All through the spring the talk was of the new building, the "Phalanstery," as we called it. Everybody was thinking what great progress could be made when we should live in it. One day, passing by, I found the carpenters had resumed work, and from thenceforth it progressed until it assumed the resemblance of a mammoth house.

The round of daily life this season was little varied from that of the past, but there was more activity and more crowding. A great many makeshifts were had to enable persons who wished to visit the place to get even lodging for a night, for no one knew who or how many were coming before the evening coach arrived. Oftentimes it came full, when it seemed there was not a sleeping place to be found on the domain. The Association buildings overflowed, and a neighboring house was leased and occupied just across the road, by the Hive. It was sometimes called the "Nest," and had been hired in the first days of the "Community." Even then every corner was filled.

There was some income from this crowd of visitors, and at the same time the work and system of the place were much retarded, for as carriage after carriage and vehicle after vehicle came, each one would require an attendant, who was taken from labor, and when the regular attendants were all occupied the horn would be sounded to see if anyone of the shoemakers or printers or farmers or teachers would leave his work and volunteer for this duty.

Frequently all these visitors would leave as suddenly as they came, and would only give their thanks, not even being of a single cent's immediate value to the place for the outlay of time taken from productive labor. Sometimes a growl would be heard because a trifle was taken for the expense of meals, or about the absence of feathers in the beds, by some visitor who intruded himself uninvited. I pitied the Dormitory Group, running from house to house at edge of evening to find a stray corner to lodge a guest; seeking out the rooms of absent members, and hunting up towels, furnishings and fittings, through all the pleasant summer weather. But this was cheerfully done for "the cause," and much more had to be done.

Our lecturers were wanted—men who were in practical associative life, and they were taken from remunerative work to speak to the public. Thus we entered into the summer, and the beautiful grass waved again on the meadow; the pleasant lights gleamed again from the Eyry windows; the pure moon looked down on the summer fields; the merry voices of the young and happy folks were heard as the farmers came up from the fields, and the horn sounded its "toot-toot" as a signal for all to join at meals.

I was in the gardener's department, assisting him in the care of the greenhouse plants and making flower beds, but our especial work was laying out and planting a large garden which should be a permanent addition to the beauty of the place, and a future source of income. On the farm was a fine imported bull who did not seem to be doing his share of work in our very industrious place, so a ring was put in his nose and he was my especial charge in the way of a team. It appears cruel to one who for the first time sees a bull led by the nose, but there seems to be no reason why a bull should complain, when there are so many humans continually led through life in the same fashion.

In fact the bull throve and had in some ways considerable sense. He was harnessed into a tipcart and we made him work for us. He was a strong, powerful fellow, and has carried his eighty loads of gravel a day, from one part of the garden to the other. At noon I would relieve him of his harness and mount his back for a ride to the barn. I would then be the "observed of all observers." Sometimes, for the frolic, I would load my cart with young misses and dump them at the Hive door, backing up to it in the most approved style of an old "gee-haw" farmer.

"Prince Albert," the bull, was a gem. He worked admirably. He never gave me any trouble, or anyone else human, but when stalled near the oxen he had a peculiar fancy to poke his horns into them. Early one morning, by some mischance, he got loose in the barn, and "going" for one of them frightened him so much that he also broke loose, and in trying to make his escape from the bull, backed into the barn-room. There was a large trap door in it, and the ox ventured on it, breaking it, and fell through. The bull was so close behind that he could not escape, and they dropped together into the little room below, the door of which was open. The ox escaped into the yard, and ran for dear life around the front of the Hive, pursued by the bull. Whether the jar of the fall, his escape, or his quiet disposition sobered him I know not, but he soon fell into a jog-trot pursuit, and was caught and returned by a neighboring farmer.

There was great roaring and noise in the fracas, which was of short duration, but long enough to bring out the men from the Hive to witness the affair. The General, who had been sleeping a little late—probably he had been baking bread the night before—made his appearance from his little room on the ground floor, with boot on one foot and shoe on the other, just as it was all over, with the impatient inquiry, "W-w-what is it all about?" On an explanation of the affair being made, the next question he asked, in all earnestness, soberness and simplicity, was "W-h-o-i-c-h came out ahead?" The personal appearance and manner of the General, and the absurd question, uttered in a vehement and stammering way, touched a ludicrous spot in the minds of the spectators so permanently that should you ask one of them to-day, "Which came out ahead?" he will smile or give you a shout of laughter in return.

It took but little to amuse, sometimes, for on one of the beautiful summer days at nooning time, a group of men were resting in the shade of the arbor that was on an island artificially made in the brook below the terraces in front of the Hive, breathing the pure, balmy air of outdoors instead of the indoor air of the workshop, reclining on the thick greensward, when some two or three essayed the not very difficult feat of jumping the merrily running brook, from embankment to embankment, and dared Tirrell, one of the number, to follow. He was the oldest and a little less supple than the others; and in trying the jump deliberately landed about three inches short of the opposite bank, knee deep in the water. It was, as the young people say, "too funny for anything," but equally funny to the lookers-on to see the amused Chiswell, one of his mates, roll over and over on the greensward in repeated convulsions of side-splitting laughter, whilst the others, standing up, had hard work to keep their perpendicular and writhed in awful shapes as they joined in chorus with him, as Tirrell was slowly wading out of the water up the embankment.

