistols, soon developed into the improvising of canes and walking sticks from the wayside.

"Glover" paired off with the curly headed Hero, I with the curly headed Admiral, for Glover loved the Hero, and I admired the Admiral's honest, sincere, pleasant ways and heart. The city life we all had tasted, had given new zest to country life. We straggled by the roadside; we sought wild berries; we observed the varieties of foliage and flower, and conversation never flagged. Glover and Hero were ever in earnest talk. There was with them a never-ending story, and I am reminded of the everlasting confidences of school girls when I recall their being together, excepting only that they did not put their arms around each other's waists.

The Admiral's heart was full of music. He could talk of music, poetry and love, and there was a tender spot in him that I did not venture on, although I knew it was there. He was also a deep admirer of nature. Truly we could sing together, "A life in the woods for me!"

It was three miles to the robbers' rendezvous, but what cared we? We dwelt in the bosom of nature, and three miles was but a pastime. We only wanted an excuse of the most feeble kind to start on a tramp, day or night. All along the way we breathed health and vitality; the air was full of singing birds, and our hearts were crying out, "What is so rare as a day in June?" In fact, our June days lasted longer than they did elsewhere—they ran into September, October and November. It is the harmony of our hearts that makes the force of poetry, and not the mere words; and the June feeling may be present in December.

The entrance to Muddy Pond woods was on high ground, and as we approached it we were a little cautious, for near by was the appointed place to find the haunt of the robbers. Filing along singly, we peered into the underbush. Lo, and behold, I see it! It is a white thing hanging on a bush! Yes! And listen, I hear voices! It is the robbers! Why, no, these are only children's voices! They are picking berries, the dear things. Poor children! Don't you know that you may be robbed and murdered by some of these infernal rascals who beat innocent men, take their money and come out here into this wilderness and wash the blood off their garments and hang them on these berry bushes to dry?

Slowly we approached the white garment. Why, this is only an old white rag that has hung here for months, all mildewed and half rotten. Come, boys, we are sold! What an old goose that fellow was to get us out here for such a thing as this! I am going home! I am hungry! Feelings of disgust and mirth took possession of us. Were these the robbers, and was this the bloody raiment? Ha! ha!

There was no use of going further. The exciting problem was solved, and we turned our feet homeward over the hills, across the fields and by stone walls; shying a stone now and then into some gnarled apple tree, just to knock down a wild apple or two, to try if they contained, as Emerson has said of one of them, "a pint of cider and a barrel of wind"; whipping off the heads of the wild daisies with our canes and switches; pulling sprigs of sweet fern and bayberry; mocking the crows and the cat-birds; finding choice flowers, and trying to fill the aching void within us with blackberries and whortleberries, and reaching the farm after the dinner was over.

All but one corner of the dining-room was deserted, and there a solitary waiter was placing plates for the "Waiting Group," who had not been served with dinner. The "Waiting Group" was one of the most cheerful, lively, witty and jolly groups on the place. In fact it contained some of the most eminent persons in our midst, and at dinner the waiters were of the masculine gender solely.

We found there would be room for us to join their table, and that our company was welcome. Alas! alas! How can I describe the dinner? I do not mean the things we had to eat—fine eating was of little consequence if we could satisfy hunger; but the merry cheer was indescribable. It was the Professor (Dana) who sat at the head of the board. It was the brilliant and witty "Timekeeper" (Cabot) who was at one side, and when our party was added to them—"the Hero" (Butterfield), with his full, hearty and musical laugh; Glover (Drew) with his funny and apt quotations, and with the other four to six clear-headed fellows, not a dull one among them—the gamut of merriment ran to its highest notes.

Of course the Professor couldn't help making a few remarks about the "object of our journey" and inquiries about the "success of the enterprise," and of course our party didn't answer in parliamentary language, but parried wit with wit, fun with fun, joke with joke. The story had to be told and embellished. The shirt, it was nothing but a rag, and the children were probably ragamuffins, and hot muffins at that! The robber, where could he be! Probably dead, for there was berrying going on, and the children were continually turning pail.

But the borrowing of the pistols was the occasion of the most absurdities. Was Glover half cocked when he borrowed them? Did he bear-ill against any man? Was he going to brace up his courage? He wanted a little more stock in hand, eh? It was the only way he had of getting a little "pop"! And if he had "popped" the robber would there have been any pop-bier (beer) there? "If I had killed him," he said, "there wouldn't have been any sham pain." Pooh, pooh, you could only have hocked him! "I would have made him whine anyhow." You might have made him whine but—"Wine butt," did you say? (Interrupting). "Glover didn't intend to make any excitement, for where he took the pistols he left the wholestir behind." "But when he took them," another said, "he thought he was going to Needham (need 'um)." "Ah, no," said another, "when he took them he felt sure he was going to Dedham" (dead 'um).

You will appreciate the difficulty I have in making any one realize the snap, the vivacity and the quickness of the repartees. Things that seem frivolous when written down——separate from all their connections, with the personality dropped out of them——with the connection unbroken; with youth, friendship and love to join them together, and all the surroundings in keeping, were lively and bright, and added a glow to the toil that made all the difficult surroundings easier to bear. The affair acted over to-day in sober earnest would hardly provoke a smile, but there most trivial incidents were worked up and the result was an increase of happiness for all.



CHAPTER XI.

THE GREAT CATASTROPHE.

Things were looking up in the Phalanx at this time, for money was coming from some sources to finish a portion of the "Phalanstery." Not that it resembled one, but more out of deference to the idea of one did it receive its name. This would admit of additional membership, as well-to-do and able families were to embark in the enterprise, who could not and would not join it in the crowded state of the houses. The feeling among all was particularly hopeful and cheerful at the prospect, as we knew it was the cramped condition of the finances that had prevented the finishing of the building before this time.

Monday, March 2, 1846, was the day of recommencement of labor on it. On the Saturday previous carpenters had put a stove into the building for the purpose of drying it, as it had gathered dampness all through the severe winter. It was now Tuesday, the day after our sweet singer left us, and as we were all cheerful in our new hopes, it was proposed that we should celebrate our good luck with a social dance at the Hive. I shall call on my imagination to people the hall with those who were Brook Farmers, though not all of them were there in person on that occasion, in order to give the effective picture of such an assembly; the realization of it to the mind, rather than the absolute facts.

The first usually to occupy the hall were the young folks living at the Hive, whose labors ended early. The dance commenced without ceremony when one or two sets were ready. The pupils of the school from the Eyry soon arrived, with the young Spanish boys and the well-dressed maidens. Then the "Pilgrims" came, and the few who resided at the Cottage completed the assembly. It was later when the members of the Direction were seen looking in the room. They had been to some of the interminable meetings.

