New England at this time put its fingers in its ears and stifled the beatings of its heart that kept time with justice, in order that the peace of our country should not be disturbed by men who thought slavery a curse, and proclaimed it so. Rev. John Allen was then in a pulpit, and dared to speak his mind to his people, at which they rebelled and would not hearken. "Speak I must; speak I will," said he, "or we part! Let me but preach a sermon once a quarter on the subject of slavery!" But the church said, "No." "Let me then but preach once in six months," and the church said, "No." Finally he said he would continue with them if they would allow him to preach one sermon a year on the subject--I doubt not that that _one_ would have carried flint and steel enough to set fire to all the tinder in the congregation--but the church would not listen, and they parted. He had one little child, an infant a year or two old, who, deprived of his mother, was brought to the farm and had a great deal of attention and pity bestowed upon it. This little boy brought a misfortune which threatened the lives of the members, the business and life of the Association. He was the pet of his father, who took him to Boston on his lecture tours and brought him back, for Mr. Allen was engaged to lecture for the cause. The child had never been vaccinated, and being ill at the Hive, it was discovered that he had symptoms of small-pox, which disease he had taken somewhere in the city. Imagine the commotion among the persons who had handled and fondled the young darling, and in the Association in general! But the bravery of men and women who had dared to leave their homes and share the fortune and fate of this young Community was everywhere displayed.