Trouble in financial affairs still existed. Cash in large amount was not received, and it was perilous times with the Direction. When the fall of the year came, it was announced that we must retrench our meagre diet, to enable us to go on until our labor could pay us better—until we could improve our employments and enlarge the institution so that there could be more producers—and it was submitted to without much complaint.

The work on the new building ceased, so that all hope of entering into it before the coming spring was abandoned. There was one motto, "Retrenchment," and it was echoed from all sides with all manner of fun and mock solemnity; but those who were in the inner circle doubtless felt, more than the youngsters did, the seriousness of matters. A more strict account of everything was kept; indeed it seemed that the time spent in keeping all the various items, was out of proportion to the work done. I shall not soon forget, in this connection, the joke of "the Parson," E. Capen, who, holding up a pair of pantaloons that he had just received from the Mending Group, said sharply, "I have just gotten a reseat in full for these pantaloons!"

It will not be necessary to go into details of changes made to secure more prosperity. I was undisturbed by them. I could go with crust of good bread all day and be satisfied, growing strong and healthy. I could endure the cold and heat without trouble, and have often braved the winter wind, taking no pains to keep it from being blown on my bare chest, and without discomfort.

The new greenhouse was built in the autumn, just in time to save the plants from frost. It was situated back of the cottage and garden, almost parallel with our boundary wall, and about fifteen feet from it. There was a little sleeping room connected with it, where I lodged summer and winter. Above me in the gable, a variety of beautiful doves, consisting of Pouters, Tumblers, Ruffs, Carriers and Fantails, was installed. They were very tame, and were much admired by our family and visitors. They came at my call, alighted on my hands, head and shoulders, and picked corn from out my hands and from between my lips.

We planted grape vines that bore promises, but were too young for fruit, and we made bouquets and sold them to Boston and West Roxbury parties.

Peter N. Klienstrup, the gardener, was under the spell of the powerful weed, tobacco, and he tried time and again to break from the habit of using it, but as often returned to its enchantment and its witchery.

"Dis is my last piece," I have heard him say many times, showing me the fragment of a "hand," and when that was gone and for some two or three weeks afterwards everything soured him. He was as cross as a bear, but after that time his nerves would gradually become calmer and his complexion clearer.

The gardener would persevere in the disuse of tobacco until the enchanter's spell seemed broken, when some disturbing thing would upset him, and he would turn his pockets inside out, and fumble with his thumb and finger in their extreme corners for the least particle of the "luxury." "John, I must have some tobacco," he would say, and in a day or two would be again under the full influence of the weed. I pitied the old man, as I do the thousands of younger men who are to-day under the same enchantment.

Swept into this little nook in the industries of the place, I left the
Farming Group forever.

It is often stated that the home circle is the sphere of women, but at times it is a very narrow circle—a very narrowing circle to its occupants. There are thousands who enter it as brilliant young ladies, and come from it at the end of a few years morbid, harassed, depressed; sunk in all the graces and powers that make a woman's life beautiful and distinct from a man's. The circle in many cases is so narrow that there is no room for growth. The humdrum toils, the petty cares and rude contact with hired help, sink many a charming woman into a domestic drudge and scold.

It has been asserted that Associations and Communities may do well for men, but that women can never get along in them. The experience of Brook Farm testifies against the assertion. If ever there was a clear record of faithfulness and devotion, of sacrifice, of love of principle, and earnest, unselfish work for unselfish ends, the women toilers of Brook Farm can claim it and secure it without cavil. Morning and evening, in season and out of season, in heat and cold, they were ever at their posts. And the self-imposed toil made them grow great. It opened their hearts as they daily saw the devotion of others.

It was for the meanest a life above humdrum, and for the greatest something far, infinitely far beyond. They looked into the gates of life and saw beyond charming visions, and hopes springing up for all. They saw protection for all, even to the meanest of God's creatures; a life beyond cold charity, up among the attributes of the Creator's justice; an even garment for all, protecting the weak children of life against the strong, the strong against the machinations of the weak. How could they grow otherwise than great?

Wherever woman's hands were wanted to work, wherever woman's head was wanted to plan, and wherever woman's care and sympathy were needed, they were always forthcoming. Some were witty, too. One of our ladies, with her hands full of apple blossoms and her eyes bright as stars, was met by Mr. Ripley, who said to her, "You have been foraging, I see!" "Oh, no," she said, with an arch smile, "I do not go foraging."

The pupils of the school took the infection of labor. At first often haughty and distant, they soon mellowed, and were ready to assist the young associative friends, with whom they became acquainted, in various little works, and enjoyed the labor. The prevailing tone was health. Sickness was a rarity to either sex. The pupils mingled with the games and sporty, walks, rides and parties, and many seemed as devoted as though belonging to the body, and when they returned from vacations, it was with happy greetings to all and from all, and like returning home, rather than to tasks.

