THE INDUSTRIAL PERIOD.
When I arrived, Hawthorne, Bradford, Hosmer, Hecker, Burton, Leach and
Allen had gone; as had also the Curtis brothers, George and Burrill,
the Bancroft boys, sons of the historian, and Barlow (since General
Barlow)--all pupils; as well as some of the ladies--Miss Dora Gannett,
niece of Rev. Ezra S. Gannett, Miss Georgianna Bruce, (afterwards Mrs.
Kirby), Miss Allen, Miss Sarah Stearns; and the phase of the Brook Farm
life jocosely or seriously alluded to by the after-comers as the
"Transcendental Days" or "Community Times," gave place to the
"Associative or Industrial Period."
In the place of the Transcendentalists came other men and women, new
and untried, with not so much of Greek and Latin, not so much suavity
of manners, not so much "cultivation," but warm of heart and brave of
purpose. The magnificent idea was a revelation of truth to some but
also a great temptation for many shivering poor and impatient
outsiders. They could thrive on it. They felt it was their right, their
destiny, having failed in the civilized fight for bread and butter and
comfort, to have from some source food, shelter and protection; and it
struck them that Brook Farm was just the place to go for it. So the
Association was inundated with applications of all kinds by person and
by letter.
It is my fortune to possess the originals of a number of these
interesting letters, specimens of which may be found in the appendix.
The replies by Mr. Ripley were drafts of the letters sent; they are all
in his fine handwriting and _bona fide_ documents which the writer
personally secured at Brook Farm many years ago, after the organization
had broken up.
The Directors used discretionary power, and if there was any
probability that the applicant would be useful, his case was presented
for action at a general meeting of the Association.
I was not long on the farm before I became acquainted with many of the
Associates besides those before mentioned--those who belonged entirely
to the Associative period; and among the unique figures there was no
one that struck my young fancy more than that of Peter, or, in familiar
talk, "the General."
Peter M. Baldwin was about his work when I was introduced to him, and
as he put forth his hand I saw that his arms extended no little way
through the sleeves of a common green baize jacket; and that his large
feet, which were encased in an old pair of slippers, had descended some
six inches below a pair of blue overalls before they touched the
ground. If he had been inclined to corpulency, his frame was ample to
build upon for a man of Websterian proportions, but he was not so
inclined; on the contrary, he simulated other great men in his
personality--Jackson, or our modern Abraham Lincoln. He was spare,
bony, nervous. His heavy eyebrows, his dark hair well sprinkled with
gray, which arose straight upward from his high, indented forehead, and
his large, half Roman nose, prominent cheek-bones and thin cheeks
reminded one so forcibly of the pictures of General Jackson that he was
by unanimous consent nicknamed "the General."
He shook me by the hand warmly and asked me a few questions, and it was
not until after this first interview that I discovered he had an
impediment in his speech. A rapid talker, he would rattle on in
conversation and then stop as suddenly as though you had put your hand
over his mouth. You would look up in astonishment, and then find by the
contortions of his face that he was trying to speak some troublesome
word but could not. The word once recovered, his speech flowed on as
before and perhaps for a long while, until he stumbled upon another
fence-like one; when he would dismount, take down the bars, or jump it,
and proceed as before.
This impediment, strange to say, never troubled the General when he had
prepared a piece for recitation, for he would then speak with dignity
and precision, and made the very beau ideal of "the lean and hungry
Cassius."
He was a universal favorite, on account of the kindness and benevolence
of his disposition. This generosity was superabundant, for if any of
the younger portion of the family wished for the sweets of the
storeroom, over which he presided, they had only "to coax the General"
to succeed in obtaining their wishes.
"The General" was the baker and made the bread, cake and some of the
pastry. He also assisted the "kitchen group" in domestic cookery.
Beyond this he was particularly fond of three things--disputation, the
newspapers and a cigar. He was thoroughly devoted to the doctrines of
"United industry" and to Brook Farm. He was among the first up in the
morning and last at night, attending to his ovens and his bread.
