But we pass on into
the second spring of my Brook Farm life.
And here another character came into our circle, and joined in work on
the farm. He was very enthusiastic. His wife had lately died, and he
brought her body to Brook Farm as to Holy Land and buried it in the
little grove by the side of our first and only grave, so that there
were now two mounds that the gardener ornamented with sods, shrubbery
and flowers.
I do not think this new friend had a fine face. His features were not
large, and, if we except the full forehead, not very attractive. His
mouth was small, and his dark brown hair asserted its rights in spite
of brush and comb, and would not lie gracefully down over his brow, and
it added to the look of determination there was in the little man's
countenance, shown by the lines in his face and the rigid and spare
muscles, a "hold on" expression which so well coincided with his
character.
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.
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