Priscilla, alone and
forgotten, was lingering in the shadow of the wood.
XV. A CRISIS
Thus the summer was passing away,--a summer of toil, of interest, of
something that was not pleasure, but which went deep into my heart,
and there became a rich experience. I found myself looking forward
to years, if not to a lifetime, to be spent on the same system. The
Community were now beginning to form their permanent plans. One of
our purposes was to erect a Phalanstery (as I think we called it,
after Fourier; but the phraseology of those days is not very fresh in
my remembrance), where the great and general family should have its
abiding-place. Individual members, too, who made it a point of
religion to preserve the sanctity of an exclusive home, were
selecting sites for their cottages, by the wood-side, or on the
breezy swells, or in the sheltered nook of some little valley,
according as their taste might lean towards snugness or the
picturesque. Altogether, by projecting our minds outward, we had
imparted a show of novelty to existence, and contemplated it as
hopefully as if the soil beneath our feet had not been fathom-deep
with the dust of deluded generations, on every one of which, as on
ourselves, the world had imposed itself as a hitherto unwedded bride.
Hollingsworth and myself had often discussed these prospects. It was
easy to perceive, however, that he spoke with little or no fervor,
but either as questioning the fulfilment of our anticipations, or, at
any rate, with a quiet consciousness that it was no personal concern
of his.
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