Peter's room was at first in Attica with others, where I saw him often,
and his favorite pastime was a game of euchre, which had not then
worked itself into general favor. I did not care to play it then, or
any cards; I was too much charmed with the life of the place, with the
society of the young, with social games under the inspiration of the
hostess, with love of dance and music and the ever-changing face of
nature, to care for such dull solace as the pasteboard games.
But the General did; he conversed, he smoked, he read the newspapers,
he argued, stuttered and talked the "water cure," and one day I was
surprised on going into the room to find him fully embarked for the
cure of a desperate headache. What had he done? Why, taken the
wash-bowl and filled it with water, placed it on the floor, stretched
himself out at full length on the floor also, and, with a pillow at his
shoulders, laid the back of his head into the wash-bowl. But being of
an active temperament he could not be quiet and idle long, so, calling
for a newspaper and lighting a cigar, he gently puffed the weed and
read the news, lying still in position while the "cure" was
progressing. It was a funny sight!
My attention was soon drawn to a large, portly gentleman who carried
his head erect and had an easy, familiar way about him; for he was
acting as host, being charged with the reception of guests and
strangers who came to visit or to look about the place. He walked with
the grandeur of a Falstaff and the dignity of a sachem. His capacious
gray coat and broad-brimmed hat might suggest to a stranger that he had
been at some time a member of a Shaker community, but his closely cut
gray hair and his heavy, o'erhanging eyebrows and brave visage gave the
lie to any such suggestion. Aye, aye, every hair that stood bristling
up on that front of his seemed to stand in rebellion against such a
charge, seemed saying, and growing more bristly every moment, "I, a
Shaker? Not I!" A large mouth was an appropriate companion to a
ponderous throat and chin, which were daily shaven with scrupulous
adherence to the first principles of warm water, soap and a sharp
razor, and a practice of thirty years gave a polish to his face unknown
to those less adept in the art.
On one occasion, some of the members fled from the tyranny of the
brutal blade and let their beards grow in uncut stubble, not, however,
without criticism from our host, who said in answer to their argument
that it was natural for the beard to grow, "Art is the perfection of
nature! Look at this garden!" It was after dinner, and some were taking
a few moments' rest in front of the Hive, lounging on the fence and
looking down the terrace into what was called "her majesty's garden"
and toward the bubbling brook. "What would it be without its walks,
flower-beds and arrangement?" he continued. "And these fields--what
would they be without the art of cultivation? You see it is art that
perfects nature."
Then some wag suggested that he was trying to cultivate "the field of
his face," but nothing could disturb the imperturbable gravity of his
composition. Gravity, solid gravity, was one of the basic elements of
his nature. When, however, he lighted his enthusiastic lamp, and his
warm heart gushed forth in song or story--I think I hear him singing
now, "A man's a man for a' that!"--he carried his audience with him.
The "Omniarch," as Mr. Ryckman was called, was a man of family, his
short, sprightly, nervous little wife acting as hostess and attending
to the lady visitors.
Many visitors asked the question of him, "Mr. Ryckman, do the Brook
Farmers hold all their property in common?"
With a bland smile he would say to them: "Certainly not; the idea of a
Community, as it is generally understood, is a society that owns or
holds all the property or capital of its members as its own, in its own
corporate right--that no one can remove, but everyone can use portions
of at will, or in turn. If the ideas of the first projectors were not
all definite on this point, we now stand boldly as champions of
individual property. It is one of our watchwords. For what is property?
It is but the extension of the individual; wings to fly with; hands to
work with; dried labor; labor's product laid away for future use, to
bless oneself with. It is the bottom and foundation of material
society, for none exists without it, and the greater the amount,
distributed fairly and justly, the greater the power and strength of
the society that holds it. We take human nature as it is--as God made
it. We do not propose to remake it; that is the folly of reformers and
theorists, and more especially moralists in and out of the church. The
desire, the personal desire, to acquire property is a fundamental trait
of character more or less strong in every individual. If a society
cannot be adjusted to that trait it will fail. We think one can be. We
think ours is so, as fairly as the nature of our transitory conditions
will allow. We want capital here. That we can make it here in time,
there is no doubt, but we must labor long to secure a plus of labor
that we can dry and store for future use. Meanwhile we want to build a
suitable unitary building, which is almost an absolute necessity;
farming implements and various appliances are wanted to suit the new
conditions under which we live, and many things for comfort, too
numerous to mention."