The cotillion was the ruling dance; the plain waltz and hop waltz came in for their share of favor. The polka was new, and hardly yet danced. What fun, what pleasure was there then in that old dining hall among the blue tunics! There the General loomed above the rest, not in tunic, however, but staggering about with his new acquirement, interested and ungraceful; and the old gardener entertained us with a Danish waltz with his fair-haired, plump, round-shouldered daughter. Now they cling together, then swing apart, holding each other by the fingers' ends; now they whirl and twirl in and out, and then come together and waltz around the hall, as all gaze and wonder at the old man's suppleness. Now the spirit of fun takes possession of all as we see Irish John sitting quietly conversing with "Dora," and he must dance a jig! By some chance there may be a girl of his nationality on the place to dance with him; if not, he goes it alone—forward and back, shuffling backward and around; then dancing up as to his partner, and having gone through all the varied motions in grand heel-and-toe style, sits down again or rushes out of the hall door with his giggling laugh, and a loud round of applause for his reward.

I might go on painting various characters and personages, but could not paint the enthusiasm that was catching—how one after another of the older ones put on again the youthful habit long since laid off. There was no selfishness either, in the dancing, because there was plenty of it, and when one of the older persons essayed the graces of youth, instead of its being looked on as an intrusion, it was applauded. I have seen five men whose education was for the ministry enjoying themselves on that small floor at one time.

It was the old courtliness over again. It was the spirit of chivalry revived under a new form, and it was chivalry with interior pride instead of exterior pride—pride of character instead of pride of birth. Did any of these accomplished men and women deem that they lowered themselves by dancing with those who did manual labor? If they had, they would not have been there to do it. And did the "producers of wealth" think that there were those who danced in their company as a favor to them? If they had, it would have been a favor they would not have accepted. The atmosphere was that of mutual respect and mutual good-will.

There was no dancing of clothes-pins from the pockets of the dancers, as Emerson has said, or if it once happened it was probably the intentional freak of a happy schoolboy—a bit of farcical fun, too unworthy even to be mentioned by the "Sage of Concord" in his "Historic Notes." It was poor history and undignified in its connection.

But the reader wishes to know if certain men whose names he has seen and whose reputations he knows took part in these amusements! He may be sure that the "Professor" (Dana) was there, for those charming black eyes and raven hair, and the quick, nervous, volatile, lovely owner of them, with her southern accent, was there to charm him. And he may be sure that the "Poet" (Dwight) was there, for the man of music and song could not despise the poetry of motion, neither could his social soul neglect the opportunity of seeing so much enjoyment, and feasting his eyes on those developing buds of womanhood, those fair-haired, clear- eyed, joyous young girls who were present. And the curly-headed, witty "Time-Keeper" (Cabot) was there because he enjoyed dancing and fun. And the tall, manly, handsome-faced, clear-complexioned "Hero" (Butterfield), whose curls more than rivalled the other, looking for a dark-eyed girl who afterwards became his faithful and loving wife. And the little, thin-faced shoemaker (Colson), with his amiable spouse was there, as also that other one, with head and forehead large enough for Daniel Webster (Hosmer), with his wife.

And that quiet man, whose near-sightedness obliged him to wear glasses, and whose very soul was penetrated with a joke, if you could judge from the internal convulsions and the mounting of the red blood to his face at every good one—"Grandpa" (Treadwell) so different from his light- complexioned wife, who smiled all over her face and indulged in a merry laugh so easily. And John (Orvis) was there—surnamed "the Almighty"— for certain eyes projected their glances on him, which was not unpleasing to his senses. And Chiswell, the man who desired to be chief of the Amusement Group, was there, of course; and Miss Ripley, "her perpendicular Majesty," came to look on because she enjoyed doing so; and the "Mistress of the Revels" (Miss Russell) was looking after her young nieces, the Misses Foord, who, with all the other young misses, were there. And stout "Old Solidarity" (Eaton) was there, and "Monday (Munday) the tailor's wife"; Jean (Pallisse) with his "Madame," "Homer the Sweet" (Doucet), "Chrysalis" (Christopher List), "Chorles" and Stella (Salisbury), John and Mary (Sawyer), and all the titled nobility of the place; with Edgar and Martin, Harry and George, Dan and Willard, John and Charles—all lads of an age to drink deep of the fountain of life and pleasure.

But stop! On this occasion the dance was not fairly under way; it was yet quite early in the evening, and though in the "full tide of successful experiment," to quote an old expression, it had not worked itself up to high pitch, when an unexpected interruption took place. Ah, fatal hour! Why was it not delayed? Why did it ever come? It was this: one of the older members came in and announced, "The Phalanstery is on fire!" I remember the loud, derisive laugh that came from the announcement, and was echoed through the room. I knew better than all from the sober face and earnest look of the person who said it—for he was one of my kin—that the statement must be correct, and I immediately said, "This is no joke, it is true!"

A thing so easily verified needed not argument, and all rushed for the doors. I hastily changed slippers for boots and ran out. The barn hid the "Phalanstery" from sight. Passing to the other side of it I saw the flames pouring out of the front, surmounted by a heavy cloud of black smoke. Without definiteness of purpose we all started for the building, and all saw that there was no chance of saving it. Ere long the flames were chasing one another in mad riot over the structure; running across the long corridors and up and down the supporting columns of wood, until the huge edifice was a mass of firework, every part painted in glowing, living color, yet retaining its distinctive form.

It was a grand and magnificent sight! The whole heaven was illuminated with its rosy light, and the earth was as red as the sky, for the fields, deep covered with white snow from the long storm, were brilliant from the reflection of the fire. Miles and miles away was the illumination seen. Men in Boston thought it was near by, it was so bright, and one man came from the city across the fields, thinking at every moment he would reach the object of his search, finding it and himself at last nine miles in the country.

There was a pile of lumber near the building that we worked hard to save, but the flames were so hot we had to desist, and some cried out "Save the Eyry!" Turning on my heel I went to the greenhouse for water buckets, and entering saw the flowers lighted up with a heavenly glow of color, and so startlingly beautiful that in spite of my haste I lingered a moment to look at them. Roses and camellias, heaths and azaleas—whatever flowers there were in bloom looked superbly glorified in the transcendent light, and I uttered an exclamation of surprise at the lovely display.

A moment after, armed with buckets, I started for the Eyry, and at the post of duty worked with a will to forward water to those above who were wetting the front of the house and roof to preserve it from the heat. It was not long before it was seen that danger to that building was past, and I returned to watch the fire fiend eat up the remains of our great edifice.

Engines with firemen slowly arrived, but the building was entirely burned, for there was a difficulty in getting any water, as three feet of snow covered the ground, and little was done but to extinguish some of the embers of the burning, blackened main timbers that had fallen into the cellar.

