Brook Farm, Sunday, April 14, ‘44.

Dear brother Frank,

I did not mean it should be so long before you had a letter from me, but so many different things have taken up my time that I hardly know when I could have written. . . . I have taken a joyful leave of the nursery and the babies, —with one exception, the sweet little innocents were not to my taste, and not such angels as I love to minister to. Now my business is as follows (but perhaps liable to frequent change): I wait on the breakfast table (1/2 hour), help M. A. Ripley clear away breakfast things, etc. (1 1/2 hours), go into the dormitory group till eleven o’clock, — dress for dinner—then over to the Eyrie and sew till dinner time, — half past twelve. Then from half past one or two o’clock until 1/2 past five, I teach drawing in Pilgrim Hall and sew in the Eyrie. At 1/2 past five go down to the Hive, to help set the tea table, and afterwards I wash tea cups, etc., till about 1/2 past seven. Thus I make out a long day of it, but alternation of work and pleasant company and chats make it pleasant. I am about entering a flower garden group and assisting Miss Russell in doing up muslins. I have one very pleasant drawing class, consisting of the young ladies and the young men, Jose, Martin Gushing, etc. The other class is composed of the children in the regular school. We enjoy ourselves here very well, and I can’t but think that after some weeks I shall become deeply attached to the place--I have felt perfectly at home from the first. We need more leisure, or rather, we should like it. There are so many, and so few women to do the work, that we have to be nearly all the time about it. I can’t find time to write till it comes evening, and then we generally assemble in little bands somewhere for a little talk or amusement. Fred Cabot and Martin Gushing have moved into Horace’s room, and I wish for the fun of it, you could look in and see how they have placed their beds, — across the door, so they are obliged to vault over them to get at what they call their parlor, which is by the window. They are full of fun and roguery. A day or two since, we looked in there and behold they had got our images, — cologne bottle, ink stand, etc., paraded out on their table. Martin is a good fellow, and makes a great deal of amusement for the whole house. He says he means to carry Fanny and me into Boston some Sunday. Oh! I love the Sundays here. This whole afternoon I have spent in the Pine Woods, and have wanted you here more than I can tell. We have much sickness here now, cases of scarlatina. Carry Pratt’s and Alfred Kay’s are pretty severe cases, but all are now mending. Father came at the right time.

I really think you would enjoy living here, Frank, and hope that, if we stay, you will come. Come out that evening you have talked about when next we have full moon. . . .

The Codmans have come. The Campbells won’t do, and are going away. I believe eight or ten more men are to come this next week. You can’t think how we want to see you. . . .

This evening in a few minutes will be a general gathering at the Hive to hear an account of the New York convention, which I wish to attend. So must bid you good night.

Dearest Anna,

I wish you knew how much good your letter did me, and how grateful I am therefor, but you must not insist upon it that I don’t love you, — yes, you, Anna Parsons, and not alone that ideal you talk so much about. I think of thee . . with all thy feebleness and thy faults, — with all thy ultraisms, and even thy old mania for meetings,— I forget that thou art an "inseer" and I love thee none the less. . . .

I am confident that you read Fred truly, — I think I know him well and you have entirely satisfied me. It is a very lifelike picture that you have drawn of him; you have given all that Mr. Orvis gave, and a great deal more. You have, to say the least, taken my point of view, and seen him as I see him. He was perfectly willing that you should have read his letter, and I thought I had expressed this to you when I wrote. Mr. Orvis’s notes you shall have as soon as Fred or I find time to copy them and your notes of Fred shall be returned to you soon. . . . Fred’s mother didn’t recognize him from your notes, — it must be that she don’t see just the same person in him that we do. . . .