The host was not sparing of his words, especially when stimulated by
charming questioners, in ways like these: "Tell me more, Mr. Ryckman."
"What are you living here for?" "Can you expect anything from this
life?"
"Yes, madam, we expect a great deal. The theory of our life is that a
great saving can be made over ordinary ways of living. It now takes one
hundred houses for one hundred families, and one hundred housekeepers,
and probably, on the average, one hundred servants, one hundred
kitchens, one hundred fires, and as many cooking stoves or ranges, and
everything in proportion. Now by combining together the saving on the
cost of all these houses and cooks, kitchens, coal and wood, dispensing
with all unnecessary servants and labor, a house of magnificent
proportions adapted to the wants of the combined families could be
built, with elegant parlors for lectures, assemblies and music;
dining-rooms, kitchens and laundries which would not cost as much as
the separate households full of inconvenience and discomfort.
"This economic side of our life is easily seen, but there are many
other sides or phases that are not as readily comprehended. We are here
as a protest to the unnatural life of our crowded cities. We are here
to build society anew on juster principles, believing that if we once
get a fair foothold, the institution will be self-supporting, and so
attractive that we shall have no need to seek for true, earnest
workers; they will seek us, rather than we seek them, and we shall be
able to choose of the best material for an eternal city where all will
be rich in the fulness of the surrounding life, and the children will
be educated from the start to industry, goodness and justice."
Among the pleasant pictures of memory is that of Thomas Blake as he
appeared after he had changed his civilized clothes for a Brook Farm
tunic of blue plaid, a "tarpaulin" straw hat and a neat broad rolling
shirt collar of large dimensions that gracefully tended towards his
square shoulders. I see again his dark, manly countenance lighted up by
his keen brown eyes; his Roman features; his closely curling hair; his
intellectual forehead and pleasant smile, and his very neat, "trig"
appearance. The new life seemed to fill him full of pleasure, and he
was always ready for his share of work, study or enjoyment. His short,
nautical figure and his name, Blake, soon earned him the complimentary
title, which with one accord we gave him, "the Admiral." A nearness of
age brought us together, and a strong sympathy of tastes cemented our
friendship. We worked, played, danced and sung together, and wandered
up and down the paths and roads discussing social problems and all
sorts of subjects, ever returning in our talks to our home life, its
pleasures, aims and duties.
I thought that there was a little of the dapper look about John Glover
Drew who arrived the same day with the Admiral, as I met him for the
first time near the corner of the Hive. He seemed stiff and formal in
dress and manner, and his face had in it the cool, matter-of-fact
element which did not attract me; in fact he looked too "civilized."
His clothes were of fine materials; dress coat, silk vest and dark
pantaloons. His stylish and plump person filled them out thoroughly. A
tall silk hat set a trifle back on his head exposed his large forehead;
a fob and seal that hung below his vest, in contrast to the Brook Farm
dress, made an added conspicuousness to his appearance. I can see him
now, in my mind's eye, lift his watch out of its secret enclosure and
examine it to secure promptness of his engagements.
His large head was covered with dark, slightly curling hair. His smooth
face, toned by a delicate beard and fine arching eyebrows, reminded one
of the portraits of Shakespeare. His nose was short and round and his
nostrils dilated when in animated conversation. The muscles of his firm
mouth were ever on the play and gave life to his countenance, which
when in repose assumed a heavy and somewhat stern appearance. The union
between his head and body was made, apparently, by a high, stiff, black
neck-stock.
He was fully of medium height, and healthy, but if one in his presence
tried the blowing of a flute or the tuning of a violin it would set him
in agonies, and the of his wrath was not forthcoming. He was wholly
alive. There was not a point where you could touch him and not
appreciate that the nerves of sensation vibrated and quivered. Droll
and jocose in manner, he was constantly quoting from Shakespeare or the
poets, of whom he had been a constant reader. He was witty, too, and
did not disdain a pun, or repartee.