Separate and distinct from the school was a room for the young at the Hive, where mothers could leave their children in the care of the Nursery Group whilst they were engaged in industrial work, or as a kindly relief to themselves when fatigued by the care of them; for a primary doctrine was "alternation of employments." It was believed that more and better work could be done by not being confined to one employment all the day of labor; that it was better for the mental as well as the physical system to have a change—in theory as often as once in two hours. In practice, under the conditions which governed our life, an attempt only could be made to alternate labor and to relieve the mothers from the excess of burden that the care of young children often is. Some very sweet and choice ladies attended to this employment, choosing it from their attraction towards it; thus inaugurating the day nursery system, now coming into vogue in our large cities.

In the matter of dress, the women who chose, had made for themselves a short gown with an under garment, bound at the ankles and of the same material. With this dress they could walk well and work well. It was somewhat similar to the dress worn by Mrs. Bloomer and called by her name years after this date.

The question of the "right to vote" for women was not one that troubled the politicians of Brook Farm. At all of the meetings for the acceptance or rejection of applicants and other purposes, women cast their votes without criticism, for were they not mutually interested? And now, nearly half a century since, we are asked to form a party to secure similar rights. Why, men and women, the party was formed when a majority of persons now living was not born; only it was a very small party, and, need I add—select!

Only once did we have a wedding ceremony at the farm, though the friendships commenced outlasted the Association. The financial conditions for marriage were not inviting. One pleasant evening, later than this date as I remember it, we were all invited to the Pilgrim House to a wedding of one of Mr. Dwight's sisters. Our friend Rev. W. H. Channing officiated.

It was a homelike affair, and after the ceremony "the Poet" (J. S. Dwight) was invited to speak to us; but no, he was not in the mood. He was urged—for all liked to hear his kindly voice, and we thought this a particularly pleasant subject—so he at last arose from his seat and commenced with these words: "I like this making one." It seemed to touch various chords in the minds of the hearers, for the applause and laughter that followed silenced the rest of the speech and it was never finished. Then some one proposed that all should join hands and make a circle, as the symbol of universal unity, and a pledge to one another that all were united in effort to continue and carry on the great work of harmonizing society on a true and just basis of unity of interests, attractive industry, mutual guarantees, etc.

"Come, let us join hands! let our two flames mingle
In one more pure;
Since there is truth in nothing that is single
Be love, love's cure,"

sang our Poet after this time in the Harbinger, and some said with double meaning. I have a list of names of fourteen married couples whose mutual friendship was begun or continued through Brook Farm life, and I have yet to know of an unhappy marriage among them all.

The question was often debated whether such a life as was led in Association would have a tendency to favor early marriages or not, but like a great many other questions of importance, it was debated without settlement. One party claimed that from the freedom of social intercourse and facility of acquaintance, an intimacy would spring up that would result in early marriages; and the other party maintained that with the certainty of true friendship from woman, and pleasant social relations, marriages would not be hurried, but delayed until the parties' thoughts and temperaments were well harmonized and all proper and natural arrangements of support and comfort thoroughly secured.

There was with us a variety of female characters. We had our Marthas who were troubled with much serving, and our Marys who loved to sit at our leader's feet and hear the glad tidings and the new doctrines; and now and then we had an uncomfortable woman, fully out of place and consequently unhappy. Such an one was usually the wife of some man whose whole energies were devoted to his work and who was happy in himself, on his half shell, and was to be pitied that his other half lived not in his shadow, but cast a shadow on him.

All Brook Farmers recollect with pleasure, among special cases of devotion, the little, straight, light-haired, smiling woman, who was so long chief of the Dormitory Group, who was at nightfall wandering about with stray towels, sheets and pillows, always making arrangements in the shifting population for every one who came; hunting places for stray visitors, when we were crowded; puzzled and wearied oft—for no one knew at what hour of the day or evening visitors might come and we had oftentimes almost to make a Box and Cox affair of it, for there was no hotel within a long distance. This little woman was at her post again in the morning doing dormitory work, never tired, going from house to house, ever with a smile on her face; and this position she voluntarily occupied more than two years. Sweet Lizzie Curson!

Then the young folks—the young misses—were full of devotion. Commend me to the young for unselfish work, or was it that the life awoke in them a devoted spirit? This I know, that the sympathy and friendship which sprung up in those days has lasted all these years, and will remain as long as life. But it was not personal beauty that held me in sway, and still holds me after so many long years—years that have transformed most of those beautiful girls into old matrons and weeping widows, plain and homely—but because it seems to me that there never was a more gentle, kind, amiable, trusting, self-respecting, loving set of young folks anywhere assembled.

And oh, how they learned! How they grew in grace and in education, both of the practical and the ornamental! How fine in health and figure, from the free life, from the grace learned in dancing, the repose at early hours, the simple diet and the mind filled every day with pleasant thoughts and ideas. I do not know of any one who was not in fine, robust health. They all, without exception, developed into healthy men and women; or, to be a little more exact, as long as they remained on the farm they continued to develop in health, strength, grace and beauty.