University of Virginia Library

THE EXPERIENCES OF THE A. C.

“BRIDGEPORT! Change cars for the
Naugatuck Railroad!” shouted the
conductor of the New York and Boston
Express Train, on the evening
of May 27th, 1858. Indeed, he does
it every night (Sundays excepted),
for that matter; but as this story refers especially to Mr.
J. Edward Johnson, who was a passenger on that train,
on the aforesaid evening, I make special mention of the
fact. Mr. Johnson, carpet-bag in hand, jumped upon the
platform, entered the office, purchased a ticket for Waterbury,
and was soon whirling in the Naugatuck train towards
his destination.

On reaching Waterbury, in the soft spring twilight,
Mr. Johnson walked up and down in front of the station,
curiously scanning the faces of the assembled crowd.
Presently he noticed a gentleman who was performing
the same operation upon the faces of the alighting passengers.
Throwing himself directly in the way of the
latter, the two exchanged a steady gaze.

“Is your name Billings?” “Is your name Johnson?”

were simultaneous questions, followed by the simultaneous
exclamations—“Ned!” “Enos!”

Then there was a crushing grasp of hands, repeated
after a pause, in testimony of ancient friendship, and Mr.
Billings, returning to practical life, asked—

“Is that all your baggage? Come, I have a buggy
here: Eunice has heard the whistle, and she'll be impatient
to welcome you.”

The impatience of Eunice (Mrs. Billings, of course,)
was not of long duration, for in five minutes thereafter
she stood at the door of her husband's chocolate-colored
villa, receiving his friend.

While these three persons are comfortably seated at the
tea-table, enjoying their waffles, cold tongue, and canned
peaches, and asking and answering questions helter-skelter
in the delightful confusion of reunion after long separation,
let us briefly inform the reader who and what they are.

Mr. Enos Billings, then, was part owner of a manufactory
of metal buttons, forty years old, of middling
height, ordinarily quiet and rather shy, but with a large
share of latent warmth and enthusiasm in his nature.
His hair was brown, slightly streaked with gray, his eyes
a soft, dark hazel, forehead square, eyebrows straight,
nose of no very marked character, and a mouth moderately
full, with a tendency to twitch a little at the corners.
His voice was undertoned, but mellow and agreeable.

Mrs. Eunice Billings, of nearly equal age, was a good
specimen of the wide-awake New-England woman. Her
face had a piquant smartness of expression, which might

have been refined into a sharp edge, but for her natural
hearty good-humor. Her head was smoothly formed, her
face a full oval, her hair and eyes blond and blue in a
strong light, but brown and steel-gray at other times, and
her complexion of that ripe fairness into which a ruddier
color will sometimes fade. Her form, neither plump nor
square, had yet a firm, elastic compactness, and her slightest
movement conveyed a certain impression of decision
and self-reliance.

As for J. Edward Johnson, it is enough to say that he
was a tall, thin gentleman of forty-five, with an aquiline
nose, narrow face, and military whiskers, which swooped
upwards and met under his nose in a glossy black mustache.
His complexion was dark, from the bronzing of
fifteen summers in New Orleans. He was a member of a
wholesale hardware firm in that city, and had now revisited
his native North for the first time since his departure.
A year before, some letters relating to invoices of metal
buttons signed, “Foster, Kirkup, & Co., per Enos Billings,”
had accidentally revealed to him the whereabouts of the
old friend of his youth, with whom we now find him domiciled.
The first thing he did, after attending to some
necessary business matters in New York, was to take the
train for Waterbury.

“Enos,” said he, as he stretched out his hand for the
third cup of tea (which he had taken only for the purpose
of prolonging the pleasant table-chat), “I wonder which
of us is most changed.”

“You, of course,” said Mr. Billings, “with your brown

face and big mustache. Your own brother wouldn't have
known you if he had seen you last, as I did, with smooth
cheeks and hair of unmerciful length. Why, not even
your voice is the same!”

“That is easily accounted for,” replied Mr. Johnson.
“But in your case, Enos, I am puzzled to find where the
difference lies. Your features seem to be but little changed,
now that I can examine them at leisure; yet it is not the
same face. But, really, I never looked at you for so long a
time, in those days. I beg pardon; you used to be so—
so remarkably shy.”

Mr. Billings blushed slightly, and seemed at a loss
what to answer. His wife, however, burst into a merry
laugh, exclaiming—

“Oh, that was before the days of the A. C!”

He, catching the infection, laughed also; in fact Mr.
Johnson laughed, but without knowing why.

“The `A. C.'!” said Mr. Billings. “Bless me, Eunice!
how long it is since we have talked of that summer!
I had almost forgotten that there ever was an A. C.”

“Enos, could you ever forget Abel Mallory and the
beer?—or that scene between Hollins and Shelldrake?—
or” (here she blushed the least bit) “your own fit of candor?”
And she laughed again, more heartily than ever.

“What a precious lot of fools, to be sure!” exclaimed
her husband.

Mr. Johnson, meanwhile, though enjoying the cheerful
humor of his hosts, was not a little puzzled with regard to
its cause.

“What is the A. C.?” he ventured to ask.

Mr. and Mrs. Billings looked at each other, and smiled
without replying.

“Really, Ned,” said the former, finally, “the answer
to your question involves the whole story.”

“Then why not tell him the whole story, Enos?” remarked
his wife.

“You know I've never told it yet, and it's rather a
hard thing to do, seeing that I'm one of the heroes of the
farce—for it wasn't even genteel comedy, Ned,” said Mr.
Billings. “However,” he continued, “absurd as the
story may seem, it's the only key to the change in my
life, and I must run the risk of being laughed at.”

“I'll help you through, Enos,” said his wife, encouragingly;
“and besides, my róle in the farce was no better
than yours. Let us resuscitate, for to-night only, the constitution
of the A. C.”

“Upon my word, a capital idea! But we shall have
to initiate Ned.”

Mr. Johnson merrily agreeing, he was blindfolded and
conducted into another room. A heavy arm-chair, rolling
on casters, struck his legs in the rear, and he sank into it
with lamb-like resignation.

“Open your mouth!” was the command, given with
mock solemnity.

He obeyed.

“Now shut it!”

And his lips closed upon a cigar, while at the same
time the handkerchief was whisked away from his eyes
He found himself in Mr. Billing's library.

“Your nose betrays your taste, Mr. Johnson,” said the
lady, “and I am not hard-hearted enough to deprive you
of the indulgence. Here are matches.”

“Well,” said he, acting upon the hint, “if the remainder
of the ceremonies are equally agreeable, I should like
to be a permanent member of your order.”

By this time Mr. and Mrs. Billings, having between
them lighted the lamp, stirred up the coal in the grate,
closed the doors, and taken possession of comfortable
chairs, the latter proclaimed—

“The Chapter (isn't that what you call it?) will now
be held!”

“Was it in '43 when you left home, Ned?” asked
Mr. B.

“Yes.”

“Well, the A. C. culminated in '45. You remember
something of the society of Norridgeport, the last winter
you were there? Abel Mallory, for instance?”

“Let me think a moment,” said Mr. Johnson reflect
ively. “Really, it seems like looking back a hundred
years. Mallory—wasn't that the sentimental young man,
with wispy hair, a tallowy skin, and big, sweaty hands,
who used to be spouting Carlyle on the `reading evenings'
at Shelldrake's? Yes, to be sure; and there was
Hollins, with his clerical face and infidel talk,—and Pauline
Ringtop, who used to say, `The Beautiful is the
Good.' I can still hear her shrill voice, singing, `Would
that I were beautiful, would that I were fair!'”

There was a hearty chorus of laughter at poor Miss

Ringtop's expense. It harmed no one, however; for the
tar-weed was already thick over her Californian grave.