He had the elements of a good mercantile training, and was therefore
just the man needed in the young Association, and soon arose from one
position to another, winning the meaner laurels of "chief of group" and
"head of series," and in time became the "commercial agent" and member
of the "Industrial Council." Thenceforth and ever after, he was more
bustling than before, both in and out of doors; hovering around the
barn with its horses and wagons; ever tackling up teams and starting
for the city; unpacking boxes, bales and barrels; ever in conference
with the chiefs, inquiring what was needed--anyone could see that
almost everything was needed--and showing by his exterior the busy
brain that worked within. Mr. Drew was an especial admirer of some of
Byron's poems, and it was rumored around that the corners of newspapers
had occasionally been garnished with the fruits of his pen.
Here let me say that first impressions in this case gave no index to
the manly, brave spirit that was in him, which, true as steel, bore to
the end witness to his belief in the truth and the divinity of the
associative and coöperative ideas.
There was in the farming group a healthy-looking young man, of ruddy
countenance and fair skin, with brown hair and beard that grew
luxuriantly, who soon made himself conspicuous by his individuality,
his good nature and cheerfulness. There was a positive side to his
character; he was in earnest, and he put himself by his earnestness
into a positive way that to the superficial seemed to savor of the
important, so that Irish John nicknamed him "John Almighty," and it
stuck to him, as an old simile says, "like a burdock to a boy's
trousers." His devotion was rewarded by chances to lecture. He became
one of the faithful, and faithful he has always remained. Amid all the
changes of life that have come to him since, and notwithstanding the
many persons indoctrinated with Fourier's ideas, he has been for years
almost the only man among them broadly advocating them and directly
working for the laboring man by endeavoring to organize societies and
industrial unions of various sorts for their benefit. I sincerely honor
the devotion of John Orvis, continued through so many years of his life.
But what would be the use in sketching the characters that throng
around me by the hundreds, who were associated with this new life?
Good-natured, full-faced Frederick Cabot, of Boston, whose capacities
were devoted to the bookkeeping department and who was clerk of the
corporation, who was in the vigor of young manhood, unique of face and
beard, with stout neck and low, rolling collar, when beards were absent
and collars high; and plain, unpretending Buckley Hastings, who could
work like a Trojan--were of them; and the corps of farmers and workers,
male and female, who made the body politic, all were interesting, but
they must be left out of this narrative, along with the great number of
kind and sympathetic persons whose dear hearts encouraged, and whose
dearer presence stimulated the Association in its labor.
But it will hardly do to leave out John Cheevers from the list of
strange characters on the farm, because, though he did not belong there
as member and was as a barnacle on the body politic, he was so quaint
and queer. He was Irish and came to America as valet to Sir John
Caldwell, who died very suddenly at the Tremont House in Boston. Pity,
compassion or the like induced Mr. Ripley to befriend him, and being
introduced to the life he became, as may be said, omnipresent. His
education, his refined tastes, seemed to spring from a crude and
vigorous soil. Travel and contact with high and low made his
conversation interesting, and the mystery of a supposed relationship
with Sir John added a romance to his life.
His affection for many of the residents was very great. He was
introduced into associative life in "Transcendental days," and many a
tale he told of the departed ones, often alluding to them as "extinct
volcanoes of Transcendental nonsense and humbuggery."
Like many of his countrymen, he carried things to extremes. Extremes in
language were the most common, for he had all the oiliness and glibness
of an Emeraldic tongue, and in conversation, when a little excited, the
words tumbled out with headlong velocity or flowed like molten brass
into the mould of the founder, and, to carry the simile farther, some
would sputter over. He had in his storehouse of language, many queer
phrases and sayings that he brought out to embellish his conversation,
some of which were only used as a _corps de reserve_, or brought into
action when all others failed in argument.