I pause here to give the account of the fire published in the Harbinger of March 14, 1846. There is little to add to the clear statement there made:—

"FIRE AT BROOK FARM.

"Our readers have no doubt been informed before this of the severe calamity with which the Brook Farm Association has been visited, by the destruction of the large unitary edifice which it has been for some time erecting on its domain. Just as our last paper was going through the press, on Tuesday evening the 3d inst., the alarm of fire was given at about a quarter before nine, and it was found to proceed from the 'Phalanstery.' In a few minutes the flames were bursting through the doors and windows of the second story; the fire spread with almost incredible rapidity throughout the building, and in about an hour and a half the whole edifice was burned to the ground. The members of the Association were on the spot in a few moments, and made some attempts to save a quantity of lumber that was in the basement story; but so rapid was the progress of the fire, that this was found to be impossible and they succeeded only in rescuing a couple of tool chests that had been in use by the carpenters.

"The neighboring dwelling house, called the 'Eyry,' was in imminent danger while the fire was at its height, and nothing but the stillness of the night and the vigilance and activity of those who were stationed on its roof, preserved it from destruction. The vigorous efforts of our nearest neighbors, Mr. T. J. Orange and Messrs. Thomas and George Palmer, were of great service in protecting this building, as a part of our force were engaged in another direction, watching the workshops, barn and principal dwelling house.

"In a short time our neighbors from the village of West Roxbury, a mile and a half distant, arrived in great numbers with their engine, which together with the engines from Jamaica Plain, Newton and Brookline, rendered valuable assistance in subduing the flaming ruins, although it was impossible to check the progress of the fire until the building was completely destroyed. We are under the deepest obligations to the fire companies which came, some of them five or six miles, through deep snow, on cross roads, and did everything in the power of skill or energy to preserve our other buildings from ruin. Many of the engines from Boston came four or five miles from the city, but finding the fire going down, returned without reaching the spot. The engines from Dedham, we understood, made an unsuccessful attempt to come to our aid, but were obliged to turn back on account of the condition of the roads. No efforts, however, would have probably been successful in arresting the progress of the flames. The building was divided into nearly a hundred rooms in the upper stories, most of which had been lathed for several months without plaster, and being almost as dry as tinder, the fire flashed through them with terrific rapidity.

"There had been no work performed on the building during the winter months, and arrangements had just been made to complete four out of the fourteen distinct suites of apartments into which it was divided, by the first of May. It was hoped that the remainder would be finished during the summer, and that by the first of October the edifice would be prepared for the reception of a hundred and fifty persons, with ample accommodations for families, and spacious and convenient public halls and saloons. A portion of the second story had been set apart for a church or chapel, which was to be finished in a style of simplicity and elegance, by private subscription, and in which it was expected that religious services would be performed by our friend William H. Channing, whose presence with us, until obliged to retire on account of ill health, had been a source of unmingled satisfaction and benefit.

"On the Saturday previous to the fire, a stove was put up in the basement story, for the accommodation of the carpenters, who were to work on the outside; a fire was kindled in it on Tuesday morning, which burned till four o'clock in the afternoon; at half past eight in the evening the building was visited by the night watch, who found everything apparently safe, and at about a quarter before nine a faint light was discovered in the second story, which was supposed at first to have proceeded from a lamp, but on entering, to ascertain the fact, the smoke at once showed that the interior was on fire. The alarm was immediately given, but almost before the people had time to assemble, the whole edifice was wrapped in flames. From a defect in the construction of the chimney, a spark from the stovepipe had probably communicated with the surrounding wood work, and from the combustible nature of the materials, the flames spread with a celerity that made every effort to arrest their violence without effect.

"This edifice was commenced in the summer of 1844, and has been in progress from that time until November last, when the work was suspended for the winter, and resumed, as before stated, on the day in which it was consumed. It was built of wood; one hundred and seventy- five feet long, three stories high, with spacious attics, divided into pleasant and convenient roams for single persons. The second and third stories were divided into fourteen houses, independent of each other, with a parlor and three sleeping rooms in each, connected by piazzas which ran the whole length of the building on both stories. The basement contained a large and commodious kitchen, a dining hall capable of seating from three to four hundred persons, two public saloons, and a spacious hall and lecture room. Although by no means a model for the Phalanstery, or unitary edifice of a Phalanx, it was well adapted for our purposes at present, situated on a delightful eminence which commanded a most extensive and picturesque view, and affording accommodations and conveniences in the combined order, which in many respects would gratify even a fastidious taste. The actual expenditures upon the building, including the labor performed by the Associates, amounted to about seven thousand dollars, and three thousand dollars more, it was estimated, would be sufficient for its completion. As it was not yet in use by the Association, and, until the day of its destruction, not exposed to fire, no insurance had been effected. It was built by investments in our loan stock, and the loss falls upon the holders of partnership stock and the members of the Association.

"It is some alleviation of the great calamity which we have sustained that it came upon us at this time, rather than at a later period. The house was not endeared to us by any grateful recollections; the tender and hallowed associations of home had not yet begun to cluster around it, and although we looked upon it with joy and hope as destined to occupy an important sphere in the social movement to which it was consecrated, its destruction does not rend asunder those sacred ties which bind us to the dwellings that have thus far been the scene of our toils and of our satisfactions. We could not part with either of the houses in which we have lived at Brook Farm, without a sadness like that which we should feel at the departure of a bosom friend. The destruction of our edifice makes no essential change in our pursuits. It leaves no family destitute of a home; it disturbs no domestic arrangements; it puts us to no immediate inconvenience. The morning after the disaster, if a stranger had not seen the smoking pile of ruins, he would not have suspected that anything extraordinary had taken place. Our schools were attended as usual, our industry in full operation, and not a look or expression of despondency could have been perceived. The calamity is felt to be great; we do not attempt to conceal from ourselves its consequences, but it has been met with a calmness and high trust, which gives us a new proof of the power of associated life to quicken the best elements of character, and to prepare men for every emergency.

"We shall be pardoned for entering into these almost personal details, for we know that the numerous friends of Association, in every part of our land, will feel our misfortune as if it were a private grief of their own. We have received nothing but expressions of the most generous sympathy from every quarter, even from those who might be supposed to take the least interest in our purposes; and we are sure that our friends in the cause of social unity will share with us the affliction that has visited a branch of their own fraternity.

"We have no wish to keep out of sight the magnitude of our loss. In our present infant state it is a severe trial of our strength. We cannot now calculate its ultimate effect. It may prove more than we are able to bear; or like other previous calamities, it may serve to bind us more closely to each other, and to the holy cause to which we are devoted. We await the result with calm hope, sustained by our faith in the Universal Providence, whose social laws we have endeavored to ascertain and embody in our daily lives.