“Oh, I see,” said Mr. Billings, “you still remember
the absurdities of those days. In fact, I think you partially
saw through them then. But I was younger, and far
from being so clear-headed, and I looked upon those
evenings at Shelldrake's as being equal, at least, to the
symposia of Plato. Something in Mallory always repelled
me. I detested the sight of his thick nose, with the flaring
nostrils, and his coarse, half-formed lips, of the bluish color
of raw corned-beef. But I looked upon these feelings as unreasonable
prejudices, and strove to conquer them, seeing
the admiration which he received from others. He was an
oracle on the subject of `Nature.' Having eaten nothing
for two years, except Graham bread, vegetables without
salt, and fruits, fresh or dried, he considered himself to
have attained an antediluvian purity of health—or that he
would attain it, so soon as two pimples on his left temple
should have healed. These pimples he looked upon as
the last feeble stand made by the pernicious juices left
from the meat he had formerly eaten and the coffee he
had drunk. His theory was, that through a body so
purged and purified none but true and natural impulses
could find access to the soul. Such, indeed, was the theory
we all held. A Return to Nature was the near Millennium,
the dawn of which we already beheld in the sky.
To be sure there was a difference in our individual views
as to how this should be achieved, but we were all agreed
as to what the result should be.

“I can laugh over those days now, Ned; but they
were really happy while they lasted. We were the salt of
the earth; we were lifted above those grovelling instincts
which we saw manifested in the lives of others. Each contributed
his share of gas to inflate the painted balloon to
which we all clung, in the expectation that it would presently
soar with us to the stars. But it only went up over
the out-houses, dodged backwards and forwards two or
three times, and finally flopped down with us into a swamp.”

“And that balloon was the A. C.?” suggested Mr.
Johnson.

“As President of this Chapter, I prohibit questions,”
said Eunice. “And, Enos, don't send up your balloon until
the proper time. Don't anticipate the programme, or
the performance will be spoiled.”

“I had almost forgotten that Ned is so much in the
dark,” her obedient husband answered. “You can have
but a slight notion,” he continued, turning to his friend,
“of the extent to which this sentimental, or transcendental,
element in the little circle at Shelldrake's increased after
you left Norridgeport. We read the `Dial,' and Emerson;
we believed in Alcott as the `purple Plato' of modern
times; we took psychological works out of the library,
and would listen for hours to Hollins while he read Schelling
or Fichte, and then go home with a misty impression
of having imbibed infinite wisdom. It was, perhaps, a
natural, though very eccentric rebound from the hard, practical,
unimaginative New-England mind which surrounded
us; yet I look back upon it with a kind of wonder.

I was then, as you know, unformed mentally, and might
have been so still, but for the experiences of the A. C.”

Mr. Johnson shifted his position, a little impatiently.
Eunice looked at him with laughing eyes, and shook her
finger with a mock threat.

“Shelldrake,” continued Mr. Billings, without noticing
this by-play, “was a man of more pretence than real cultivation,
as I afterwards discovered. He was in good circumstances,
and always glad to receive us at his house, as
this made him, virtually, the chief of our tribe, and the outlay
for refreshments involved only the apples from his own
orchard and water from his well. There was an entire absence
of conventionaltiy at our meetings, and this, conpared
with the somewhat stiff society of the village, was
really an attraction. There was a mystic bond of union
in our ideas: we discussed life, love, religion, and the future
state, not only with the utmost candor, but with a
warmth of feeling which, in many of us, was genuine.
Even I (and you know how painfully shy and bashful I
was) felt myself more at home there than in my father's
house; and if I didn't talk much, I had a pleasant feeling
of being in harmony with those who did.

“Well, 'twas in the early part of '45—I think in April,
—when we were all gathered together, discussing, as usual,
the possibility of leading a life in accordance with Nature.
Abel Mallory was there, and Hollins, and Miss Ringtop,
and Faith Levis, with her knitting,—and also Eunice
Hazleton, a lady whom you have never seen, but you
may take my wife at her representative—”

“Stick to the programme, Enos,” interrupted Mrs. Billings.

“Eunice Hazleton, then. I wish I could recollect
some of the speeches made on that occasion. Abel had
but one pimple on his temple (there was a purple spot
where the other had been), and was estimating that in two
or three months more he would be a true, unspoiled man.
His complexion, nevertheless, was more clammy and whey-like
than ever.

“`Yes,' said he, `I also am an Arcadian! This false
dual existence which I have been leading will soon be
merged in the unity of Nature. Our lives must conform
to her sacred law. Why can't we strip off these hollow
Shams,' (he made great use of that word,) `and be our
true selves, pure, perfect, and divine?'

“Miss Ringtop heaved a sigh, and repeated a stanza
from her favorite poet:

“Shelldrake, however, turning to his wife, said—

“`Elviry, how many up-stairs rooms is there in that
house down on the Sound?'

“`Four,—besides three small ones under the roof.
Why, what made you think of that, Jesse?' said she.

“`I've got an idea, while Abel's been talking,' he answered.

`We've taken a house for the summer, down the
other side of Bridgeport, right on the water, where there's
good fishing and a fine view of the Sound. Now, there's
room enough for all of us—at least all that can make it
suit to go. Abel, you and Enos, and Pauline and Eunice
might fix matters so that we could all take the place in
partnership, and pass the summer together, living a true
and beautiful life in the bosom of Nature. There we shall
be perfectly free and untrammelled by the chains which
still hang around us in Norridgeport. You know how often
we have wanted to be set on some island in the Pacific
Ocean, where we could build up a true society, right
from the start. Now, here's a chance to try the experiment
for a few months, anyhow.'

“Eunice clapped her hands (yes, you did!) and cried
out—

“`Splendid! Arcadian! I'll give up my school for the
summer.'

“Miss Ringtop gave her opinion in another quotation:

“Abel Mallory, of course, did not need to have the proposal
repeated. He was ready for any thing which promised
indulgence, and the indulgence of his sentimental
tastes. I will do the fellow the justice to say that he was
not a hypocrite. He firmly believed both in himself and
his ideas—especially the former. He pushed both hands

through the long wisps of his drab-colored hair, and threw
his head back until his wide nostrils resembled a double
door to his brain.

“`Oh Nature!' he said, `you have found your lost
children! We shall obey your neglected laws! we shall
hearken to your divine whispers! we shall bring you back
from your ignominious exile, and place you on your ancestral
throne!'

“`Let us do it!' was the general cry.

“A sudden enthusiasm fired us, and we grasped each
other's hands in the hearty impulse of the moment. My
own private intention to make a summer trip to the White
Mountains had been relinquished the moment I heard
Eunice give in her adhesion. I may as well confess, at
once, that I was desperately in love, and afraid to speak
to her.

“By the time Mrs. Sheldrake brought in the apples
and water we were discussing the plan as a settled thing.
Hollins had an engagement to deliver Temperance lectures
in Ohio during the summer, but decided to postpone
his departure until August, so that he might, at least, spend
two months with us. Faith Levis couldn't go—at which,
I think, we were all secretly glad. Some three or four
others were in the same case, and the company was finally
arranged to consist of the Shelldrakes, Hollins, Mallory,
Eunice, Miss Ringtop, and myself. We did not give much
thought, either to the preparations in advance, or to our
mode of life when settled there. We were to live near to
Nature: that was the main thing.

“`What shall we call the place?' asked Eunice.

“`Arcadia!' said Abel Mallory, rolling up his large
green eyes.

“`Then,' said Hollins, `let us constitute ourselves the
Arcadian Club!'”

—“Aha!” interrupted Mr. Johnson, “I see! The
A. C.!”