He prophesied that all people, no matter how high they might carry
their heads, would sooner or later "find their level." He believed in
the practical. All "folly" and "nonsense" were eschewed by him, and yet
no one was more fond of a joke than he, excepting when it was played on
himself. John professed great love for the mother church if you
attacked it; but if anyone spoke earnestly in its favor he was equally
persuaded by him not to believe in such "Jesuitical nonsense and
folly." His tunic dress, instead of being a blue one like what most of
the men wore, was made of green plaid, but on Sundays, a dark blue
"swallowtail" coat with brass buttons made its appearance, and with
shoes newly polished he was ready for church.
Unlike the majority of the men, who wore the hair moderately long, his
was cut short to his pate, not a straggling hair protruding itself
beyond the others. In deference to the seventh day, he exchanged his
shirt of blue cotton for a white, well-starched linen one, and donned a
high black lasting neck-stock and dark vest, and shaved his face so
clean that it reflected his own sunshine if not the solar ray. In
person he was of medium height, with a head of thick, dark, almost
black hair, slightly sprinkled with gray, and his small dark eyebrows
were high above his full eyes which were set almost flush with his
forehead. The muscles of his face were prominent, and deep lines were
marked around his large mouth with its long under lip, which half the
time was on a broad grin.
He walked with a headlong sort of gait, his body slightly bent forward,
deriving its motion from the lower portion of his frame, without that
swaying of arms and chest so common, and which gives grace to motion.
He was ever moving, bustling about; ever inquiring--now for this one,
then for another; occasionally taking from his pocket a small paper
parcel into which he thrust finger and thumb mysteriously and
guardedly, and turning half away from you would make the cabalistic
motions common to imbibers of "old Rappee"; and having satisfied the
desire of that extraordinary pug nose of his, would be off in a
twinkling to some distant part of the farm, where you may be sure that
he was edifying his hearers with a specimen of good-nature, and the
peculiar intonations of a mellow voice flavored with genuine brogue.
There are two friends of the movement who cannot be left out, who were
often on the farm, whose characters were very unlike and almost at
antipodes; yet both were impressed with the associative theories. One
of them viewed them from a Christian and moral side, believing that
Christianity favored them, that they were productive of the earthly end
toward which the sublime doctrines of Christianity pointed; and the
other believed that scientific social organization alone would act so
powerfully as a stimulant and teacher to humanity, that mankind and
human nature would gravitate to their own sublime places at once if an
organization was presented suitable to their needs. They were Albert
Brisbane and William Henry Channing.
Among the devoted friends there was no one for whom we had greater
admiration and esteem than Rev. William Henry Channing. He was a
Unitarian minister and a nephew of the celebrated Rev. William Ellery
Channing. His figure was tall and stately, though rather slender. He
carried himself finely, and walked with head erect. His features were
sharp cut, clean and regular. His hair was dark and curling, and worn a
trifle long for these days. His forehead was high and slightly
retreating. His eyes were sharp and piercing, deeply set, with delicate
dark eyebrows. His complexion was warm and brilliant, his beard closely
shaven. He had a pleasant smile which, when it deepened, showed a fine
set of white teeth. All of these physical signs were in his favor, but
there was about his face, so handsome at times, an earnestness that
seemed almost painful, when, devoted to the cause, he spoke with the
burning, eloquent words he so often uttered.
In social life he was charming. His voice was soft and melodious; his
education and talents were of the finest order. He was a firm believer
in the mission of Jesus Christ to bring peace, order and justice out of
our social chaos. He was an Associationist from the Christian side, if
I may so speak. His belief in Christ was so thorough that it made him
think all things possible that were Christlike, and he believed that
associated life contained more of the spirit of Christ in it than any
other form of society, ancient or modern.
He desired to join the organization with his wife and young children,
but Mrs. Channing did not, and we were deprived of his union with us,
as well as of the company of a charming woman and her family. But he
was around us like a protecting spirit. He spoke on social occasions to
us. He was full of inspiration and full of hope, though his education
was not of a practical sort after a worldly standard. He couldn't
calculate market values. Neither could he organize a workshop or build
a barn. His thoughts were for greater things; for everything that
elevated large numbers of people--education, morals, faith, peace,
anti-slavery and the good government of his country.
