Brook Farm: Historic and Personal MemoirsCodman, John Thomas
History
Brook Farm: Historic and Personal Memoirs
Codman, John Thomas
Brook Farm Phalanx (West Roxbury, Boston, Mass.)
Soon after the gardener planted some young evergreens, and placed
flowering shrubs and a little fence around the sacred spot. If one must
die, must surrender life, oh, where can it be done better than under
such circumstances? From first to last no stranger's hand had aught to
do with this sister either in life or in death. No idle or curiously
intrusive person came near, and all the surroundings, though simple,
were in keeping with the solemnity of the occasion. There was no pomp
or rivalry of show, no gaudy deckings, that we in our hearts despise,
but which an unhallowed custom forces upon us; but all was done
decently, lovingly, peacefully and well. It was a simple name she
bore--Mary Ann Williams.
There was an amusement group, the members of which did not receive
pecuniary compensation. Its duty was to provide amusement for the
people and the scholars, as often as could be afforded, without
trespassing on school and daily duties.
Miss Amelia Russell, a little, plump woman, with a pleasant smile,
dimpled cheeks, round, laughing eyes, cultivated and easy manners, was
chief of this group for a long period. Her title was "the mistress of
the revels." Under her direction there were various plays, games,
dances and tableaux.
Besides the walks in the fields and woods there was an occasional
"children's festival," in the grove of pines, in which a large portion
of the elders joined. There were plenty of amusements, for although the
amusement group took general charge of them, there was nothing to
prevent any person or number of persons from amusing themselves to any
extent, and in any way, not interfering with the business of the place.
Being among the minors, the pleasures of dancing and roaming over the
diversified country, were most attractive to me; for the young people
danced without expense--as we were, anywhere, any time, for five or ten
minutes, an hour or an evening, and it never became a dissipation; it
was too natural and common to be a dissipation. There were never late
hours. There was no dancing for show, or to display handsome clothes,
but simply for the love of it, its harmony and love of one another's
society and companionship.
When the cares and lessons of the day were laid aside, and the evening
meal was over, we sauntered up the hill to the Eyry, and passing near
the Cottage, would perhaps find some one at the piano in the music
room, and if we numbered four or five, would waltz or dance to one or
the other's playing, the players and dancers taking turns until it was
time to stop. It might be there was a class in history or in reading at
eight, or maybe singing school would soon commence. If so, that
terminated the matter. Perhaps there was to be music at the
Eyry,--there was no formality, we went without ceremony to hear it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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