“Yes, you can see the A. C. now,” said Mrs. Billings;
“but to understand it fully, you should have had a share
in those Arcadian experiences.”

“I am all the more interested in hearing them described.
Go on, Enos.”

“The proposition was adopted. We called ourselves
The Arcadian Club; but in order to avoid gossip, and the
usual ridicule, to which we were all more or less sensitive,
in case our plan should become generally known, it was
agreed that the initials only should be used. Besides,
there was an agreeable air of mystery about it: we thought
of Delphi, and Eleusis, and Samothrace: we should discover
that Truth which the dim eyes of worldly men and
women were unable to see, and the day of disclosure
would be the day of Triumph. In one sense we were
truly Arcadians: no suspicion of impropriety, I verily believe,
entered any of our minds. In our aspirations after
what we called a truer life there was no material taint. We
were fools, if you choose, but as far as possible from being
sinners. Besides, the characters of Mr. and Mrs. Shelldrake,
who naturally became the heads of our proposed
community were sufficient to preserve us from slander

or suspicion, if even our designs had been publicly announced.

“I won't bore you with an account of our preparations.
In fact, there was very little to be done. Mr.
Shelldrake succeeded in hiring the house, with most of its
furniture, so that but a few articles had to be supplied.
My trunk contained more books than boots, more blank
paper than linen.

“`Two shirts will be enough,' said Abel: `you can
wash one of them any day, and dry it in the sun.'

“The supplies consisted mostly of flour, potatoes, and
sugar. There was a vegetable-garden in good condition,
Mr. Shelldrake said, which would be our principal dependence.

“`Besides, the clams!' I exclaimed unthinkingly.

“`Oh, yes!' said Eunice, `we can have chowder-parties:
that will be delightful!'

“`Clams! chowder! oh, worse than flesh!' groaned
Abel. `Will you reverence Nature by outraging her first
laws?'

“I had made a great mistake, and felt very foolish.
Eunice and I looked at each other, for the first time.”

“Speak for yourself only, Enos,” gently interpolated
his wife.

“It was a lovely afternoon in the beginning of June
when we first approached Arcadia. We had taken two
double teams at Bridgeport, and drove slowly forward to
our destination, followed by a cart containing our trunks
and a few household articles. It was a bright, balmy day:

the wheat-fields were rich and green, the clover showed
faint streaks of ruby mist along slopes leaning southward,
and the meadows were yellow with buttercups. Now and
then we caught glimpses of the Sound, and, far beyond
it, the dim Long Island shore. Every old white farm-house,
with its gray-walled garden, its clumps of lilacs, viburnums,
and early roses, offered us a picture of pastoral
simplicity and repose. We passed them, one by one, in the
happiest mood, enjoying the earth around us, the sky
above, and ourselves most of all.

“The scenery, however, gradually became more rough
and broken. Knobs of gray gneiss, crowned by mournful
cedars, intrenched upon the arable land, and the dark-blue
gleam of water appeared through the trees. Our road,
which had been approaching the Sound, now skirted the
head of a deep, irregular inlet, beyond which extended a
beautiful promontory, thickly studded with cedars, and
with scattering groups of elm, oak and maple trees. Towards
the end of the promontory stood a house, with
white walls shining against the blue line of the Sound.

“`There is Arcadia, at last!' exclaimed Mr. Shelldrake.

“A general outcry of delight greeted the announcement.
And, indeed, the loveliness of the picture surpassed
our most poetic anticipations. The low sun was throwing
exquisite lights across the point, painting the slopes of
grass of golden green, and giving a pearly softness to the
gray rocks. In the back-ground was drawn the far-off
water-line, over which a few specks of sail glimmered

against the sky. Miss Ringtop, who, with Eunice, Mallory,
and myself, occupied one carriage, expressed her
`gushing' feelings in the usual manner:

“`Don't, Pauline!' said Eunice; `I never like to hear
poetry flourished in the face of Nature. This landscape
surpasses any poem in the world. Let us enjoy the best
thing we have, rather than the next best.'

“`Ah, yes!' sighed Miss Ringtop, `'tis true!

“Thenceforward, to the house, all was childish joy and
jubilee. All minor personal repugnances were smoothed
over in the general exultation. Even Abel Mallory became
agreeable; and Hollins, sitting beside Mrs. Shelldrake
on the back seat of the foremost carriage, shouted
to us, in boyish lightness of heart.

“Passing the head of the inlet, we left the country-road,
and entered, through a gate in the tottering stone
wall, on our summer domain. A track, open to the field
on one side, led us past a clump of deciduous trees, between
pastures broken by cedared knolls of rock, down
the centre of the peninsula, to the house. It was quite
an old frame-building, two stories high, with a gambrel
roof and tall chimneys. Two slim Lombardy poplars and

a broad-leaved catalpa shaded the southern side, and a
kitchen-garden, divided in the centre by a double row of
untrimmed currant-bushes, flanked it on the east. For
flowers, there were masses of blue flags and coarse tawny-red
lilies, besides a huge trumpet-vine which swung its
pendent arms from one of the gables. In front of the
house a natural lawn of mingled turf and rock sloped
steeply down to the water, which was not more than two
hundred yards distant. To the west was another and
broader inlet of the Sound, out of which our Arcadian
promontory rose bluff and bold, crowned with a thick
fringe of pines. It was really a lovely spot which Shelldrake
had chosen—so secluded, while almost surrounded
by the winged and moving life of the Sound, so simple,
so pastoral and home-like. No one doubted the success
of our experiment, for that evening at least.

“Perkins Brown, Shelldrake's boy-of-all-work, awaited
us at the door. He had been sent on two or three days
in advance, to take charge of the house, and seemed to
have had enough of hermit-life, for he hailed us with a
wild whoop, throwing his straw hat half-way up one of the
poplars. Perkins was a boy of fifteen, the child of poor
parents, who were satisfied to get him off their hands, regardless
as to what humanitarian theories might be tested
upon him. As the Arcadian Club recognized no such
thing as caste, he was always admitted to our meetings,
and understood just enough of our conversation to excite
a silly ambition in his slow mind. His animal nature was
predominant, and this led him to be deceitful. At that

time, however, we all looked upon him as a proper young
Arcadian, and hoped that he would develop into a second
Abel Mallory.

“After our effects had been deposited on the stoop,
and the carriages had driven away, we proceeded to apportion
the rooms, and take possession. On the first floor
there were three rooms, two of which would serve us as
dining and drawing rooms, leaving the third for the Shelldrakes.
As neither Eunice and Miss Ringtop, nor Hollins
and Abel showed any disposition to room together,
I quietly gave up to them the four rooms in the second
story, and installed myself in one of the attic chambers.
Here I could hear the music of the rain close
above my head, and through the little gable window, as I
lay in bed, watch the colors of the morning gradually
steal over the distant shores. The end was, we were all
satisfied.

“`Now for our first meal in Arcadia!' was the next
cry. Mrs. Shelldrake, like a prudent housekeeper,
marched off to the kitchen, where Perkins had already
kindled a fire. We looked in at the door, but thought it
best to allow her undisputed sway in such a narrow
realm. Eunice was unpacking some loaves of bread and
paper bags of crackers; and Miss Ringtop, smiling
through her ropy curls, as much as to say, `You see, I
also can perform the coarser tasks of life!' occupied herself
with plates and cups. We men, therefore, walked
out to the garden, which we found in a promising condition.
The usual vegetables had been planted and were

growing finely, for the season was yet scarcely warm
enough for the weeds to make much headway. Radishes,
young onions, and lettuce formed our contribution to the
table. The Shelldrakes, I should explain, had not yet
advanced to the antediluvian point, in diet: nor, indeed,
had either Eunice or myself. We acknowledged the fascination
of tea, we saw a very mitigated evil in milk and
butter, and we were conscious of stifled longings after the
abomination of meat. Only Mallory, Hollins, and Miss
Ringtop had reached that loftiest round on the ladder of
progress where the material nature loosens the last fetter
of the spiritual. They looked down upon us, and we
meekly admitted their right to do so.

