Then the sound of the
starting up of the locomotive drowns all other noises, and when it has
passed away we hear nothing but far in the dim distance some one
solitary dog still barking. The frogs begin to peep, and the turtles
whistle, and the doves coo, until you are carried away from the circle,
its lights and its pleasant, laughing faces into the bosom of nature.
It is needless to say that all these sounds came from the throat of
Christopher P. Cranch, the poet-artist, and were clever imitations
which were hugely appreciated by the young folks.
CHAPTER X.
FUN ALIVE.
A lady said to me not long since, knowing it from experience, "There
was a great deal of fun at Brook Farm." This was true, and I deem it
worthy of particular mention, as I can scarce believe that there ever
was in New England a body of men and women who for so long a time,
maintained such friendly and intimate relations, and yet kept up such
an interminable fire of small fun and joke, puns and _bon-mots,_
inoffensively shooting them off right and left at all times and places.
Being of an evanescent nature they have mostly vanished from my mind,
but the spirit of them remains.
There were "All-Fool's" day tricks played by the young people on such
smart, independent geniuses as Irish John; the sending of a letter to
him from a supposable lady friend, with a post-mark painted on it by
one of the young ladies; putting parsnip ends into his study lamp for
wicks, etc.
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