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.)
The dance would commence. One by one, after the young persons were in
the midst of the revelry, the older persons would come in, and the
non-dancers would range around as spectators; and now and then you
would distinguish our leader by the curly locks, the gleaming eyes and
gold-bowed spectacles, his glowing face expressing satisfaction in our
enjoyment.
At ten o'clock, the dance ceased; immediately the tables and dishes
would reappear, as if by enchantment, and in a twinkling the dining
room was arranged for the morning. We had had our pleasure, and were
ready to pay for it by restoring things to immediate order. Besides,
what young man could leave the young ladies to set the tables alone,
after having danced with them all the evening? After this there were
hours enough left for sound sleep, and there were no headaches in the
morning. The result was, all the young people grew strong, graceful and
healthy.
My peculiar temperament and strong love of nature made the walks and
wanderings in the fields dear to me. I recall them with the greatest
pleasure, and think that some others among the living must do the same.
There were no stated, regular hours for walking. The teachers went when
their classes for the day were over; the young folks when their tasks
were completed, or at twilight, in the long summer days, and often the
larger parties were on Sunday afternoons, for then there was greater
freedom from care. Some went to West Roxbury to church in the morning,
some, maybe, to the Eyry to read Swedenborg or other writers, and
unless Mr. Channing or some other minister who desired to preach was
present, there were no set services; and even if there were, a walk
might be arranged for a later hour in the summer afternoons.
The tall, slim figure of the wife of our president, wearing a Leghorn
shade hat, with one or two graceful lady pupils by her side, was often
present and leading the procession; then perhaps the manly form of our
head farmer, and his stout wife, and his boys and girl; our "poet,"
always beside some fair maiden, in cheerful conversation; a visitor and
the visited; groups of young people together, with muslin dresses, blue
tunics and straw hats intermingled; children; and maybe the stately
form of William Henry Channing, with his regular profile, and his head
carried high, looking upward and off, as into far, pleasant and dreamy
distances, walking beside a tall, black haired woman, with a spiritual
face of high type,--in all some thirty to forty in number, making a
delightfully picturesque group.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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