“Our board, that evening, was really tempting. The
absence of meat was compensated to us by the crisp and
racy onions, and I craved only a little salt, which had
been interdicted, as a most pernicious substance. I sat
at one corner of the table, beside Perkins Brown, who
took an opportunity, while the others were engaged in
conversation, to jog my elbow gently. As I turned towards
him, he said nothing, but dropped his eyes significantly.
The little rascal had the lid of a blacking-box,
filled with salt, upon his knee, and was privately seasoning
his onions and radishes. I blushed at the thought
of my hypocrisy, but the onions were so much better that
I couldn't help dipping into the lid with him.

“`Oh,' said Eunice, `we must send for some oil and
vinegar! This lettuce is very nice.'

“`Oil and vinegar?' exclaimed Abel.

“`Why, yes,' said she, innocently: `they are both
vegetable substances.'

“Abel at first looked rather foolish, but quickly recovering
himself, said—

“`All vegetable substances are not proper for food:
you would not taste the poison-oak, or sit under the
upas-tree of Java.'

“`Well, Abel,' Eunice rejoined, `how are we to distinguish
what is best for us? How are we to know what
vegetables to choose, or what animal and mineral substances
to avoid?'

“`I will tell you,' he answered, with a lofty air. `See
here!' pointing to his temple, where the second pimple
—either from the change of air, or because, in the excitement
of the last few days, he had forgotten it—was
actually healed. `My blood is at last pure. The struggle
between the natural and the unnatural is over, and I
am beyond the depraved influences of my former taste.
My instincts are now, therefore, entirely pure also. What
is good for man to eat, that I shall have a natural desire
to eat: what is bad will be naturally repelled. How does
the cow distinguish between the wholesome and the poisonous
herbs of the meadow? And is man less than a
cow, that he cannot cultivate his instincts to an equal
point? Let me walk through the woods and I can tell
you every berry and root which God designed for food,
though I know not its name, and have never seen it before.
I shall make use of my time, during our sojourn
here, to test, by my purified instinct, every substance, animal,

mineral, and vegetable, upon which the human race
subsists, and to create a catalogue of the True Food of
Man!'

“Abel was eloquent on this theme, and he silenced
not only Eunice, but the rest of us. Indeed, as we were
all half infected with the same delusions, it was not easy
to answer his sophistries.

“After supper was over, the prospect of cleaning the
dishes and putting things in order was not so agreeable;
but Mrs. Shelldrake and Perkins undertook the work,
and we did not think it necessary to interfere with them.
Half an hour afterwards, when the full moon had risen,
we took our chairs upon the stoop, to enjoy the calm,
silver night, the soft sea-air, and our summer's residence
in anticipatory talk.

“`My friends,' said Hollins (and his hobby, as you
may remember, Ned, was the organization of Society,
rather than those reforms which apply directly to the Individual),—`my
friends, I think we are sufficiently advanced
in progressive ideas to establish our little Arcadian
community upon what I consider the true basis:
not Law, nor Custom, but the uncorrupted impulses of
our nature. What Abel said in regard to dietetic reform
is true; but that alone will not regenerate the race. We
must rise superior to those conventional ideas of Duty
whereby Life is warped and crippled. Life must not be
a prison, where each one must come and go, work, eat,
and sleep, as the jailer commands. Labor must not be
a necessity, but a spontaneous joy. 'Tis true, but little

labor is required of us here: let us, therefore, have no
set tasks, no fixed rules, but each one work, rest, eat,
sleep, talk or be silent, as his own nature prompts.'

“Perkins, sitting on the steps, gave a suppressed
chuckle, which I think no one heard but myself. I was
vexed with his levity, but, nevertheless, gave him a warning
nudge with my toe, in payment for the surreptitious salt.

“`That's just the notion I had, when I first talked
of our coming here,' said Shelldrake. `Here we're
alone and unhindered; and if the plan shouldn't happen
to work well (I don't see why it shouldn't though), no
harm will be done. I've had a deal of hard work in my
life, and I've been badgered and bullied so much by
your strait-laced professors, that I'm glad to get away
from the world for a spell, and talk and do rationally,
without being laughed at.'

“`Yes,' answered Hollins, `and if we succeed, as I
feel we shall, for I think I know the hearts of all of us
here, this may be the commencement of a new eepoch for
the world. We may become the turning-point between
two dispensations: behind us every thing false and unnatural,
before us every thing true, beautiful, and good.'

“`Ah,' sighed Miss Ringtop, `it reminds me of Gamaliel
J. Gawthrop's beautiful lines:

“`I am willing to try the experiment,' said I, on being
appealed to by Hollins; `but don't you think we had
better observe some kind of order, even in yielding every
thing to impulse? Shouldn't there be, at least, a platform,
as the politicians call it—an agreement by which
we shall all be bound, and which we can afterwards exhibit
as the basis of our success?'

“He meditated a few moments, and then answered—

“`I think not. It resembles too much the thing we
are trying to overthrow. Can you bind a man's belief
by making him sign certain articles of Faith? No: his
thought will be free, in spite of it; and I would have Action—Life—as
free as Thought. Our platform—to adopt
your image—has but one plank: Truth. Let each only
be true to himself: be himself, act himself, or herself with
the uttermost candor. We can all agree upon that.'

“The agreement was accordingly made. And certainly
no happier or more hopeful human beings went to
bed in all New England that night.

“I arose with the sun, went into the garden, and commenced
weeding, intending to do my quota of work before
breakfast, and then devote the day to reading and conversation.
I was presently joined by Shelldrake and Mallory,
and between us we finished the onions and radishes,
stuck the peas, and cleaned the alleys. Perkins, after
milking the cow and turning her out to pasture, assisted
Mrs. Shelldrake in the kitchen. At breakfast we were
joined by Hollins, who made no excuse for his easy morning
habits; nor was one expected. I may as well tell you

now, though, that his natural instincts never led him to
work. After a week, when a second crop of weeds was
coming on, Mallory fell off also, and thenceforth Shelldrake
and myself had the entire charge of the garden. Perkins
did the rougher work, and was always on hand when he
was wanted. Very soon, however, I noticed that he was
in the habit of disappearing for two or three hours in the
afternoon.

“Our meals preserved the same Spartan simplicity.
Eunice, however, carried her point in regard to the salad;
for Abel, after tasting and finding it very palatable, decided
that oil and vinegar might be classed in the catalogue
of True Food. Indeed, his long abstinence from
piquant flavors gave him such an appetite for it that our
supply of lettuce was soon exhausted. An embarrassing
accident also favored us with the use of salt. Perkins
happening to move his knee at the moment I was dipping
an onion into the blacking-box lid, our supply was knocked
upon the floor. He picked it up, and we both hoped
the accident might pass unnoticed. But Abel, stretching
his long neck across the corner of the table, caught a
glimpse of what was going on.

“`What's that?' he asked.

“`Oh, it's—it's only,' said I, seeking for a synonyme,
`only chloride of sodium!'

“`Chloride of sodium! what do you do with it?'

“`Eat it with onions,' said I, boldly: `it's a chemical
substance, but I believe it is found in some plants.'

“Eunice, who knew something of chemistry (she

taught a class, though you wouldn't think it), grew red
with suppressed fun, but the others were as ignorant as
Abel Mallory himself.