"It may not be improper to state, as we are speaking of our own affairs more fully than we have felt at liberty to do before in the columns of our paper, that, whatever be our trials of an external character, we have every reason to rejoice in the internal condition of our Association. For the few last months it has more nearly than ever approached the idea of a true social order. The greatest harmony prevails among us; not a discordant note is heard; a spirit of friendship, of brotherly kindness, of charity, dwells with us and blesses us; our social resources have been greatly multiplied, and our devotion to the cause which has brought us together receives new strength every day. Whatever may be in reserve for us, we have an infinite satisfaction in the true relations which have united us, and the assurance that our enterprise has sprung from a desire to obey the divine law. We feel assured that no outward disappointment or calamity can chill our zeal for the realization of a divine order of society, or abate our efforts in the sphere which may be pointed out by our best judgment as most favorable to the cause which we have at heart."

There was no wind. The building was entirely consumed; and the hungry firemen, on their homeward way, were invited to lunch at the Hive. Peter, the baker, had just turned out from the oven a fine batch of bread. We made coffee for them. The bread was for our morrow's breakfast; they ate it all, and Peter worked all night to supply the deficiency. In the midst of the lunch Mr. Ripley mounted a bench and spoke a few pleasant words of thanks to them, and you would not have guessed that a great misfortune had fallen on our scheme from the serene, cheerful look on his fine face. He thanked the firemen kindly for coming to our aid. Their visit, he said, "was very unexpected to us," but he was glad to give them the poor hospitality we had. "But had we known," he said, in that bright, pleasant way of his, "or even suspected you were coming, we would have been better prepared to receive you, and given you worthier, if not a warmer reception." "Good enough, good enough!" shouted the firemen.

This calamity did not affect any belief that the Brook Farmers had in social science, and it did not break up the Association. Certainly no one departed from the place at once in fear of disorganization. It called forth kindly letters from all parts of the country, and our immediate friends gathered around us as if to shield us from further harm. The sweet singer returned to pass a few days with us, and our noble friend Channing spoke earnest words to all.

It was Sunday; the Direction broke its rule and decided to call the Association together in the evening to talk over everything connected with its prospects. There was one reason for doing so, and that was, one of our prominent members was going next day to New York to deliver a course of lectures on music, and they desired he should be present at the consultation. I do not remember that the meeting talked facts and figures, but that it was a meeting of goodwill and resolution, where all expressed their sympathies or convictions regarding the life then and there led; their desire for its continuance, and their hopes and wishes for the future prosperity of the little band.

I make an extract from an article written by our president, as showing the state of feeling among the leaders at this time. After speaking of the various letters received, he says he has selected one for publication for its practical suggestions, and continues:—

"We do not altogether agree with the writer in the importance which he attaches to the special movement at Brook Farm. We have never professed to be able to represent the idea of Association with the scanty resources at our command; nor would the discontinuance of our establishment, or of any of the partial attempts now in progress, in the slightest degree weaken our faith in the associative system or our conviction that it will sooner or later be adopted as the only form of society suited to the nature of man, and in accordance with the divine will. We have never attempted anything more than to prepare the way for Association by demonstrating some of the leading ideas on which the theory is founded. In this we have had the most gratifying success; but we have regarded ourselves only as the humble pioneers in a work which would be carried on by others to its magnificent consummation, and have been content to wait and toil for the development of the cause and the completion of our hope.

"Still we have established a centre of influence here for the associative movement which we shall spare no effort to sustain; we are fully aware of the importance of this; and nothing but the most inexorable necessity will withdraw the congenial spirits that are gathered in social union here, from the work which has always called forth their most earnest devotedness and enthusiasm. Since our disaster occurred there has not been an expression or symptom of despondency among our number. All are resolute and calm; determined to stand by each other and the cause; ready to encounter still greater sacrifices than have yet been demanded of them, and desirous only to adopt the course which may be presented by the clearest dictates of duty. The loss we have sustained occasions us no immediate inconvenience; does not interfere with any of our present operations, although it is a total destruction of resources on which we had confidently relied, and must inevitably derange our plans for the enlargement of the Association and the extension of our industry. We have a firm and cheerful hope, however, of being able to do much for the illustration of the cause, with the materials that remain. They are far too valuable to be dispersed or applied to any other object, and with favorable circumstances will be able to accomplish much for the realization of social unity.

"We are not so blind as to lose sight of the fact that this enterprise, as well as all others that leave the beaten path of custom and tradition, must experience more or less misrepresentation and consequent hostility. But we rejoice to say that in Boston and its vicinity, where our institution and its members are the best known, we have met with nothing since the occurrence of our disaster but the most cordial and almost enthusiastic sympathy. Our labors for five year's have not been in vain in disarming reproach and winning esteem. A universal desire is expressed for the continuance of our establishment, and the success of our experiment; the most friendly hands have been extended to us from all quarters; and if the expression of respect for ourselves and wishes for our prosperity could be of any avail, we might regard our future welfare as certain. If there has been any exception to these remarks it has not come to our knowledge. The truth is, our wisest and best men are deeply sensible, under the pressure of existing evils, of the need of social reform, and they cannot but welcome those whose perseverance and devotion in this work prove them to be in earnest."

These words of our leader expressed clearly the general feeling and hope of the Association, and are worthy of close attention. I will not copy the letter referred to, but put in its place the following shorter one, the writer of whom was an entire stranger to our people:—

"NEW YORK, March 17, 1846.

"GENTLEMEN:—With the greatest sorrow I heard of the destruction of a building of the Brook Farm Association by fire. As an expression of my sympathy please accept the trifle enclosed towards its reconstruction. I am rejoiced at the spirit with which you met this calamity, and think it augurs most favorably for the successful result of your great enterprise.

"The light which some knowledge of the science of Association has poured upon my mind has changed despondency into hope, gloom into cheerfulness. My religious feelings I trust have been purified. I can more intelligently and confidently trust in God, and the reflection that we are all 'members of one another' excites benevolent feelings in my heart. I trust I may live to do something towards spreading the knowledge of this divine science, and that when I die the condition and prospects of the human race may be greatly improved. E."

This great disaster stirred the little commonwealth to its centre. In the hearts of the dwellers were sad spots, were serious thoughts. They felt a deep disappointment, and when the fun and the bon-mot were off, that ever sparkled at Brook Farm on the surface of its life of toil and devotion, they met each other in frank, plain talk. I have a great admiration for the simple, straightforward, honest way in which the people, male and female, spoke to each other. There was no beating of the bush; there was no need of it; there was a common interest that united them—a unity, as far as it went—not perfect, it is true, but much higher than I have ever seen it elsewhere.

