s father
had ceased speaking,--a stout little chap of four years, with Knowles's
ungainly build, and square, honest face, but with large, hazel,
melancholy eyes. He crept up on my bed, and, lying across the foot, went
to sleep.

Knowles glanced at him,--looked away, his face darkening. "Sir," he
said, "I have thrust away all arbitrary ties of family. The true
life,"--his eye dilating, as if some great thought had come into his
brain,--"the true life is one where no marriage exists,--where the soul
acknowledges only the pure impersonal love to God and our brother-man,
and enters into peace. It can so enter, even here, by dint of long
contemplation and a simple pastoral work for the body."

This was new talk in that country tavern: I said nothing.

"I'm not dreaming dreams," raising his voice. "I have a real plan for
you and me, lad. I have found the Utopia of the prophets and poets, an
actual place, here in Pennsylvania. We will go there together, shut out
the trade-world, and devote ourselves with these lofty enthusiasts to a
life of purity, celibacy, meditation,--helpful and loving to the great
Humanity."

I was but a lad; my way in life had not been smooth. While he talked on
in this strain my blood began to glow. "What of Tony?" I interrupted,
after a while.

"The boy?" not looking at the little heap at the foot of the bed. "They
will take him in, probably. Children are adopted by the society; they
receive education free from the personal taints given by father and
mother."

"Yes," not very clear as to what he meant.

The moon began to fleck the bare floor with patches of light and shadow,
bringing into relief the broad chest of the man beside me, the big,
motionless head dropped forward, and the flabby yellow face set with a
terrible, lifelong gravity. His scheme was no joke to him. Whatever soul
lay inside of this gross animal body had been tortured nigh to death,
and this plan was its desperate chance at a fresh life. Watching me
askance as I tried to cover the boy with the blankets, he began the
history of this new Utopia, making it blunt and practical as words could
compass, to convince me that he was no dreamer of dreams. I will try to
recall the facts as he stated them that night; they form a curious story
at all times.

In 1805, a man named George Rapp, in Wuertemberg, became possessed with
the idea of founding a new and pure social system,--sowing a mere seed
at first, but with the hope, doubtless