“`Let me taste it,' said he, stretching out an onion.

“I handed him the box-lid, which still contained a
portion of its contents. He dipped the onion, bit off a
piece, and chewed it gravely.

“`Why,' said he, turning to me, `it's very much like
salt.'

“Perkins burst into a spluttering yell, which discharged
an onion-top he had just put between his teeth across
the table; Eunice and I gave way at the same moment;
and the others, catching the joke, joined us. But while
we were laughing, Abel was finishing his onion, and the
result was that Salt was added to the True Food, and
thereafter appeared regularly on the table.

“The forenoons we usually spent in reading and writing,
each in his or her chamber. (Oh, the journals, Ned!
—but you shall not see mine.) After a midday meal,—
I cannot call it dinner,—we sat upon the stoop, listening
while one of us read aloud, or strolled down the shores on
either side, or, when the sun was not too warm, got into
a boat, and rowed or floated lazily around the promontory.

“One afternoon, as I was sauntering off, past the garden,
towards the eastern inlet, I noticed Perkins slipping
along behind the cedar knobs, towards the little woodland
at the end of our domain. Curious to find out the cause
of his mysterious disappearances, I followed cautiously.
From the edge of the wood I saw him enter a little gap

between the rocks, which led down to the water. Presently
a thread of blue smoke stole up. Quietly creeping
along, I got upon the nearer bluff and looked down. There
was a sort of hearth built up at the base of the rock, with
a brisk little fire burning upon it, but Perkins had disappeared.
I stretched myself out upon the moss, in the
shade, and waited. In about half an hour up came Perkins,
with a large fish in one hand and a lump of clay in
the other. I now understood the mystery. He carefully
imbedded the fish in a thin layer of clay, placed it on the
coals, and then went down to the shore to wash his hands.
On his return he found me watching the fire.

“`Ho, ho, Mr. Enos!' said he, `you've found me out;
But you won't say nothin'. Gosh! you like it as well I do.
Look 'ee there!'—breaking open the clay, from which
arose `a steam of rich distilled perfumes,'—`and, I say,
I've got the box-lid with that 'ere stuff in it,—ho! ho!'
—and the scamp roared again.

“Out of a hole in the rock he brought salt and the end
of a loaf, and between us we finished the fish. Before long,
I got into the habit of disappearing in the afternoon.

“Now and then we took walks, alone or collectively,
to the nearest village, or even to Bridgeport, for the papers
or a late book. The few purchases we required were
made at such times, and sent down in a cart, or, if not too
heavy, carried by Perkins in a basket. I noticed that
Abel, whenever we had occasion to visit a grocery, would
go sniffing around, alternately attracted or repelled by the
various articles: now turning away with a shudder from a

ham,—now inhaling, with a fearful delight and uncertainty,
the odor of smoked herrings. `I think herrings must
feed on sea-weed,' said he, `there is such a vegetable attraction
about them.' After his violent vegetarian harangues,
however, he hesitated about adding them to his
catalogue.

“But, one day, as we were passing through the village,
he was reminded by the sign of `Warter Crackers' in
the window of an obscure grocery that he required a sup
ply of these articles, and we therefore entered. There
was a splendid Rhode Island cheese on the counter, from
which the shop-mistress was just cutting a slice for a cus
tomer. Abel leaned over it, inhaling the rich, pungent
fragrance.

“`Enos,' said he to me, between his sniffs, `this im
presses me like flowers—like marigolds. It must be—
really—yes, the vegetable element is predominant. My
instinct towards it is so strong that I cannot be mistaken.
May I taste it, ma'am?'

“The woman sliced off a thin corner, and presented it
to him on the knife.

“`Delicious!' he exclaimed; `I am right,—this is the
True Food. Give me two pounds—and the crackers,
ma'am.'

“I turned away, quite as much disgusted as amused
with this charlatanism. And yet I verily believe the fellow
was sincere—self-deluded only. I had by this time lost
my faith in him, though not in the great Arcadian principles.
On reaching home, after an hour's walk, I found

our household in unusual commotion. Abel was writhing
in intense pain: he had eaten the whole two pounds of
cheese, on his way home! His stomach, so weakened by
years of unhealthy abstinence from true nourishment, was
now terribly tortured by this sudden stimulus. Mrs. Shelldrake,
fortunately, had some mustard among her stores,
and could therefore administer a timely emetic. His life
was saved, but he was very ill for two or three days. Hollins
did not fail to take advantage of this circumstance to
overthrow the authority which Abel had gradually acquired
on the subject of food. He was so arrogant in his nature
that he could not tolerate the same quality in another,
even where their views coincided.

“By this time several weeks had passed away. It was
the beginning of July, and the long summer heats had
come. I was driven out of my attic during the middle hours
of the day, and the others found it pleasanter on the doubly
shaded stoop than in their chambers. We were thus
thrown more together than usual—a circumstance which
made our life more monotonous to the others, as I could
see; but to myself, who could at last talk to Eunice, and
who was happy at the very sight of her, this `heated term'
seemed borrowed from Elysium. I read aloud, and the
sound of my own voice gave me confidence; many passages
suggested discussions, in which I took a part; and you
may judge, Ned, how fast I got on, from the fact that I
ventured to tell Eunice of my fish-bakes with Perkins, and
invite her to join them. After that, she also often disappeared
from sight for an hour or two in the afternoon.”

—“Oh, Mr. Johnson,” interrupted Mrs. Billings,
“it wasn't for the fish!”

“Of course not,” said her husband; “it was for my
sake.”

“No, you need not think it was for you. Enos,” she
added, perceiving the feminine dilemma into which she
had been led, “all this is not necessary to the story.”

“Stop!” he answered. “The A. C. has been revived
for this night only. Do you remember our platform,
or rather no-platform? I must follow my impulses,
and say whatever comes uppermost.”

“Right, Enos,” said Mr. Johnson; “I, as temporary
Arcadian, take the same ground. My instinct tells me
that you, Mrs. Billings, must permit the confession.”

She submitted with a good grace, and her husband
continued:

“I said that our lazy life during the hot weather had
become a little monotonous. The Arcadian plan had
worked tolerably well, on the whole, for there was very little
for any one to do—Mrs. Shelldrake and Perkins Brown
excepted. Our conversation, however, lacked spirit and
variety. We were, perhaps unconsciously, a little tired
of hearing and assenting to the same sentiments. But
one evening, about this time, Hollins struck upon a variation,
the consequences of which he little foresaw. We
had been reading one of Bulwer's works (the weather
was too hot for Psychology), and came upon this paragraph,
or something like it:

“`Ah, Behind the Veil! We see the summer smile

of the Earth—enamelled meadow and limpid stream,—
but what hides she in her sunless heart? Caverns of serpents,
or grottoes of priceless gems? Youth, whose soul
sits on thy countenance, thyself wearing no mask, strive
not to lift the masks of others! Be content with what
thou seest; and wait until Time and Experience shall
teach thee to find jealousy behind the sweet smile, and
hatred under the honeyed word!'

“This seemed to us a dark and bitter reflection; but
one or another of us recalled some illustration of human
hypocrisy, and the evidences, by the simple fact of repetition,
gradually led to a division of opinion—Hollins,
Shelldrake, and Miss Ringtop on the dark side, and the
rest of us on the bright. The last, however, contented
herself with quoting from her favorite poet, Gamaliel J.
Gawthrop:

“`We think we know one another,' exclaimed Hollins;
`but do we? We see the faults of others, their
weaknesses, their disagreeable qualities, and we keep
silent. How much we should gain, were candor as universal
as concealment! Then each one, seeing himself
as others see him, would truly know himself. How much
misunderstanding might be avoided—how much hidden
shame be removed—hopeless, because unspoken, love
made glad—honest admiration cheer its object—uttered

sympathy mitigate misfortune—in short, how much brighter
and happier the world would become if each one expressed,
everywhere and at all times, his true and entire feeling!
Why, even Evil would lose half its power!'