As we met the morning after the fire at breakfast, which was later than usual, and all through the following days, the talk was about the catastrophe. Each one had his story to tell. Some had been watching the other houses, fearing chance sparks might reach them, but the night was so quiet they did not scatter much. Our Englishman with a spicy name (Peppercorn), cheerful, lively fellow as he was, is said to have observed that "many hanxious heyes were fixed hon that 'ole in the barn when hour 'ouse was hon fire." (It was a square place left open in the gable for ventilation.) Little knots of people gathered together to talk over and over again the same important subject, and foremost among them, tallest among them, was the General, with his disputatious tongue and his occasional unfortunate stammer.



CHAPTER XII.

SUMMING UP AND REVERIES.

Brook Farm was in an exceptionally good position when the associative movement broke out, like a fever, all over the country. It was no new organization. It had started two or three years before the rest. It had fixed itself in the minds of the thinking part of the community as a gathering of able, upright, conscientious men and women. There were no slurs on their moral characters. There were no vices at which to point the finger of scorn. They were not driven or urged forward by poverty to take the position they did, and the "Community" or Association, had sprung up so silently and in such a natural manner, that it seemed a vital outgrowth from the tree of society. Notices appeared in various prints pleasantly alluding to it.

It was a curious and unique life. It deserved to be kindly noticed, and not until after the "Fourierite" doctrines were preached and accepted did there appear anything in the journals of a defamatory character relating to it. Truth compels me to say that Brook Farm and its Associates were singularly free from the rude comments and public assaults that reformers of all kinds are apt to receive. But while Brook Farm was thus free, it had to bear its share in the general assaults upon the doctrines of associative life and "Fourierism" that were made elsewhere.

Mr. Greeley, in the Tribune, had gone into the work manfully, striking heavy blows for the organization of labor; announcing himself as an advocate of the doctrines of Associated Industry, with the freedom of manner and boldness of pen and purpose for which he was noted. The Tribune was the leading journal of the country as well as of the Whig party, and the associative idea came into immediate prominence. Mr. Greeley was a man who was not ruled by any party. He had too much of genuine independence to allow himself to follow strict party lines. He was ambitious. He had political enemies ready to strike him in any way that they could to reduce his political power, who did not dare to attack him or his party openly, and they went about seeking flaws in his honest coat of mail, into which they could thrust their lances, caring not how envenomed they were if they could but wound him, thinking by this means to reduce his hold on his party and the public.

I am satisfied that this was the reason of the commencement of the principal attacks on the associative doctrines; but having commenced them, many may finally have believed they were doing justice to society by continuing in their unjust course. The principal ground of attack was that the "Fourierites" were "disorganizers," that they were unsettling the foundations of society and that they wished to make their Associations entering wedges to disrupt the marriage relation and produce promiscuity and general anarchy. Their opponents even went so far as to call the leaders infidels, and made other outrageous and absurd charges against them. The New York Express was early in the field. The Courier and Enquirer and the Buffalo Advertiser soon made themselves conspicuous, and finally the New York Observer, "a religious newspaper of the Calvinistic school, of large circulation and great influence, actuated in the present case, as must be hoped, by other motives than those that envenomed its associates," says a writer in the Harbinger, "added its ability and its power to crush the social reformers."

These attacks, long continued, created great distrust and produced strong suspicions in the public mind derogatory to the morality of the movement.

The Associationists on their part denied that they were Fourierists, or that they had advocated or proposed any change in the marriage relation; they were united for the organization of industry, and had nothing to do or propose in relation to the marriage system. This denial was not enough for their opponents. They declared that the doctrines of Association led to certain results, and in proof of it cited Fourier's speculations on the subject, which had about as much to do with the social objects of the Associationists as his cosmogony, his speculations about the Arabian deserts, or his ocean of "lemonade" that had amused so many. In the study of human nature, Fourier believed he discovered inherently inconstant natures, exceptional men and women, who cannot be constant to one idea, one hope or one love; and believing that this inconstancy was a normal trait of character with some persons, who are the exceptions to the general rule, simply and honestly acknowledged the fact, and speculated on the result and the position such persons would have in the future ideal societies.

Fourier said, "The man has no claim as discoverer, or to the confidence of the world, who advocates such absurdities as community of property, absence of divine worship and rash abolition of marriage."

The Associationists of America made no proposal of any change in the marriage relation. They had no occasion to do so. They considered it one of the best and purest arrangements of present society, and that if there were in that relation oftentimes grave mistakes and errors, there were other greater and more glaring evils and universal wrongs to set right.

"Accordingly our position is that the existing institution is to be maintained in its greatest possible dignity and purity. We believe that with the establishment of truth and justice in the practical affairs of society; with the guarantee of pecuniary independence to all persons, the most fatal temptations to debase and profane this relation will be removed.... But to purer and nobler generations more upright, honorable and generous, we leave all legislation on this subject. It is for us to maintain the institution inviolable."

The above quoted words are taken from a statement made by all the officers of the "American Union of Associationists," for at this time an outside movement of that name had commenced, whose object was to propagate doctrines, and stimulate the various organizations that were forming, to actualize the new social order in various parts of the country.

At a convention in Boston, held May 27,1846, where the American Union of Associationists was formed, this resolution was passed:—"Resolved, That we hold it our duty, as seekers of the practical unity of the race, to accept every light afforded by the providential men whom God has raised up, without committing ourselves blindly to the guidance of any one, or speaking or acting in the name of any man; that we recognize the invaluable worth of the discoveries of Charles Fourier in the science of society, the harmony of that science with all the vital truths of Christianity, and the promise it holds out of a material condition of life wherein alone the spirit of Christ can dwell in all its fulness; but Fourierists we are not and cannot consent to be called, because Fourier is only one among the great teachers of mankind; because many of his assertions are concerning spheres of thought which exceed our present ability to test, and of which it would be presumption for us to affirm with confidence; and because we regard this as a holy and providential movement, independent of every merely individual influence or guidance, the sure and gradual evolving of man's great unitary destiny in the ages."

After the excitement of the fire and after the enthusiastic meeting for the holy cause, the voice of reason, pure and cold, went forth in whispers over the face of Brook Farm. Inquiries began to be made about prospects. It was considered a great piece of good fortune to have been enabled to commence the first "Phalanstery." Would any one invest in a second one, and was there prospect enough for the success of the industry on the place to secure a livelihood? If not, what must be done? These were important questions. Retrenchment had gone far. The table was too poor to attract visitors; too poor, some thought, for health, but I observed that all kept well.

I am not sure in my details of all the industry on the place just at this time, but I believe that Britannia ware was made by one or two workmen, principally oil hand lamps and teapots; but sales were limited, the market being dull or glutted, and the Brook Farmers had not the capital to manufacture and keep on hand a supply of goods for better times.