And now I must interest you in our fancy group, for which and from which I hope great things, — nothing less than the elevation of woman to independence, and an acknowledged equality with man. Many thoughts on this subject have been struggling in my mind ever since I came to Brook Farm, and now, I think I see how it will all be accomplished. Women must become producers of marketable articles; women must make money and earn their support independently of man. So we, with a little borrowed capital (say twenty-five or thirty dollars; by we, I mean a large part of the women here), have purchased materials, and made up in one week about forty-five dollars worth of elegant and tasteful caps, capes, collars, undersleeves, etc., etc., — which we sent in to Hutchinson and Holmes, who have agreed to take all we can make. If they find a ready sale, we shall be greatly encouraged, — and be able to go on extending our business, as far as our time and numbers will allow. Of course, if we succeed (and we are determined we will), it will be very desirable for other ladies to come here on purpose to take a part in our fancy work; then our domestic work which now presses too heavily, will get more divided, and we shall each have less house-work and more fancy work. By and by, when funds accumulate (!) we may start other branches of business, so that all our proceeds must be applied to the elevation of woman forever. Take a spiritual view of the matter. Raise woman to be the equal of man, and what intellectual developments may we not expect? How the whole aspect of society will be changed! And this is the great work, is it not, that Association in its present early stage has to do? Do, as you love and honor your sex, bear our fancy group in mind, and bring or send us patterns and designs of every sort of thing you see or can conceive of that will be useful to us. We want your mother here. We want your sister Elizabeth; she will come I hope, by and by. For one week I have indulged my passional attraction and painted to my heart’s content. . . . It is my devotion to fancy work and to education that have not left me a minute to spare for writing, reading or thinking on aught else. We are about organizing children into groups for labor and education, a very important step and by no means an easy one. Mr. Orvis is to be the director for the boys and as they look to me for the girls, it must occupy considerable of my time. You can’t think how deeply I feel my incompetency for this work. . . .

Write immediately and tell me that you will come, and if you can, tell me when. Recollect Parker will be here probably in a week from tomorrow. Perhaps Hannah Ripley, Dora, etc. will make us the long talked of visit and bring you with them — in which case they will not take you home with them. Much love to all.

Mary-Ann

Dear Frank,

Anna’s letter was thrilling, and was a great shock to me,— I felt as if I had been with them in the waves. But, thank Heaven! they were saved, almost by miracle. . . . I’m sorry not to have her visit now, but trust she will come.

The third little stranger, Charles Fourier Colson, was born to B. F. A. [Brook Farm Association] last Sunday, — just a fortnight after the arrival of the first one. . . .

Be sure to come out Saturday, that you hear Mr. Parker. The Ripleys, John and Fred have been to see him and find him looking well, and appearing just the same. Mrs. R. says as soon as he and Mr. Ripley met, they fell to making poems.

Oh! how the men, and women too, do talk "groups and series" here. It is as bad as politics.

Am afraid to write more, because my head aches, so adieu.

Mary Ann

Oh! tell everybody that B. F. fancy articles are to be had at Holmes’ and Hutchinson’s, near King’s — and at Mr. Houghton’s. We want to advertize by sending our friends there. Mr. Orvis has promised to read Mary’s character as soon as he can.

Thurs. a.m., Sept. 19, ‘44.

Dear Frank,

. . . Yesterday Mr. List and Mr. Reynolds were unanimously expelled from the carpenter’s group in consequence of their being discordant elements, — so they went to the general direction requesting to be furnished with work, and that body have set them to work upon the frame of the Phalanstery, — so they are working right in the midst of the group, but not of the group, doing just what they are told to do, — a sort of solitary labor and imprisonment. It is quite an amusing state of things. The group who thought to get rid of their company are foiled in that.

It is a most magnificent day — the perfection of autumn, except that we have needed rain for a long time — And what are you about? The same old round of labor I suppose, only you may be anxiously laying new plans. Oh I that we could prepare ourselves to meet all changes and disappointments without any vexation of spirit, and with a cheerful trust that all will work out right. — Nay, better, if we could feel that all is right now! But there is a sense in which all is not right, and perhaps it is this that disturbs us. I wish you were here, Frank, tho’ I don’t feel inclined to hurry you. For myself, I would not exchange this life for any I have ever led. I could not feel contented again with the life of isolated houses, and the conventions of civilization. I enjoy here more than I ever enjoyed — and it is true likewise that I have had some very keen suffering —In the present state of Association and with my sensibilities I feel that I must be continually exposed to suffering; —but constant activity is a good counterpoise, — and life is so full and rich here, that I feel as if my experience were valuable, and I were growing somewhat faster than when I lived in Boston. We have thought much of your circumstances and long to have you settled here with us, and shall rejoice when you are ready to come, — but I repeat we would not hurry you. . . .