One Sabbath afternoon we were invited to meet with him in the near-by
beautiful pine woods, for religious services; and like the Pilgrims and
reformers of old, we there raised our voices in hymns of praise, and
listened to a sermon of hopefulness from his eloquent lips. Would we
had a picture of that marked company as they were seated around on the
pine leaves that covered the ground, following their "attractions" by
joining in groups with those they most admired or most sympathized
with--young and fair, bright and cheerful, as they mostly were, with
the warm sunlight glinting through the sighing pines; hearts and eyes
illuminated with great thoughts; hands and faces browned with working
for great, world-wide ideas. Memory is the only photograph of it, and
be assured the picture is a beautiful one.
The church was Channing's first love, but he found it bound with
creeds, and not broad enough to cover all humanity, as his great
bounding heart did. After music and an inspiring address under the
trees, and the arches of Nature's temple, looking heavenward, he said,
"Let us all join hands and make a circle, the symbol of universal
unity, and of the _at-one-ment_ of all men and women, and here form the
Church of Humanity that shall cover the men and women of every nation
and every clime."
Who shall say that it was not so?--that then and there was not formed
one of the impulses of life, one of the branches of the spiritual
church that shall live forever! Their daily toil, the thousand and one
annoyances they had to submit to from uncomfortable surroundings and
private discords--for no one need think that all the persons and those
connected with them who came to Brook Farm were equally inspired and
interested--and the risk of personal losses, were part of their pledge
and baptism of earnestness.
Mr. Albert Brisbane, of New York, was equally tall with Mr. Channing,
but of a type of features that was ordinarily less pleasing; wearing a
full beard closely trimmed, intellectual in forehead and face, with a
voice one could hardly call musical; a rapid, earnest talker; the
travelled son of a wealthy man, who had spent some years abroad and in
France, where he became acquainted personally with Fourier and with his
doctrines of association, which had deeply impressed him. On his return
to America he advocated them in the New York _Tribune_, and by the
publication of two or more volumes, by active interest in a society,
and by various writings for papers and magazines.
I do not know whether Mr. Brisbane owned stock in the Brook Farm
Association or not. Certainly he never gained any dividend by his labor
there, but was an interested observer who boarded at the farm at
intervals, sometimes passing a few days only, and finally residing some
months, occupied in the study and translation of Fourier's works.
He was an enthusiast, but his over enthusiastic moods influenced the
Brook Farmers, it seemed to me, often-times unwisely. He saw the
full-blown phalanstery coming like a comet and expected every moment.
We shortly would be in a blaze of glory! He loved to talk of the good
things to be--of social problems worked out by science and by harmonic
modes; to flatter himself that without great self-sacrifice, devotion
and untiring industry, the world was to be regenerated. It seemed to
his mind, that it could be done all at once by organization and
enthusiasm, and it was only necessary to create enough of them to carry
everything before them as in a bayonet charge.
He labored hard with the society to change its name to Phalanx, and to
push the movement as far as possible into the formulas and organization
described by Fourier, which did not advance it a single step in
material or spiritual progress, and acted, as in the case of the
constitution, as a dead weight, owing to the burdensomeness of its
details, which called for too much labor to keep the accounts of so
complex an organization.
Having described a few of the many persons who were members of the
Association, I must speak of three noted persons who are very often
accredited as belonging to the West Roxbury Community; they are Miss
Margaret Fuller (afterwards Countess D'Ossoli), Ralph Waldo Emerson and
Theodore Parker. They were all personal friends of Mr. and Mrs. Ripley,
and belonged to the Transcendental Club. In the first period of the
experiment the two former made lengthy visits at the farm, but during
the Industrial Period only one of them, Mr. Parker, that I remember
visited the place. I must except a single visit from Miss Fuller, whom
I recall as plain-looking, and plainly to old-fashionedly dressed, with
a crane-like neck and a long gold chain around it, which reached to her
waist. She talked quite easily and freely, and the impression of the
blue-stocking was left perhaps unfortunately on my mind.
Rev. Ralph Waldo Emerson--for he had been an ordained minister--wrote
for the _Dial_, furnished it with queer poems, wrote articles on the
wrongs of labor, and agreed fully with Mr. Ripley on so many points
that he has been mistaken many times for a Brook Farmer.