Some six to ten were engaged in making shoes and pots. There goods were sold at fair profit, though it was not a particularly remunerative business, and sometimes the group was not full of orders.

There was also the "sash and blind" business, which included the making of doors. I believe that this business could have been made profitable, but here again the inevitable want was capital. In order to make these articles of good quality, it is of the first importance that all stock in them shall be well seasoned, for if it is not, changes of temperature will produce shrinkage and warping. The wood should be either kiln-dried—a novelty then—or dried by long keeping in sheds, and it was important to buy largely when there was a good source, and store for future use. These things the Brook Farmers could not do, and consequently some of the doors and sashes shrank, much to the disgust of everybody.

The Harbinger was the principal work done in the printing line as no outside business, such as job or book work, was secured. I have not found out whether the Harbinger paid its expenses or not, but it was considered that it aided Brook Farm by advertising the work in its columns. Certainly there was not much profit in it, for it is well known that the expense of issuing a few copies of a publication is nearly as large as when the number is doubled.

And the farming! Was it paying? A little, of course. Great labor and devotion are needed on a farm at special seasons: I am of the opinion it was a mistaken idea that no day's labor should consist of more than ten hours. Our kind-hearted leader, who had not known the necessity for great personal, physical toil, long-continued, in order to produce special results, frowned on long hours, and did not lend his magnetism to induce persons to toil out of regular time, except possibly in the haying field; and therefore the days were clipped to stated hours, when it would have been better to have extended them occasionally beyond the regular time.

A large crop was hay. Near the main farm was a lot of some fifteen acres of grass land that was a part of the original purchase, but entirely independent of contact, and at some distance towards West Roxbury village. It was called the "Keith Lot" and was the best hay field. All the meadows grew heavy crops of grass; it was not all "herd's grass," but consisted of a variety of species, and went under the name of "meadow hay," which was considered second in quality.

There were the mistakes of beginners made. Some crops were lost that might have been saved and made profitable. Of apples there were not many. The farm could not supply the Association's wants, and we had at times to buy both fruits and vegetables. Besides the cows a few swine were kept. Occasionally a "beef critter" would be killed for home use, either by our stout neighbor with a fruitful name (Orange), or by our little Englishman.

Our practical neighbor's advice and assistance were of use to us. His occupation was especially farming, but he had a "slant" towards killing animals, really liking the business. He could do the butchering of a hog with the best of grace, and had killed, first and last, so many, that I imagine he could tell the number of squeals, or wrigglings of the porcine tail it took to terminate the life of the animal, after he had given it the coup de grace. Once, when remonstrated with by a lady for his cruel position towards the race of swine, the "professional" love of his occupation arose above all other considerations.

"Where do you expect to go when you die," said she to him, "if you are so cruel to animals?"

"Well, I don't know," he replied, "but I hope I shall go where there are plenty of hogs!"

In the progress of the institution much work was done to increase the amount of grass land and tillage, and where the meadows bordered on the bush and stubble, the bush scythe was freely used. Muck was dug and spread in quantities. Mr. Ripley rather prided himself on the knowledge of the composition and improvement of soils, and when the experiment ceased, the farm had improved in amount of tillable surface and capacity of production. This progress was, much of it, to the Association's cost, and added but little to the immediate income.

I have alluded to the tree-nursery. There were thousands of young trees bought and transplanted for a nursery, and seedlings raised that had to be budded or grafted, and this was faithfully and carefully done by an experienced man, assisted by the Professor and other native talent, and the grounds kept continually in order. There was no immediate return for this outlay, which needed a year or two more of growth and investment, to bring back the first cost and make a profit from the business.

Let me here call attention to the nature of the various occupations started. They contained in general, I am satisfied, as good chances for profitable return as most occupations, and with time, and a market not overstocked, would finally have paid well. Once only were we caught with the ignis fatuus of genius, a washing machine—patented, of course—that came to an untimely end with a few gasps.

The greenhouse business was an outgo from first to last. It was a business in prospective. It took two persons from other and more productive labor, and quantities of fuel were consumed through the long winter days and nights with a very meagre return. It had its bright side—it was attractive—and if persevered in would have paid in the end. The garden was still more of an outgo than the greenhouse. The soil was very poor, and the manure for high culture was not forthcoming, for it was all needed on the farm.

The large number of visitors did at times return more than the cash outlay, but in reckoning the incomes of the Association this must be left out, or set down as uncertain. Some boarders were almost always on the place; either interested parties, or members' friends, but this income also was slight, as the table was meagre and the price in proportion. What, then, was there beside these occupations to support and increase the organization? Three things: Income from new members who came with property; income from regular investors, who took stock in the Association, and income from the school.

There was a prospective income from persons who were expected to come and try the new mode of life. There were those who had been promised an opportunity to join us. They were selected from a mass of applicants, and one object in the selection was to secure persons of good standing and means. Such persons represented a desirable class. But now the "Phalanstery" was burned that hope was destroyed, for all the available rooms were occupied with those living on the domain; and if there was to be no progress in material things, who would wish to invest in stock that had not paid a cent and in which there was but a slight chance of profitable return—nay, more, which stood ten chances to one of being entirely lost? Of course no one unless he had money to give away. The persuasive eloquence of the gifted leaders could not secure investors for the reasons I have given, and for other reasons of which I shall speak.

The "Associationists" were not united. The centre of the movement was at New York, and from there great stories of the advancement of the North American Phalanx at Red Bank, New Jersey, went forth. It was Greeley's pet. It was the favorite at the centre and mostly with the doctrinaires. It was an excellent domain, with water power, splendid fruit-growing land, sufficiently near New York market for an undoubted sale of all its products. Greeley admired the talent and the social life at Brook Farm, but he thought that the leaders engaged at the North American Phalanx had a more practical turn, and their soil was wonderfully better fitted for farming, which always seems to be the hobby of reformers. It was near to him; he could visit it often, and he invested money in it.

It was intimated that the Brook Farm experiment had better stop, and that all the material that was good should be transferred to the North American. But it is easily seen that this was impossible, and that the experiment must go on. The leaders and members had pledged themselves too faithfully to carry out the Association's ideas, and none among them would be bold enough to announce such a project. It would seem like selling out to another organization. Who would dare to propose to break into the charmed circle by such discordant words? And so it went on.

Much talent was used in the school. As the Association took to itself a variety of industries; as it added shoemakers, carpenters and farmers to its original stock of intellectual workers, a change took place in the selectness of its society. Although the members were chosen by the organization, yet "practical" farmers, and "practical" shoemakers, with their wives and children, are not supposed to have the easy grace of manners, the elegant language and the fluency and charm of cultivated and scholarly men and women. The little, scarcely organized Community had increased into a goodly number, so that its dining room was like a small hotel; and it was no longer held by the "Transcendentalists," but had become a portion of a large and increasing body of men who followed the wild ideas of a Frenchman named Fourier, and called itself the Brook Farm Phalanx.