Our Fourier class went off finely — some people from the street came over. Hope to go to Boston tomorrow evening, but don’t know. If we do, shall stop at E. P. Peabody’s I suppose.

Hearing a great hurrah, I have just been to the window, and lo! Martin and a group of boys returning from their work, — little Fourierites, with banners flying. I believe if they have been idle, the banners are not permitted to wave. The boys are really getting to enjoy their work, and these banners are a grand excitement. Probably the fancy group will have to work them a very handsome one. . . .

Yours ever affectionately

Mary Ann

Dear Frank,

We have had some little excitement since dinner. I had gone about half-way home, when I met Rebecca flying with all speed towards the Hive. Said she, "I fear the Pilgrim House is on fire." I raced home, flew into my room — found smoke pouring out around my stove and fire place, — opened my closet and expected to see the flames burst out there very quickly. I thought what I must first save, — unlocked a drawer and put $13 or $14 into my pocket. Took down all the clothes from the closet, and ran with them to the rock behind the house — came back to seize something else and met Mr. Channing at my door, who said there was no need of it, for they would soon conquer the fire. He took away my stove, they filled up my room with buckets of water, and prepared to tear down the plastering if necessary. Meantime there was a greater fracas in the ironing room under mine, where stood the stove and where through a crack, the wood work around the chimney was seen to be in flames. Mr. Jenkins took an axe, knocked away the plaster, — discovered a flame 10 inches broad which must (had there been a short delay) have fired the house, but water was thrown on and it was stopped. People have been mightily amused at the idea of my saving my ward-robe down behind the rock!! I have not yet learned why the fire caught —perhaps some of Mr. Codman’s bungling in putting up the stove. . . .

Dear Frank,

You will see a host of our people at the convention today. Amelia, M. A. Ripley, Maria, John, Fred, Orvis, Eunice, etc., etc. We have concluded to stay here, and have what good time we may.

Tho’ sorry to leave you last Sunday, I was glad to be here. I was expecting an important meeting in the evening,— and would not on any account have been absent. Matters have come to a crisis at last, thank Heaven; — and the few intriguing, caballing, mean, troublesome, people, have been very plainly dealt with, and told that if they don’t go, or come into harmony, — wholly cease their caballing and their slander, they will be expelled! This is good, —now our atmosphere is bright and we shall go on finely. . . .

How I should like to hear Channing ! Do be present at his speeches, if you can.

In a hurry

Mary Ann

Dear Anna, dear friend,

Your letter fills me with joy unspeakable, and encourages me to cherish more devotedly than ever the cause I have espoused. It is the cause of humanity, — the cause of God. There is nothing small or partial in it, — nothing that ever can be outlived or outgrown so long as humanity lasts, and thank Heaven, nothing but what we do hope and expect to attain. The spirit of despair has spread her chilling wings over the world until now, — beneath their shadow, with tearful eyes, has man struggled to work out his destiny and reach a higher and happier life. Now Hope smiles in the clear blue sky, and Faith takes him by the hand to lead him through paths of joy, to a harmonious and blissful future. We are so ensnared, so beset with temptations, so tortured with trials, that we have made a virtue of necessity and preached up the need of working out our salvation by hard struggles with the enemy. How absurd! Look into your inner life. Did you ever feel that sorrow in itself gives you strength? Wasn’t it rather an obstacle, an enemy, that, from some higher and happier source, some hope or faith or joy that was in you, you must draw strength to conquer? Have you not sometimes felt almost omnipotent from the impulse of some joyful emotion? What else has ever given you such strength? It seemed that love, or hope, or faith alone could conquer any obstacle. But I will not speak on this subject, when you have heard divine words from golden lips.

I said your letter gave me joy — yes, — and because that divine man has kindled joy in your soul; — has given you a glimpse of the kingdom of heaven on earth, and furnished you with an object worth living for. . . .