“There seemed to be so much practical wisdom in
these views that we were all dazzled and half-convinced
at the start. So, when Hollins, turning towards me, as
he continued, exclaimed—`Come, why should not this
candor be adopted in our Arcadia? Will any one—will
you, Enos—commence at once by telling me now—to my
face—my principal faults?' I answered after a moment's
reflection—`You have a great deal of intellectual arrogance,
and you are, physically, very indolent.'

“He did not flinch from the self-invited test, though
he looked a little surprised.

“`Well put,' said he, `though I do not say that you
are entirely correct. Now, what are my merits?'

“`You are clear-sighted,' I answered, `an earnest
seeker after truth, and courageous in the avowal of your
thoughts.'

“This restored the balance, and we soon began to
confess our own private faults and weaknesses. Though
the confessions did not go very deep,—no one betraying
anything we did not all know already,—yet they were sufficient
to strength Hollins in his new idea, and it was
unanimously resolved that Candor should thenceforth be
the main charm of our Arcadian life. It was the very thing
I wanted, in order to make a certain communication to
Eunice; but I should probably never have reached the

point, had not the same candor been exercised towards
me, from a quarter where I least expected it.

“The next day, Abel, who had resumed his researches
after the True Food, came home to supper with a healthier
color than I had before seen on his face.

“`Do you know,' said he, looking shyly at Hollins,
`that I begin to think Beer must be a natural beverage?
There was an auction in the village to-day, as I passed
through, and I stopped at a cake-stand to get a glass of
water, as it was very hot. There was no water—only
beer: so I thought I would try a glass, simply as an experiment.
Really, the flavor was very agreeable. And
it occurred to me, on the way home, that all the elements
contained in beer are vegetable. Besides, fermentation
is a natural process. I think the question has never been
properly tested before.'

“`But the alcohol!' exclaimed Hollins.

“`I could not distinguish any, either by taste or smell.
I know that chemical analysis is said to show it; but may
not the alcohol be created, somehow, during the analysis?'

“`Abel,' said Hollins, in a fresh burst of candor,
`you will never be a Reformer, until you possess some of
the commonest elements of knowledge.'

“The rest of us were much diverted: it was a pleasant
relief to our monotonous amiability.

“Abel, however, had a stubborn streak in his character.
The next day he sent Perkins Brown to Bridgeport
for a dozen bottles of `Beer.' Perkins, either intentionally
or by mistake, (I always suspected the former,)

brought pint-bottles of Scotch ale, which he placed in the
coolest part of the cellar. The evening happened to be
exceedingly hot and sultry, and, as we were all fanning
ourselves and talking languidly, Abel bethought him of
his beer. In his thirst, he drank the contents of the first
bottle, almost at a single draught.

“`The effect of beer,' said he, `depends, I think, on
the commixture of the nourishing principle of the grain
with the cooling properties of the water. Perhaps, hereafter,
a liquid food of the same character may be invented,
which shall save us from mastication and all the diseases
of the teeth.'

“Hollins and Shelldrake, at his invitation, divided a
bottle between them, and he took a second. The potent
beverage was not long in acting on a brain so unaccustomed
to its influence. He grew unusually talkative and
sentimental, in a few minutes.

“`Oh, sing, somebody!' he sighed in a hoarse rapture:
`the night was made for Song.'

“Miss Ringtop, nothing loath, immediately commenced,
`When stars are in the quiet skies;' but scarcely
had she finished the first verse before Abel interrupted
her.

“`Candor's the order of the day, isn't it?' he asked.

“`Yes!' `Yes!' two or three answered.

“`Well then,' said he, `candidly, Pauline, you've got
the darn'dest squeaky voice'—

“Miss Ringtop gave a faint little scream of horror.

“`Oh, never mind!' he continued. `We act according

to impulse, don't we? And I've the impulse to swear;
and it's right. Let Nature have her way. Listen!
Damn, damn, damn, damn! I never knew it was so
easy. Why, there's a pleasure in it! Try it, Pauline! try
it on me!'

“`Oh-ooh!' was all Miss Ringtop could utter.

“`Abel! Abel!' exclaimed Hollins, `the beer has
got into your head.'

“`No, it isn't Beer,—it's Candor!' said Abel. `It's
your own proposal, Hollins. Suppose it's evil to swear:
isn't it better I should express it, and be done with it,
than keep it bottled up to ferment in my mind? Oh,
you're a precious, consistent old humbug, you are!'

“And therewith he jumped off the stoop, and went
dancing awkwardly down towards the water, singing in a
most unmelodious voice, `'Tis home where'er the heart
is.'

“`Oh, he may fall into the water!' exclaimed Eunice,
in alarm.

“`He's not fool enough to do that,' said Shelldrake.
`His head is a little light, that's all. The air will cool
him down presently.'

But she arose and followed him, not satisfied with this
assurance. Miss Ringtop sat rigidly still. She would
have received with composure the news of his drowning.

“As Eunice's white dress disappeared among the cedars
crowning the shore, I sprang up and ran after her.
I knew that Abel was not intoxicated, but simply excited,
and I had no fear on his account: I obeyed an involuntary

impulse. On approaching the water, I heard their
voices—hers in friendly persuasion, his in sentimental
entreaty,—then the sound of oars in the row-locks. Looking
out from the last clump of cedars, I saw them seated
in the boat, Eunice at the stern, while Abel, facing her,
just dipped an oar now and then to keep from drifting
with the tide. She had found him already in the boat,
which was loosely chained to a stone. Stepping on one
of the forward thwarts in her eagerness to persuade him
to return, he sprang past her, jerked away the chain, and
pushed off before she could escape. She would have
fallen, but he caught her and placed her in the stern, and
then seated himself at the oars. She must have been somewhat
alarmed, but there was only indignation in her voice.
All this had transpired before my arrival, and the first words
I heard bound me to the spot and kept me silent.

“`Abel, what does this mean?' she asked.

“`It means Fate—Destiny!' he exclaimed, rather
wildly. `Ah, Eunice, ask the night, and the moon,—ask
the impulse which told you to follow me! Let us be candid
like the old Arcadians we imitate. Eunice, we know
that we love each other: why should we conceal it any
longer? The Angel of Love comes down from the stars
on his azure wings, and whispers to our hearts. Let us
confess to each other! The female heart should not be
timid, in this pure and beautiful atmosphere of Love
which we breathe. Come, Eunice! we are alone: let
your heart speak to me!'

“Ned, if you've ever been in love, (we'll talk of that

after a while,) you will easily understand what tortures I
endured, in thus hearing him speak. That he should love
Eunice! It was a profanation to her, an outrage to me.
Yet the assurance with which he spoke! Could she love
this conceited, ridiculous, repulsive fellow, after all? I
almost gasped for breath, as I clinched the prickly boughs
of the cedars in my hands, and set my teeth, waiting to
hear her answer.

“`I will not hear such language! Take me back to
the shore!' she said, in very short, decided tones.

“`Oh, Eunice,' he groaned, (and now, I think he was
perfectly sober,) `don't you love me, indeed? I love you,
—from my heart I do: yes, I love you. Tell me how
you feel towards me.'

“`Abel,' said she, earnestly, `I feel towards you only
as a friend; and if you wish me to retain a friendly interest
in you, you must never again talk in this manner. I
do not love you, and I never shall. Let me go back to
the house.'