And who was this Fourier? It was just at this time; it was just as this question was asked by anxious mothers, that the slanders of the New York Press, copied into other papers, far and wide, worked mischief to the Brook Farm School. I never knew a pupil who was not pleased and delighted with the school; but the mother who sends a child away from home to an educational institution, especially if the child is a girl, will send it where there are no intimations connected with it of the character of those brought so prominently forward by the New York newspapers. It matters not so much to her that she believes the stories are slanders; her duty seems plain to take no risks.

The "Association" or "Phalanx" now overlapped the school, and it could no longer have the prominence as an industry that it did at first. The school, from being so intimately connected with the Association, began to lose caste. Although conducted with as much talent as ever, and with as much devotion on the part of its teachers, from the fact of the unfortunate odium cast on it, and its peculiar surroundings, was declining, and the high talent, the culture and the knowledge of its teachers, could not retain it in its proud position.

Thus I have gathered together, as in a bouquet, the sources of all the income of the once famous "Brook Farm." How slight they were!

It has often been stated that Brook Farm was a well chosen location for the experiment made there. It was nine miles from Boston. There were no surrounding industries. There was no water power at hand, the little brook being too small for any purpose but ornament. There was no available railroad station—the nearest was four miles away. This necessitated the teaming of lumber, fertilizers, coal, family stores and all stock for manufacturing purposes, from Boston, as it was not practical to send part way by rail and transfer it to teams. A portion of the time we were obliged to go to the city by the way of West Roxbury Village, as the nearest way—over the hills—was blocked by snow during our long New England winters, and this increased the distance. One or two teams, with men, were ever on the road. This was expensive and tedious.

After the manufacturing stock had been teamed thus far into the country, it was carted back in the shape of goods over the same road. I must praise the men who were engaged in this business, for they were not only teamsters, but errand boys—expressmen we would call them now— as well as purchasers of provender and general commercial agents of the Association; and their combined tasks were hard and difficult. Busy, driving Glover Drew and Buckley Hastings filled this office faithfully and long.

For the original purpose of an industrial school the farm was attractive, but for an experiment such as was foreshadowed by the name Phalanx, the place was not at all fitted, and the good sense of Mr. Greeley saw that the domain of the North American Phalanx was vastly superior.

In this connection I am reminded that there was but little machinery invented and employed on farms at the date of my narrative; and although our agriculturists, in spite of the stale jokes that have been fathered on them, were in the advance in this department as in others, it was only in the third or fourth year of their occupancy of the farm that they deemed it wise or prudent to purchase a horse rake, and I recall no other modern implement used, unless it was a seed drill, taken on trial. It was the same in the domestic department; there was not even a dish washer or a clothes wringer, and the most extensive and valuable aid in the laundry was a pounding barrel in which the soiled clothes were placed and put under discipline.

There was enough reason and brave common sense among the people to ponder on the condition of things as I have presented them to you. The outlook was not encouraging. I cannot remember the order in which some of the events came to pass which I am to narrate, but the order is unimportant. Certainly there were Association meetings in which prospects were talked over and counsel was demanded and taken from one and another. Unfortunately for this story I was not at them. Doubtless I was in the quiet of the Eyry, dreaming daylight dreams, musing and listening to Fanny Dwight's deft piano playing, while she was filling me with the mysteries of Schubert and Mendelssohn and Beethoven, or else wandering about the farm, with no special aim but to find rest and enjoyment in my leisure hours. These meetings were serious, grave and often protracted. There were some who thought matters could be better managed. This is not strange, for it is always so. There were those who thought that some, particularly among the earlier members, though not absolutely non-producers, should be turned off or made more productive; but this was difficult to do. Expansion was the only true policy, and the fates seemed to be against it. Outside of the meetings and in daily life all seemed to be in harmony.

I had now lived more than two years at the farm. I, the pale city lad, had grown brown under the sun's warm kisses. I fancy I was not rosy, but the bright eyes and the clear complexion, free from speck or blemish, gave the certain indications of health. I had tasted of the actual farm work. I had planted beans, potatoes and melons. I had hoed corn, and on my knees weeded, in the broiling sun, the young onions. I had driven horse to plough, and side by side with others, trying to hoe my row with them, disputed, discussed social questions and ideas, and chaffed one another on our personal gifts and peculiarities while working together in the different groups. I had not hewed wood, but I had chopped brush. I had yoked and driven the oxen, and the first time had a difficulty with them because I tried to yoke the off ox on the nigh side; and when I graduated into the greenhouse group I learned all the mysteries of the care of plants, potting, transplanting, making leaf-mould and doing spade and rake work to perfection; and in the laying out of beds and walks did a full share of shovel-work on the sandy and gravelly soil, and drove the dump-cart.

Oh, the independence of it! To be able to do everything, and with love of it, knowing no high or low of work—all of it honor, and no shame in any of it! It is the surroundings that develop the manhood. Was I working for myself? Was I working for any other man or person? No, it was for all of us that I did it. Did I and we not have the example of great minds and greater hearts? We did. One day whilst the shop was erecting, our mason, who was on the roof building the chimney, was waiting for his helper, who had not returned from his dinner or had been called away; and as he wanted bricks very much, I carried some hodsful up the ladder to him in the genuine Emeraldic fashion.

(Arise not from shades profound, to frown on me, Abraham, thou honest "Rail Splitter!" Arise not, warlike, Ulysses, thou "Tanner." Hide thyself away! Shake not thy cottony locks at me, thou pale-faced "Bobbin Boy!" Be not too jealous of your unique titles. I shall never aspire to so glorious a one as "Hod Carrier." I have not earned it. I did it but once, and shall never do it again! Rest easy!)

And now, at eventide, whilst the Solons of the little commonwealth were making laws, solving problems and building defences against the common enemy—the wolf of penury and hunger—I was sitting on the steps or on the low window-sills at the Eyry, meditating and thinking ever of the beautiful things with which I was surrounded; thinking of the glowworms I found in the path to Cow Island, their wonderful beauty, and how like illuminated pearls were their tiny lamps, and when I touched them how they rolled themselves into a coil that resembled the pin of pearls my mother wore on her bosom, only they were more beautiful; thinking that their lights translated into words were even more beautiful than their phosphorescent hues, for they said, "Come to me, my love!"