Dear Anna,

I will not say aught of our disappointment that you and Helen were not with us last evening, for I know that you were here in the spirit, and would have rejoiced to have shared with us the wealth of those hours, had it been a possible thing and the best thing for you to have done so. Away then with regrets and let me, in my feeble way, tell you something of our celebration of the birthday of Fourier. Perhaps you may discover the secret by which, with no means and no time for preparation, we really produced a very beautiful and inspiring effect. You would hardly have believed yourself in our old, smoky Hive. Enter the dining hall at the farthest door (near the kitchen), and you will find yourself by some magic, in an illumined garden. Evergreens and beautiful greenhouse plants in full bloom delight your eye; there are roses and jasmines surmounted by the stately calla, the emblem of unity, and around that pillar, at the head of the table, the multiflora has twined its sweet blossoms. The tables are towards the centre of the hail, in the form of a cross, and elegantly adorned with read and fruit and flowers. Before you, at the farthest end of the ball, gracefully bestowed across the windows, hangs our unitary banner, striped with the primary colors, and edged with white. In the centre of this, upon a pure azure background, are arranged in a semi-circle the words, "Universal Unity," in purest white, glittering, silver letters. This was the work and idea of Fanny Macdaniel, and was most beautifully executed; every letter is perfect; you must see it some day. In front of this stood the piano. — Turn round now, and look at the opposite end of the room. Across the wall in largest letters of evergreen, you read FOURIER 1772, an anchor at the left, and a bee hive, surrounded by bees, at the right. On a table in front is a bust of Charles Fourier, taken after his death. We intended to have thrown the seven colors upon this, with a prism, but it was no go by lamp light. I ought to have said the evergreen letters and emblems were the work of William Cheswell, one of our carpenters, and tho’ beautiful in itself, it seemed doubly beautiful, coming from such a source, and was put there by him, to surprise us all before any other decorations were made, or scarcely thought of. Look now at the sides of the room. Between the windows in the centre, upon a black ground, hung a white lyre with seven strings of the seven rainbow colors. This gave us the unity of sound. This was John’s idea and was roughly executed by me. Opposite in evergreen letters you read this motto, which I selected and executed: "But the Comforter, who is the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, —He shall teach you all things and bring all things to your remembrance whatsoever I have said unto you." During the speeches, in allusion to this motto was given, "Fourier, the second coming of Christ." Near this you read, "Les attractions sont proportionnelles aux destinees." The whole scene was beautiful; as John Allen said this morning, it was, together with the speeches, something that could not be put upon paper. . . .

Brook Farm, Sunday a.m., May 16, [1845].

My dear Anna,

I made a mistake this a.m. (perhaps in consequence of sleeping in Amelia’s room), and caught myself up at halfpast four, and don’t know how to spend the time better than with you. The singing of the birds is really bewildering,— it makes one almost dizzy with the sweetness of harmony. The sky is cloudy, but I do hope for the girls’ sake that the rain will keep off, for never was the garden around us so blooming, so freshly green, and in every way so inviting. It seems wrong to lose a moment of so much beauty and prophecy; — I would be abroad in the midst of it all the time. But alas! indoor duties present their claims. What means this word duty? If duty be not attraction, I don’t believe in it. What a state of things the world presents when one cannot do the right, without, at the same time, committing a wrong, — or rather, where the very best thing one can do, cannot be wholly right. Suddenly now the rain is pouring down, — a most beautiful shower! And just as the earth needs it. Oh! this is truly a wonderful season. Our hills and meadows are the richest green. The trees have put forth their blossoms in rare elegance, and profusion, — summer flowers have sprung from the earth in such haste and abundance as to tell of infinite treasures beneath. It seems as tho’ the earth were overflowing with hope and promise, so that it can not contain itself, and finds expression in these sweet breathing blossoms. Oh! it is too beautiful! Nature and the animal creation here seem to be in advance of humanity. Nothing speaks to me more eloquently of the repose and the love spirit that shall prevail in Association, than the social state of animals with us. I have spoken to you perhaps of our domestic animals, our cats and dogs, — who go from house to house and are equally at home in either, — a thing I never observed in civilization. A gun is never fired here, — not a child on the place appears to have the least disposition to molest a bird’s nest, — and the birds are in consequence surprisingly tame, — they do not fear our steps, they come to us to be fed. Last night, a whippoorwill took shelter in our back room. Mr. Klienstrup and Mr. Allen take much satisfaction in their pet squirrels and quails, which come out of the woods to make them daily visits.