Concord, Massachusetts, Mr. Emerson's home, contained a marked radical
centre, and some of the Concord people were affiliated by kinship and
by sympathy with the Brook Farm people from first to last during the
entire experiment. Mr. Ripley invited Mr. Emerson to join it, but he
declined in a letter which may be found in Mr. Frothingham's "Life of
George Ripley," Appendix, page 315. I make the following extract:--
* * * * *
"My Dear Sir: It is quite time that I made an answer to your
proposition that I should venture into your new community. The design
appears to me noble and generous, proceeding as I plainly see, from
nothing covert or selfish or ambitious, but from a manly heart and
mind. So it makes all men its friends and debtors. It becomes a matter
to entertain it in a friendly spirit, and examine what it has for us.
"I have decided not to join it, yet very slowly, and I may almost say
with penitence. I am greatly relieved by learning that your coadjutors
are now so many that you will no longer attach that importance to the
defection of individuals which you hinted, in your letter to me, I or
others might possess--the painful power, I mean, of preventing the
execution of the plan."
* * * * *
Rev. Theodore Parker, the noted liberal Unitarian preacher, of whose
close personal relations with Mr. Ripley much might be said, lived two
miles away, at West Roxbury, where he preached in the village church,
and his afternoon walk every few days was over to the Farm and back for
exercise, and to meet and converse with Mr. Ripley at the Eyry. At the
close of their chat you would see them coming down the hill together
towards the barn, where Mr. Ripley's duties as milkman took him at that
time of day, when they would part--Mr. Parker for his long walk home.
One afternoon they were seen as usual coming down the hill. Theodore
Parker had not then become famous, but preached in a little square,
wooden church, to his small country congregation, and once on a time,
being on a visit to a friend at a distance (we will call the friend's
name Smith, for convenience sake), Mr. Smith asked Mr. Parker how Mr.
Ripley was getting along with his "Community." "Oh," said the faithless
Parker, "Mr. Ripley reminds me, in that connection, of a new and
splendid locomotive dragging along a train of mud-cars."
Soon after Mr. Ripley heard what Mr. Parker had said of him, and
resolved to pay him in his own coin. So he held him that day in
pleasant, lively conversation until he reached the farmyard by the barn
at the Hive, and the unsprung joke was running all around the pleasant
lines of his face and twinkling in the corners of his brilliant eyes.
Towards the close of the conversation, as Mr. Parker was about to
leave, Mr. Ripley casually said that he had met Mr. Smith, and he had
spoken of Mr. Parker and his church.
"Indeed," said Mr. Parker, "and what did he say of me?"
"Well, if you must know," Mr. Ripley replied, "he said that you and
your little country church over there in West Roxbury, with its few
dozen of farmers, reminded him of a new and splendid locomotive
dragging along a train of mud-cars."
It would have been worth a month of an ordinary lifetime to be there
when Mr. Ripley exploded his joke, to hear his merry peal of laughter,
whilst his sides shook again, and his reverend friend stood confounded.
But such little jokes did nothing towards rupturing the sincere
confidence and friendship of these two brave men, and soon after this
Mr. Parker was writing pleasant notes to the "Archon," as Mr. Ripley
was often called. By good fortune, I am the possessor of one of them,
and as it shows the playful side of a great man, the side often
withheld from the public, I give it here. It is charming. It is without
date and reads:--
* * * * *
"Archonite Illustrissimo: I have just received a letter from the
Secretary of the Navy, who informs me that he has jurisdiction over the
_waters_ of the U. S. A., and accordingly over _Brook_ Farm. He
therefore requests me to investigate your proceedings and report to the
department. He thinks of appointing yourself to the command of the
fleet destined against Texas, and wishes me to _Sound_ you on that
point. (How would Little John do for California?)
"I am to come over tomorrow P. M. and make investigations, so have the
chips picked up, and the pigs shut up in the library. Now hold yourself
in readiness to receive _Blanco_ White, who thinks you were one of the
greatest men who had appeared since Balaam the son of Beor. Pray reward
him for the honor he has done you.
"Yours, T."