I was thinking of the bobolinks that twittered and sung, and seemed to tumble upward as well as downward in the air over the waving grass on the meadow; or I heard behind in the dim oak woods the whip-lash sound of the notes of the whippoorwill, repeated a hundred times on the air, while the round face of the moon looked down and made the shadows of the trees and the forest grow deeper and darker. Now and then I heard, when all was still, from his nesting-place, the brave yet delicate notes of the song sparrow, singing in his dreams from out a happy, overflowing heart. Dear little fluff of feathers!

I was thinking of the brood of young partridges I scared in the woods, and how like a flash, mysteriously and totally, they disappeared in the underbrush. I was thinking of the tiny newts and wonderful creatures I found in the shallow water in the meadow ditch. I was thinking that if the saracenas were in bloom I would go to find some of them on the morrow; or if the brilliant cardinals were, I would hunt for them at the brookside; or if there were any yellow violets to be had I wanted to find them, as I had found many varieties.

Then I turned my head and listened more earnestly to the music or to the conversation in the parlor, of inspired men and women, talking in low, conversational tones, with now and then a spice of wit, on art, religion, science or the lives of great painters, musicians, artists and reformers. Or I was looking to see if the "Northern Cross" had appeared among the constellations above the horizon. Or maybe I heard George W. Curtis, who had come to visit his old teachers, singing the "Erl King" or "Good-night to Julia" or plaintive "Kathleen Mavourneen" in his inimitable way. Perhaps I was deep in social science or restudyiug some of Fourier's pleasant fancies, such as the rivalries of groups of nice children with his little hordes of brats and "rushers"— to use a modern word—and how in nature's scheme their different talents so balanced one another as to make complete harmony.

I was thinking of the big boulders that join and make a hole we called "the cave," over which Hawthorne's fancy made the apostle Eliot preach to the Indians, giving it the name of "Eliot's Pulpit," and describing it afterward so prettily in his "Blithedale Romance"; a book of which Emerson speaks, and truly, as "that disagreeable story," and of some of the sketches in it as "quite unworthy of his genius." And I was thinking of the retired little dell in the far "Wisconsin Lot," where doubtless he and others have taken their volumes and note-books, writing and reading to the music of the hum of the bees, the sighing pines and the redbreasts.

I was thinking of the unfortunate humanity who lived outside of our charmed circle, and how little they knew of the magnificent future the infinite Father has prepared for them and their descendants, and how from the beginning the plan has been cordinate with man's help to his brother man and his sister woman; and my whole soul was penetrated, even as it is now, with pity for the blindness, mental and physical, that cannot see how to use the gifts the Infinite holds out, patiently waiting for us to take from his indulgent hands. I was thinking how much, how very much, of all our suffering comes from human ignorance only.

I heard all the songs of nature beside the birds. In the spring I heard the toads and frogs and turtles making merriment in their little sitting-rooms in the pools of water in low places. In the summer I heard the locusts sing and the lazy croak of bullfrog, bearing the relation of trombone in the orchestra of nature to the other musicians, whilst the fireflies were dancing in mid-air all around him—he winking at them with those wondrous projecting eyes. In the autumn the cricket was my favorite, and he was kind enough at times to come into our musical parlor to rival Mary and Jennie and Helen. But in the winter it was only the kindly birds that came to us—sweet chickadee and the talkative crows. None of us injured the birds. I do not remember ever seeing a gun on the place. Thus went the seasons—spring, summer, autumn, winter.

I loved the daily round of life. All were kind to me. I was well mentally and physically. I was in the bud of youth. I was like the pink rhodoras in spring, callow of leaf or fruit but brightly covered with promising blossoms. There remained one thing for me—to know I was happy. Did I know it? Yes, I did. I realized it then as now. I was not a victim of unconscious joy, to awaken to it at some future period. It was not to me a dream. The cup was full! I was truly happy!



CHAPTER XIII.

THE FIRST BREAK.

I do not know when or where it was first announced, but the announcement came like a clap of thunder from a clear sky. Some one was going to leave us! Who? Was it the "Archon" or the "Professor"? Certainly this was not expected; but would it be strange if some of the leaders, feeling too much the pressure and the burden of the financial and executive business of the society, should grow weary, depart, and leave their places unfilled forever? Was it any one of the grumblers or the known discontented or disconcerted ones? No, it was no less than Peter, the "General"! Why, if the elm tree in the yard of the Hive had walked off in the night it would not have caused more talk or greater consternation. Could it be possible?

From that day to this I have wondered how that man could have had such a hold on our hearts. There was not a handsome feature in him. He had a large but uneven forehead. His eyes were small, grayish-blue and deepset. His nose was homely, his teeth were discolored, and he was ungainly and awkward. His best feature was his height, but he stooped in his shoulders, and his dress when about his work was of the plainest description. His baize jacket and slipshod shoes did not become him.

Ever since then I have believed in the effect of virtue and kindness. He was a living sermon—nay, a hundred sermons to me. He was "patient, long-suffering and kind."

A spontaneous regret came from all. Some of the women, who certainly could not be accused of any amatory love for him, shed tears to think that he should go, for he was full of kindness to them. Constantly in contact with their department, he was as gentle as a child, never complaining and yet full of work. Industrious as the day was long, he seemed so like a portion of the very atmosphere of the house, and of the life, that it did not seem that he could be away and the Association be as it was.

The morale to the fact of the General's departure also disturbed our people. He was discouraged at the attempt at realization of the new order at Brook Farm. As long as all clung together there seemed to be hope; but the first break was dangerous to our well-being, dangerous to our existence.

Mr. Dwight had gone to New York to deliver lectures on music. When he went away all was enthusiasm, all was harmony. The great loss by fire had shaken no one's faith in the principles or the organization, and as yet the balance of probabilities had not been made or adjusted in men's minds. The word was then to go on at all cost. When he returned he found discussion of means, doubts and fears, uppermost everywhere. As a truth the Association had not prospered financially. Beginning with no real capital, and mortgaged to the debts of the former "Community," it had come to a point where without more means or more money in ready cash it was very difficult to see how it could go on.

The change of social atmosphere in so short a time grated on the sensitive soul of the man of music, and it was my fortune to be present at a general meeting of all the Association where I heard his remarks. He began by stating, as I have done, that when he went away all was harmony and peace. All seemed united by bonds deep and strong; by a common purpose and for a common end. We were all striving for a worthy object, a higher, nobler life than that which surrounded us.

He had been away from this quiet, cheerful, peaceful and just life, among the noise, dust and discord of a great, unwieldy city, and when there he had looked forward to his coming home to this devoted little band with the greatest possible pleasure. He had expected to find them as harmonious and as united as when he left. He trod the precious soil and found all external things glowing in beauty. He mounted the hill, and there came two beautiful white doves flying close to him as he walked on, circling around and around his head and seeming to rejoice in his coming. He regarded it as a symbol of the unity and peace that were with us, as well as a token of welcome.