A few days ago, I found the first trientales, one with five and another with eight leaves. I put them in W. H. C.’s room. He afterwards told some one he had found two beautiful flowers in his room. Yesterday I went to Cow Island — found wild geranium, ladies’ slipper, — solomon’s heal — dogwood, trientalis and, what was wholly new to me,— a yellow violet, streaked with purple. This of itself was a treasure. Yesterday also brought to light another wonder— a white pedate violet. I found too the arabis, common about here but new to me. The river, the trees, the wood-paths, all make the walk enchanting, — I should like to take it again with you. I have been painting the trillium. . . .

You have done nobly in the subscription business. I am astonished at your success. Heaven grant we may be faithful, so that great good may grow out of the means thus put into our hands. I don’t know now what sum has been given. Mr. Kay has sent a hundred dollars to the school. I am rejoiced, — it will set us up finely. Mr. Ripley is still in New York. . . .

My dear Anna

. . . We have had lately a shaking up, as it were, a little sifting out. Some deep and important questions have been agitated. Some will leave who ought to leave. The selfish should go -- they who are not devoted, who cannot give their all. It is a question, how much ought one to give. I must retain this at least. I must be master over myself, and be sure that I am working for my own idea and not blindly following wherever I may be led. . . .

My dear Anna

. . . I have now a plan, which I will begin to execute tomorrow, of making some little books for sale. I hope that in your zeal for Association, you will not buy up at once the whole edition! They are to be picture books — wild flowers, birds, and I know not yet what variety. I want to have them as low-priced as possible, — perhaps some for fifty cents, some seventy-five or a dollar. The only question is whether I can do them so, with any profit to ourselves —perhaps half a dozen or a dozen pictures in a book. Can you make any suggestion? I intend to have the cover of colored Bristol-board, prettily stamped, like our fans and shades. What think you, will they not sell for presents, especially at Christmas and New Year? Would you have a beautiful verse of poetry attached to each picture, provided it could be just the thing? . . . .

Evening. We have had our meeting — a conversational one, considering what shall be our meetings, our worship, our church. Many suggestions were made. W. H. C. dreads giving the lead to the priest hood, thinks the prophets (they who are inspired with deep, true feeling) must lead. He wants a place consecrated to worship. We talked of taking for the purpose a large room in the Phalanstery, which can be ready soon. Some want worship every morning, — some want conversation open to all, — some want music, — or rather all want it, — prayer, too, — silent worship, — instruction. All these are good, — but no plan, no form of worship that is practicable can meet my wants, or perhaps anyone’s. Next Sunday we propose to form a group of all interested and choose a [chief] to see about getting the room, and making all arrangements. Today, for the first time, came to me a satisfactory idea of a true form of worship. Of course, the whole of life should be worship — all labor, consecration, and not desecration, —and so all life should be poetry, should be music. But as we have a particular expression of poetry and of music, but adapted to these sentiments, why may we not have a form of worship peculiarly adapted to the religious sentiment? And now let me try to unfold my idea, tho’ I can’t do it justice. I think we must have in perfect Association, worshipping series, — comprising various groups. I may go to the temple filled with the spirit of prayer, and you at the same time may want song and thanksgiving, — another may want silent worship, another preaching. Now I see a most beautiful temple, spacious and elegant, divided into various apartments, or temples, or sanctums. Here is one for the group of prayer, one for music, one for silent social worship, rooms for solitary devotion, — a large central hall, where all may gather when inspired with a universal sentiment, — the hall of unity, — and there give utterance to it. This is a very imperfect sketch of a picture which to me has great beauty in it. I am getting to love it —believe there is truth in it. I have mentioned it to Mrs. Ripley and one or two more who like it much. How does it affect you?