“His head dropped upon his breast, but he rowed back
to the shore, drew the bow upon the rocks, and assisted
her to land. Then, sitting down, he groaned forth—

“`Oh, Eunice, you have broken my heart!' and putting
his big hands to his face, began to cry.

“She turned, placed one hand on his shoulder, and
said in a calm, but kind tone—

“`I am very sorry, Abel, but I cannot help it.'

“I slipped aside, that she might not see me, and we
returned by separate paths.

“I slept very little that night. The conviction which
I chased away from my mind as often as it returned, that
our Arcadian experiment was taking a ridiculous and at
the same time impracticable development, became clearer
and stronger. I felt sure that our little community could
not hold together much longer without an explosion. I
had a presentiment that Eunice shared my impressions.
My feelings towards her had reached that crisis where a
declaration was imperative: but how to make it? It was
a terrible struggle between my shyness and my affection.
There was another circumstance in connection with this
subject, which troubled me not a little. Miss Ringtop
evidently sought my company, and made me, as much as
possible, the recipient of her sentimental outpourings. I
was not bold enough to repel her—indeed I had none of
that tact which is so useful in such emergencies,—and she
seemed to misinterpret my submission. Not only was
her conversation pointedly directed to me, but she looked
at me, when singing, (especially, `Thou, thou, reign'st in
this bosom!') in a way that made me feel very uncomfortable.
What if Eunice should suspect an attachment
towards her, on my part. What if—oh, horror!—I had
unconsciously said or done something to impress Miss
Ringtop herself with the same conviction? I shuddered
as the thought crossed my mind. One thing was very
certain: this suspense was not to be endured much
longer.

“We had an unusually silent breakfast the next morning.
Abel scarcely spoke, which the others attributed to

a natural feeling of shame, after his display of the previous
evening. Hollins and Shelldrake discussed Temperance,
with a special view to his edification, and Miss
Ringtop favored us with several quotations about `the
maddening bowl,'—but he paid no attention to them.
Eunice was pale and thoughtful. I had no doubt in my
mind, that she was already contemplating a removal from
Arcadia. Perkins, whose perceptive faculties were by no
means dull, whispered to me, `Shan't I bring up some
porgies for supper?' but I shook my head. I was busy
with other thoughts, and did not join him in the wood,
that day.

“The forenoon was overcast, with frequent showers.
Each one occupied his or her room until dinner-time,
when we met again with something of the old geniality.
There was an evident effort to restore our former flow of
good feeling. Abel's experience with the beer was freely
discussed. He insisted strongly that he had not been
laboring under its effects, and proposed a mutual test. He,
Shelldrake, and Hollins were to drink it in equal measures,
and compare observations as to their physical sensations.
The others agreed,—quite willingly, I thought,—
but I refused. I had determined to make a desperate attempt
at candor, and Abel's fate was fresh before my
eyes.

“My nervous agitation increased during the day, and
after sunset, fearing lest I should betray my excitement
in some way, I walked down to the end of the promontory,
and took a seat on the rocks. The sky had cleared,

and the air was deliciously cool and sweet. The Sound
was spread out before me like a sea, for the Long Island
shore was veiled in a silvery mist. My mind was soothed
and calmed by the influences of the scene, until the moon
arose. Moonlight, you know, disturbs—at least, when
one is in love. (Ah, Ned, I see you understand it!) I
felt blissfully miserable, ready to cry with joy at the
knowledge that I loved, and with fear and vexation at my
cowardice, at the same time.

“Suddenly I heard a rustling beside me. Every nerve
in my body tingled, and I turned my head, with a beating
and expectant heart. Pshaw! It was Miss Ringtop,
who spread her blue dress on the rock beside me, and
shook back her long curls, and sighed, as she gazed at the
silver path of the moon on the water.

“`Oh, how delicious!' she cried. `How it seems to
set the spirit free, and we wander off on the wings of
Fancy to other spheres!'

“`Yes,' said I, `It is very beautiful, but sad, when one
is alone.'

“I was thinking of Eunice.

“`How inadequate,' she continued, `is language to express
the emotions which such a scene calls up in the
bosom! Poetry alone is the voice of the spiritual world,
and we, who are not poets, must borrow the language of
the gifted sons of Song. Oh, Enos, I wish you were a
poet! But you feel poetry, I know you do. I have seen
it in your eyes, when I quoted the burning lines of Adeliza
Kelley, or the soul-breathings of Gamaliel J. Gawthrop.

In him, particularly, I find the voice of my own nature.
Do you know his `Night-Whispers?' How it embodies
the feelings of such a scene as this!

“`Ah!' she continued, as I made no reply, `this is an
hour for the soul to unveil its most secret chambers!
Do you not think, Enos, that love rises superior to all
conventionalities? that those whose souls are in unison
should be allowed to reveal themselves to each other, regardless
of the world's opinions?'

“`Yes!' said I, earnestly.

“`Enos, do you understand me?' she asked, in a tender
voice—almost a whisper.

“`Yes,' said I, with a blushing confidence of my own
passion.

“`Then,' she whispered, `our hearts are wholly in unison.
I know you are true, Enos. I know your noble nature,
and I will never doubt you. This is indeed happiness!'

“And therewith she laid her head on my shoulder,
and sighed—

“`Miss Ringtop!' I cried, starting away from her, in
alarm, `you don't mean that—that—'

“I could not finish the sentence.

“`Yes, Enos, dear Enos! henceforth we belong to
each other.'

“The painful embarrassment I felt, as her true meaning
shot through my mind, surpassed anything I had imagined,
or experienced in anticipation, when planning how
I should declare myself to Eunice. Miss Ringtop was at
least ten years older than I, far from handsome (but you
remember her face,) and so affectedly sentimental, that I,
sentimental as I was then, was sick of hearing her talk.
Her hallucination was so monstrous, and gave me such a
shock of desperate alarm, that I spoke, on the impulse of
the moment, with great energy, without regarding how her
feelings might be wounded.

“`You mistake!' I exclaimed. `I didn't mean that,
—I didn't understand you. Don't talk to me that way,
—don't look at me in that way, Miss Ringtop! We were
never meant for each other—I wasn't —You're so
much older—I mean different. It can't be—no, it can
never be! Let us go back to the house: the night is
cold.'

“I rose hastily to my feet. She murmured something,
—what, I did not stay to hear,—but, plunging through
the cedars, was hurrying with all speed to the house, when,
half-way up the lawn, beside one of the rocky knobs, I
met Eunice, who was apparently on her way to join us.
In my excited mood, after the ordeal through which I had

just passed, everything seemed easy. My usual timidity
was blown to the four winds. I went directly to her, took
her hand, and said—

“`Eunice, the others are driving me mad with their
candor; will you let me be candid, too?'

“`I think you are always candid, Enos,' she answered.

“Even then, if I had hesitated, I should have been
lost. But I went on, without pausing—

“`Eunice, I love you—I have loved you since we first
met. I came here that I might be near you; but I must
leave you forever, and to-night, unless you can trust your
life in my keeping. God help me, since we have been together
I have lost my faith in almost everything but you.
Pardon me, if I am impetuous—different from what I
have seemed. I have struggled so hard to speak! I have
been a coward, Eunice, because of my love. But now I
have spoken, from my heart of hearts. Look at me: I
can bear it now. Read the truth in my eyes, before you
answer.'

“I felt her hand tremble while I spoke. As she
turned towards me her face, which had been averted, the
moon shone full upon it, and I saw that tears were upon
her cheeks. What was said—whether anything was said
—I cannot tell. I felt the blessed fact, and that was
enough. That was the dawning of the true Arcadia.”

—Mrs. Billings, who had been silent during this recital,
took her husband's hand and smiled. Mr. Johnson
felt a dull pang about the region of his heart. If he had

a secret, however, I do not feel justified in betraying
it.

