But stop! On this occasion the dance was not fairly under way; it was
yet quite early in the evening, and though in the "full tide of
successful experiment," to quote an old expression, it had not worked
itself up to high pitch, when an unexpected interruption took place.
Ah, fatal hour! Why was it not delayed? Why did it ever come? It was
this: one of the older members came in and announced, "The Phalanstery
is on fire!" I remember the loud, derisive laugh that came from the
announcement, and was echoed through the room. I knew better than all
from the sober face and earnest look of the person who said it--for he
was one of my kin--that the statement must be correct, and I
immediately said, "This is no joke, it is true!"
A thing so easily verified needed not argument, and all rushed for the
doors. I hastily changed slippers for boots and ran out. The barn hid
the "Phalanstery" from sight. Passing to the other side of it I saw the
flames pouring out of the front, surmounted by a heavy cloud of black
smoke. Without definiteness of purpose we all started for the building,
and all saw that there was no chance of saving it. Ere long the flames
were chasing one another in mad riot over the structure; running across
the long corridors and up and down the supporting columns of wood,
until the huge edifice was a mass of firework, every part painted in
glowing, living color, yet retaining its distinctive form.
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