My dear Anna,

. . . You speak of a crisis,— this is one of the things I can’t write fully about, and whatever I may say will be confidential. We have reached, I believe, our severest crisis. If we survive it, we shall probably go on safely and not be obliged to struggle thro’ another. I think here lies the difficulty, —we have not had business men to conduct our affairs — we have had no strictly business transactions from the beginning, and those among us who have some business talents, see this error, and feel that we cannot go on as we have done. They are ready to give up if matters cannot be otherwise managed, for they have no hope of success here under the past and present government. All important matters have been done up in council of one or two or three individuals, and everybody else kept in the dark (perhaps I exaggerate somewhat) and now it must be so no longer; —our young men have started "enquiry meetings," and it must be a sad state of things that calls for such measures. We are perplexed by debts, by want of capital to carry on any business to advantage, — by want of our Phalanstery or the means to finish it. From want of wisdom we have failed to profit by some advantages we have had. And then Brisbane is vague and unsteady; the help he promised us from his efforts comes not — but on the contrary, he and other friends to the cause in New York, instead of trying to concentrate all efforts upon Brook Farm as they promised, have wandered off, — have taken up a vast plan of getting $100,000 and starting anew, so they are for disposing of us in the shortest manner, — would set their foot upon us, as it were, and divert what capital might come to us. What then remains for us, and where are our hopes? I will tell you. We must be independent of the New York friends, and define our position to them, and let them know that we are determined to go on, if we can, and come to something (what Heaven wills), if we do not realize a perfect association. Then we must raise some money, — we must have $10,000 at least, before spring, or we may as well die! We can do nothing without it. How shall we get it? We will send out our group of lecturers, — John Allen will go; John Orvis will go, provided the council will take such steps first, that he can in conscience ask people to come here, and put in their money. He would not do it without some change of policy, nor would he, I think, be willing to remain. Fred (don’t speak of it) has decided, unless he should see reason to change his mind, to leave and go into business awhile. His views and plans are noble, — he means to be working for Association abroad, outside, —and come in, by and by, when he sees a change and bring his earnings. But between you and me, not much would I give for what he will do for Association, if he leaves us — tho’ I don’t doubt his present intentions. But I look back a year and see what changes have gradually come over his mind, and what influences have been at work upon him, and bro’t him to his present convictions, — that Brook Farm cannot succeed. My hopes are here; our council seems to be awake and ready for action; if we get the money, we will finish the building, — then we will enlarge our school, which should bring us in a handsome income. Our sash and blind business is very profitable, and may be greatly enlarged in the spring, the tailor’s business is good, the tin block, and why do I forget the printing, and the Farm? Also we shall have together a better set of people than ever before. Heaven help us, and make us wise, for the failure of Brook Farm must defer the cause a long time. This place as it is (take it all in all) is the best place under the sky; why can’t people see this, and look upon it hopefully and encouragingly?

J. 0. sits with me quietly, reading the President’s message. Oh! he is so much more constant and affectionate in his regard for me than I deserve. I believe now I do fully and deeply appreciate all.

Adieu

Marianne

My dear Anna,

. . . I think we shall decide upon combining a thorough educational course with some industrial departments, printing the Harbinger, farming, etc. We shall get upon a sure basis yet. It is true our affairs don’t stand so well, by a great deal, as we could desire, but we hope to find they are not past mending. Mr. Kay, our old friend, a great business character, thinks we can and shall retrieve ourselves. He is glad of the late calamity — thinks it will give us the only possible chance we could have had of turning our attention to the educational department and making it what it should be. He is more hopeful for us than ever. You ask how matters got into this fix. I will tell you — as well as I can. The debts mostly or wholly were incurred along in the commencement before it was a Fourier Association and are mostly due to people who loaned the money out of pure interest in the cause, and from a desire to see the experiment tried, and the money would not be called for. They are no trouble; they give us no anxiety —except that we have the interest to pay on them, which is a burden we long to be free from. Five or six hundred dollars would pay off all our pressing debts. It has been too much the practice here to push matters on too fast. The school was almost given up (at a time when we depended on it for support) in order to rush into various industrial, mechanical branches, and these have failed to support us. It might have been foreseen, but the whole was driven on by a few individuals, who have kept the management and knowledge of affairs too much to themselves. We should have waited till some mechanical department was able to support us, before we permitted the decline of the school. The result of the last year was, that we made not enough to defray the expenses of the year by 500 dollars. But then we were unfortunate. The smallpox cost us more than that. . . . Mr. Hatch’s management and misconduct sunk us more than that — so that this $500 minus need not be completely discouraging. This is dry business and I let it go. We, of course, must now ascertain exactly the amount of our indebtedness and see how we can treat honorably with our creditors. We had trusted to the increased means which the Phalanstery would afford us for enlarging our business and making it profitable. We have never had capital enough to lay out in any department, to carry it on to our advantage.