“It was late,” Mr. Billings continued, “before we returned
to the house. I had a special dread of again encountering
Miss Ringtop, but she was wandering up and
down the bluff, under the pines, singing, `The dream is
past.' There was a sound of loud voices, as we approached
the stoop. Hollins, Shelldrake and his wife, and Abel
Mallory were sitting together near the door. Perkins
Brown, as usual, was crouched on the lowest step, with one
leg over the other, and rubbing the top of his boot with a
vigor which betrayed to me some secret mirth. He looked
up at me from under his straw hat with the grin of a
malicious Puck, glanced towards the group, and made a
curious gesture with his thumb. There were several
empty pint-bottles on the stoop.

“`Now, are you sure you can bear the test?' we heard
Hollins ask, as we approached.

“`Bear it? Why to be sure!' replied Shelldrake; `if
I couldn't bear it, or if you couldn't, your theory's done
for. Try! I can stand it as long as you can.'

“`Well, then,' said Hollins, `I think you are a very
ordinary man. I derive no intellectual benefit from my
intercourse with you, but your house is convenient to me.
I'm under no obligations for your hospitality, however,
because my company is an advantage to you. Indeed if
I were treated according to my deserts, you couldn't do
enough for me.'

“Mrs. Shelldrake was up in arms.

“`Indeed,' she exclaimed, `I think you get as good
as you deserve, and more too.'

“`Elvira,' said he, with a benevolent condescension,
`I have no doubt you think so, for your mind belongs to
the lowest and most material sphere. You have your
place in Nature, and you fill it; but it is not for you to
judge of intelligences which move only on the upper
planes.'

“`Hollins,' said Shelldrake, `Elviry's a good wife
and a sensible woman, and I won't allow you to turn up
your nose at her.'

“`I am not surprised,' he answered, `that you should
fail to stand the test. I didn't expect it.'

“`Let me try it on you!' cried Shelldrake. `You,
now, have some intellect,—I don't deny that,—but not so
much, by a long shot, as you think you have. Besides
that, you're awfully selfish in your opinions. You won't
admit that anybody can be right who differs from you.
You've sponged on me for a long time; but I suppose I've
learned something from you, so we'll call it even. I think,
however, that what you call acting according to impulse is
simply an excuse to cover your own laziness.'

“`Gosh! that's it!' interrupted Perkins, jumping up;
then, recollecting himself, he sank down on the steps
again, and shook with a suppressed `Ho! ho! ho!'

“Hollins, however, drew himself up with an exasperated
air.

“`Shelldrake,' said he, `I pity you. I always knew
your ignorance, but I thought you honest in your human

character. I never suspected you of envy and malice.
However, the true Reformer must expect to be misunderstood
and misrepresented by meaner minds. That love
which I bear to all creatures teaches me to forgive you.
Without such love, all plans of progress must fail. Is it
not so, Abel?'

“Shelldrake could only ejaculate the words, `Pity!'
`Forgive?' in his most contemptuous tone; while Mrs.
Shelldrake, rocking violently in her chair, gave utterance
to that peculiar clucking, `ts, ts, ts, ts,' whereby certain
women express emotions too deep for words.

“Abel, roused by Hollins's question, answered, with
a sudden energy—

“`Love! there is no love in the world. Where will
you find it? Tell me, and I'll go there. Love! I'd like
to see it! If all human hearts were like mine, we might
have an Arcadia; but most men have no hearts. The
world is a miserable, hollow, deceitful shell of vanity and
hypocrisy. No: let us give up. We were born before
our time: this age is not worthy of us.'

“Hollins stared at the speaker in utter amazement.
Shelldrake gave a long whistle, and finally gasped out—

“`Well, what next?'

“None of us were prepared for such a sudden and
complete wreck of our Arcadian scheme. The foundations
had been sapped before, it is true; but we had not
perceived it; and now, in two short days, the whole edifice
tumbled about our ears. Though it was inevitable,
we felt a shock of sorrow, and a silence fell upon us.

Only that scamp of a Perkins Brown, chuckling and rubbing
his boot, really rejoiced. I could have kicked him.

“We all went to bed, feeling that the charm of our Arcadian
life was over. I was so full of the new happiness
of love that I was scarcely conscious of regret. I seemed
to have leaped at once into responsible manhood, and a
glad rush of courage filled me at the knowledge that my
own heart was a better oracle than those—now so shamefully
overthrown—on whom I had so long implicitly relied.
In the first revulsion of feeling, I was perhaps unjust to
my associates. I see now, more clearly, the causes of
those vagaries, which originated in a genuine aspiration,
and failed from an ignorance of the true nature of Man,
quite as much as from the egotism of the individuals.
Other attempts at reorganizing Society were made about
the same time by men of culture and experience, but in
the A. C. we had neither. Our leaders had caught a few
half-truths, which, in their minds, were speedily warped
into errors. I can laugh over the absurdities I helped to
perpetrate, but I must confess that the experiences of
those few weeks went far towards making a man of me.”

“Did the A. C. break up at once?” asked Mr. Johnson.

“Not precisely; though Eunice and I left the house
within two days, as we had agreed. We were not married
immediately, however. Three long years—years of hope
and mutual encouragement—passed away before that happy
consummation. Before our departure, Hollins had
fallen into his old manner, convinced, apparently, that

Candor must be postponed to a better age of the world.
But the quarrel rankled in Shelldrake's mind, and especially
in that of his wife. I could see by her looks and
little fidgety ways that his further stay would be very uncomfortable.
Abel Mallory, finding himself gaining in
weight and improving in color, had no thought of returning.
The day previous, as I afterwards learned, he had
discovered Perkins Brown's secret kitchen in the woods.

“`Golly!' said that youth, in describing the circumstance
to me, `I had to ketch two porgies that day.'

“Miss Ringtop, who must have suspected the new relation
between Eunice and myself, was for the most part
rigidly silent. If she quoted, it was from the darkest and
dreariest utterances of her favorite Gamaliel.

“What happened after our departure I learned from
Perkins, on the return of the Shelldrakes to Norridgeport,
in September. Mrs. Shelldrake stoutly persisted in
refusing to make Hollins's bed, or to wash his shirts. Her
brain was dull, to be sure; but she was therefore all the
more stubborn in her resentment. He bore this state of
things for about a week, when his engagements to lecture
in Ohio suddenly called him away. Abel and Miss Ringtop
were left to wander about the promontory in company,
and to exchange lamentations on the hollowness of human
hopes or the pleasures of despair. Whether it was owing
to that attraction of sex which would make any man and
any woman, thrown together on a desert island, finally become
mates, or whether she skilfully ministered to Abel's
sentimental vanity, I will not undertake to decide: but

the fact is, they were actually betrothed, on leaving Arcadia.
I think he would willingly have retreated, after his
return to the world; but that was not so easy. Miss
Ringtop held him with an inexorable clutch. They were
not married, however, until just before his departure for
California, whither she afterwards followed him. She
died in less than a year, and left him free.”

“And what became of the other Arcadians?” asked
Mr. Johnson.

“The Shelldrakes are still living in Norridgeport.
They have become Spiritualists, I understand, and cultivate
Mediums. Hollins, when I last heard of him, was a
Deputy-Surveyor in the New York Custom-House. Perkins
Brown is our butcher here in Waterbury, and he often
asks me—`Do you take chloride of soda on your beefsteaks?'
He is as fat as a prize ox, and the father of five
children.”

“Enos!” exclaimed Mrs. Billings, looking at the
clock, “it's nearly midnight! Mr. Johnson must be very
tired, after such a long story. The Chapter of the A. C.
is hereby closed!”