often:
A nation once again, a nation once again
And Ireland long a province be a nation once again
Ireland might become a nation, but Daniel wasn't waiting around for it to happen. His father had talked a lot about the glory days of 1798 when he had fought against the British, but Ireland had lost. American won its fight and formed its own country. Daniel would take his chances with the new world and let poor old Ireland sink or swim on its own. His father had grown withered and bitter with the years. He died waiting for justice, but Daniel was determined to prosper. His dreams were bright. He'd bring his mother and sisters over to a new country. How surprised they'd be when they saw him in a suit and wearing a cravat—a respected newspaper man.
Ahead on the road he could see the farmer who had been in the barnyard at the Farm last time he was there. When he caught up with him, Daniel wished him a good day and walked along next to him. The farmer nodded but didn't say a word of greeting.
"You must be a great help to the people in the Brook Farm Community," Daniel said, trying to get him talking. He didn't take the bait, but just grunted.
"They could hardly get along without you, I'd think, because none of them are farmers, even though some of them are very well-known people."
"Not farmers indeed!" Mr. Platt finally exploded. "Do you know that no one on the place will slaughter a pig for themselves, thoughthey're happy enough to eat the pork? They don't even like to wring the neck of a chicken. Humpf! My ten-year-old boy can do that much!"
"They have lots of strange ideas. No doubt about that."
"Lots of crazy ideas, I call them" Mr. Platt was getting red in the face now and he shook the hoe he was carrying as though he'd like to hit someone with it. "What right have they to come in and tell us how to live? Everyone should milk their cows in the morning and then go off and write a book for the rest of the day they say. That's nonsense! I milk my cows and then tend to my oats and corn. With grain prices the way they are these days there's no time for writing books."
He was scowling now and not giving Daniel a chance to get a word in edgewise. "And then they're saying we should let those African freedmen come in and work our land. And the slovenly Irish! They'll take the land away from honest Americans. They're a menace to the state."
"Why do you help the Brook Farmers then?"
"They're neighbors. Can't let 'em starve. Besides, they pay me for the use of my wagon and tools. Or they used to. Now they're short of money they say and old George Ripley keeps putting off the paying." Once again he scowled. "Lots of people come out here to see them, but I don't think there's many putting any money into the Farm."
When Daniel got to the farm, the noon dinner was just over. The washing-up group was in the kitchen making quick work of the dishes. He asked about Mr. Ripley and was told he was closeted in his office talking with Charles Dana and some of the other men. When he caught a glimpse of Charlotte in the dining room, he walked over to talk with her. She was standing at a table fussing withsome dried leaves she was arranging in a vase. Two other women were with her; one he recognized as the cross-looking woman who had shooed him out of the kitchen the other morning and the other one was a lovely young woman he'd never seen before. She was dressed in black and had glossy black hair gathered in a bunch at the back of her neck. When she looked at him, her eyes were bright blue and her cheeks so pale and smooth she reminded him of the picture of the Madonna
he'd seen in church. Charlotte introduced her as Abigail Pretlove
.
"Did you know that Margaret Fuller was coming to visit us today?" Charlotte asked, pushing her hair back from her forehead. "She is one of the most famous women in Massachusetts,"
"We all admire Margaret Fuller," added Mrs. Pretlove. Her voice was soft but firm. "She's so clever she inspires us all. And
A nation once again, a nation once again
And Ireland long a province be a nation once again
Ireland might become a nation, but Daniel wasn't waiting around for it to happen. His father had talked a lot about the glory days of 1798 when he had fought against the British, but Ireland had lost. American won its fight and formed its own country. Daniel would take his chances with the new world and let poor old Ireland sink or swim on its own. His father had grown withered and bitter with the years. He died waiting for justice, but Daniel was determined to prosper. His dreams were bright. He'd bring his mother and sisters over to a new country. How surprised they'd be when they saw him in a suit and wearing a cravat—a respected newspaper man.
Ahead on the road he could see the farmer who had been in the barnyard at the Farm last time he was there. When he caught up with him, Daniel wished him a good day and walked along next to him. The farmer nodded but didn't say a word of greeting.
"You must be a great help to the people in the Brook Farm Community," Daniel said, trying to get him talking. He didn't take the bait, but just grunted.
"They could hardly get along without you, I'd think, because none of them are farmers, even though some of them are very well-known people."
"Not farmers indeed!" Mr. Platt finally exploded. "Do you know that no one on the place will slaughter a pig for themselves, thoughthey're happy enough to eat the pork? They don't even like to wring the neck of a chicken. Humpf! My ten-year-old boy can do that much!"
"They have lots of strange ideas. No doubt about that."
"Lots of crazy ideas, I call them" Mr. Platt was getting red in the face now and he shook the hoe he was carrying as though he'd like to hit someone with it. "What right have they to come in and tell us how to live? Everyone should milk their cows in the morning and then go off and write a book for the rest of the day they say. That's nonsense! I milk my cows and then tend to my oats and corn. With grain prices the way they are these days there's no time for writing books."
He was scowling now and not giving Daniel a chance to get a word in edgewise. "And then they're saying we should let those African freedmen come in and work our land. And the slovenly Irish! They'll take the land away from honest Americans. They're a menace to the state."
"Why do you help the Brook Farmers then?"
"They're neighbors. Can't let 'em starve. Besides, they pay me for the use of my wagon and tools. Or they used to. Now they're short of money they say and old George Ripley keeps putting off the paying." Once again he scowled. "Lots of people come out here to see them, but I don't think there's many putting any money into the Farm."
When Daniel got to the farm, the noon dinner was just over. The washing-up group was in the kitchen making quick work of the dishes. He asked about Mr. Ripley and was told he was closeted in his office talking with Charles Dana and some of the other men. When he caught a glimpse of Charlotte in the dining room, he walked over to talk with her. She was standing at a table fussing withsome dried leaves she was arranging in a vase. Two other women were with her; one he recognized as the cross-looking woman who had shooed him out of the kitchen the other morning and the other one was a lovely young woman he'd never seen before. She was dressed in black and had glossy black hair gathered in a bunch at the back of her neck. When she looked at him, her eyes were bright blue and her cheeks so pale and smooth she reminded him of the picture of the Madonna
he'd seen in church. Charlotte introduced her as Abigail Pretlove
.
"Did you know that Margaret Fuller was coming to visit us today?" Charlotte asked, pushing her hair back from her forehead. "She is one of the most famous women in Massachusetts,"
"We all admire Margaret Fuller," added Mrs. Pretlove. Her voice was soft but firm. "She's so clever she inspires us all. And
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