To Anna Parsons, 1846

First, let me tell you how I am writing. Here in the Eyrie parlor, — John at the piano, Channing and others sitting around the room; thus am I obliged to steal time to talk with you, for I cannot bear to lose this music and this presence. Would they might inspire me as they ought, to write you a worthy letter, but no — it cannot be, for I shall talk on very practical matters.

We are now starting in what appears a common sense way; we have reduced our plans somewhat, but I trust a higher ideal is before us than ever. One thing is certainly very encouraging and to me is really providential. How is it that the people who are not calculated to help us, who, tho’ good in their way, yet lack that refinement which is indispensable to give a good tone to the place, do actually withdraw in the pleasantest manner, wholly unasked, and without any chance of feeling that their withdrawal is desirable to us? I cannot call it chance. God wills it. God means something by it. We have lately felt it really necessary that certain people should leave, — we have not known how to bring it about. Our friends, the Cheswells, for instance; well, all at once, comes a call to them from abroad, — a better prospect opens to them outside the camp, than from within, and they have gone to enjoy it, —bidding us adieu with kind feelings and some regrets which indeed are mutual. . . . Those of us who will be left are capable of improving by living together, and feel very closely drawn together. We feel, too, our brotherhood with those who have gone, —but it always seemed to me a great mistake to admit coarse people upon the place. Now we need not fear subjecting our pupils to evil influences from such quarters. Indeed, I see not why we cannot now offer them as good or better moral influences than could be found at any other boarding school. My interest now must centre in the school. I do know what a good school is. I know well why we have not had a good one here, and I see clearly that we can easily have the very best, and I am solemnly determined to use my utmost efforts to bring it about. I have offered myself to the work, — have just been elected chief of the teachers’ group which gives me, together with Mrs. R. (chief of the edlucational service), and indeed more than she, the superintendence of the school. Her health requires that I should give her this relief and I enter upon the duties with alacrity and cheerfulness, — with diffidence to be sure, and yet with confidence, for I am most fully determined that it shall be a good school. And then think what aid I can command. The Ripleys, Charles Dana, John S., Fanny, Miss Russell. etc. Indeed, it shall be done, heaven helping.

The change we make in our organization will secure to each group greater independence than before; each will transact its own business, make its own sales and purchases, etc. We need money to invest in some departments and for this purpose a subscription is now going on. We feel that we have a right to call upon civilizees to help us with their money to accomplish what we can towards building up a true system of life. Some help has come to us and undoubtedly more is at hand. For the school I don’t mean to lay out much at present (provided I can get it) but I do need twenty-five or thirty dollars very much indeed and immediately, for furniture for the room, and I trust our financial department will be able to appropriate this at least. It would be well to have fifty dollars more towards getting together an industrial establishment for the boys. . . .

Farewell.

Marianne

My dear Anna,

Your letter is so full of spirit that it quite inspired me and I felt no little disappointment that Mr. Ripley should have discouraged your plan. My feeling and I think the general feeling here is, if any friends of the cause see fit to put into operation any plans they may have for helping it on, thro’ aid given to this particular movement, let them do so, and Heaven bless their efforts. I sometimes wish people would do so without asking or consulting us in the least. With regard to the proposed gathering in the Faneuil Hall. I do not doubt but a great degree of determination and active, untiring zeal and energy (such as your letters tell me you at least have) on the part of several individuals, would do a good work for us. But where are they who have it? Particularly where are the ladies? Where is the one, the Mrs. Chapman of Association, around whom might be a rallying. I believe that centre is wanting. Antislavery fairs and fetes are supported by wealth; where are the people of wealth who are enlisted in the Association cause? I see that you have entered warmly into this project, and I don’t like to discourage you. It seems to me when I read your letter that it must go, — but it would require tremendous effort. Think of it. You are not equal to it. The excitement, the fatigue would be enough to kill you and for your sake, I do indeed veto the proceeding. If it should fail, think how very ridiculous! I like better the old plan of a rural fete by and by. That with addresses from the gentlemen you named, with music, refreshments, etc. it appears to me, would realize something.

Mr. Channing spoke of addressing Mr. Clarke’s people in our behalf. I fear the effort will be too much for his health, and moreover, would not an appeal from Mr. C. himself have really more influence over his people? If it would be so, can’t you bring this about? I wish Mr. Parker would address his people. He is their idol . . .

Letter to Anna Parsons:

. . . Curson, J. Orvis and I seemed to meet in a plan yesterday, which gives me the only ray of hope I have lately had for Brook Farm. As the Ripleys and John will not associate in industry with others, and as John believes a civilized school wholly incompatible with Association, let them take (as they have proposed doing) the school and Harbinger, and carry them on as independent branches, and make as much money as they can, — and let them pay the rest of us, who will go on as an Association, board for themselves and scholars. We then will make the farm (as a farm ought ever to be) the pivotal branch, — with a dozen good men it will do well. The greenhouse perhaps can be used as a forcing house in winter, to raise cucumbers and tomatoes to sell for a high price. The school will hire me, and I can paint, and we must retain as many as we shall need in the domestic work and no more. We must start fair and square, — so many of us are earnest and truly devoted, —and go on safely with our eyes open, seeing our way Along. What think you of it? I believe such a plan might go and must go. I think (if people are not in too much despair to believe that any thing could save us) that this will meet with universal approbation. Fanny Mac is delighted with it. I hear Mrs. Ripley is rather pleased — now if it will only suit her ladyship! Mr. Channing says it is perfectly fair to ask them to consent to this, — and they have declared that they will not have anything to do with the school, except as an independent branch. This will secure to them here a continuance of the pleasant life, which certainly would be destroyed by their plan of civilized labor and individual competition. It would secure to us their society, — it seems to me the only way of uniting us —the only salvation. Can we do it? — Shall we have the courage, the perseverance, the industry, the self-sacrifice, that will be demanded? I am ready to try.

(No signature)

Brook Farm, Sat. eve., Mar. 29, [1847].

Dearest Anna,

Oh, Anna! It is sad to think of the greenhouse plants being sold off. It is sad to see Brook Farm dwindling away, when it need not have been so. How it has struggled against all sorts of diseases and accidents, and defects of organization! With what vitality it has been endowed! How reluctantly it will give up the ghost! But is it not doomed to die by and by of consumption? Oh! I love every tree and wood haunt --- every nook and path, and hill and meadow. I fear the birds can never sing so sweetly to me elsewhere, — the flowers can never greet me so smilingly. I can hardly imagine that the same sky will look down upon me in any other spot, — and where, where in the wide world shall I ever find warm hearts all around me again? Oh! you must feel with me that none but a Brook Farmer can know how chilling is the cordiality of the world.

But I am ready for anything that must be. I can give all up, knowing well that a more blessed home than we can imagine will yet be prepared for humanity. No words can tell my thankfulness for having lived here, and for every experience here, whether joyful or painful. It certainly is very unusual for me, and I think it may be quite wrong, to look for less in the future than we have derived from the past, but it does seem as tho’ in this wide waste of the world, life could not possibly be so rich as it has been here. This is a fact, however, that tho’ our state here for some months past, has been on many accounts, very disagreeable, and very little to my taste, yet life is more rich to me at this very time than ever; my inner life is more true and deep, —but I want a field for external action, a very small and humble one, of course, but I want something. I wait very patiently, however, and certainly find enough to be busy about. . . .

Dearest, believe me ever your friend

Marianne