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CHAPTER XI GOD'S PECULIAR PEOPLE Imagine a dingy,
straggling, unpaved town, shut in by surrounding hills and by a low
line of
mountains, a town which stopped growing early in the century, and whose
weather-beaten dwellings and other buildings show that it has been many
a day
since there has been work for the carpenter and painter to do, and one
will
have a fair idea of the Dunker village of Ephrata, which lies twenty
miles by
rail from Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and impresses one with the singular
sense of
being a place in which something is always about to happen, but nothing
ever
does happen in it, or ever will. Quieter it could not be, unless it
were
absolutely dead. The stranger let down by chance in Ephrata might
easily
imagine himself in a peasant village of South Germany, for its founders
came
from Witsgenstein, and although it is more than one hundred and fifty
years
since they built their huts of log and stone and took up the hard,
laborious
lives of New World pioneers, their descendants are still faithful to
the
traditions and customs, and in many instances to the vernacular of the
fatherland. The founders of the
curious sect, whose members now own and till the fertile acres about
Ephrata,
were first heard of in Germany early in the eighteenth century. Only
three
confessions, the Catholics, the Lutherans, and the Calvinists, under
the laws of
the empire, were then allowed free exercise of their religious worship;
all
others being counted unsound, erratic, and dangerous, yet in a few
secluded and
scattered nooks the Separatists found not only an asylum but, through
the
sympathy of the rulers, a cordial welcome. This was the case in the
territories
of the Counts of Isenberg and Wittgenstein, where in 1708 a little
group of
Separatists under the lead of Alexander Mack, a miller of Schriesheim,
resolved
“to establish a covenant of conscience, and to accept the teachings of
Christ
as a gentle yoke,” solemnizing their union by immersion in the river
Eder, near
Schwarzenau. Such was the origin of the Dunkers, whose founders
numbered less
than half a score, but soon received considerable accessions from the
Palatinate, Würtemberg, and Switzerland. Prompted by this increase in
numbers,
a branch was established at Marienborn, in the principality of
Isenberg, but
the halcyon days of the infant sect were followed by scattering storms. In 1715 the members of the
Marienborn society removed to Crefeld, and four years later to the
number of
two hundred sought an asylum in Pennsylvania, settling mainly at
Germantown
near Philadelphia, where they organized a congregation in 1723. In 1729
the
members of the present society at Schwarzenau followed the example of
their
brethren and emigrated to America. With the lapse of the years the
Dunkers
spread into the interior counties of Pennsylvania, and the yearly
conference,
dealing with the common concerns of the sect, was, in the course of
time,
alternately held east and west of the Susquehanna River. Gradually they
found
their way into Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina, and the Western
States of
Ohio and Indiana, and now in every second year the conference is held
west of
the Ohio, while Kansas, Nebraska, the Dakotas, Colorado, Idaho,
California,
Oregon, and Washington have their Dunker congregations. At the present
time
God's Peculiar People, as the Dunkers delight to call themselves,
number in the
United States — for they also have missions in Europe — about two
hundred
thousand souls, with some two thousand ministers to attend to their
spiritual
wants, none of whom receives a salary. The creed of the Dunkards
is a naif and simple one. “Be it known unto all men,” writes one of its
exponents and defenders, “that there is a people who, as little
children,
accept the word of the New Testament as a message from heaven and teach
it in
full. They baptize believers by triune immersion, with a forward
action, and
for the remission of sins, and lay hands on those baptized, asking upon
them
the gift of God's spirit. They follow the command and example of
washing one
another's feet. They take the Lord's Supper at night at one and the
same time,
tarrying one for another. They greet one another with a holy kiss. They
teach
all the doctrines of Christ, peace, love, unity, both faith and works.
They
labor for nonconformity to the world in its vain and wicked customs.
They
advocate non-swearing, anti-secretism, opposition to war, and doing
good to all
men. They anoint and lay hands on the sick. They give the bread of
life, the
message of the common salvation, unto all men without money or price.
For the
above we contend earnestly, and all men are entreated to hear, examine,
and
accept it as the word which began to be spoken by the Lord, and the
faith that
was delivered to the saints.” The dress and customs of
the Dunkers are as primitive as their creed. The men let their beards
grow and
part their flowing hair in the middle, and wear slouch hats and the
plainest of
clothes. The garb of the women is equally plain and severe. There are
no
milliners among them, for each woman makes her own hat, a simple
matter, since
no feathers or other ornamentation is allowed, while the wearing of
jewelry is
strictly forbidden. However, the Dunker women are seldom wanting in
comeliness.
Their faces are nearly always sweet and gentle, while an air of almost
saintly
simplicity is given them by the clear-starched cap, the handkerchief
crossed on
the breast, the white apron, and the plain gray or drab stuff of their
dresses.
The Dunkers live in peace one with another, and never have recourse to
law to
redress an injury done to them. Disputes among themselves are settled
by the
elders, whose decision is final, and only in exceptional cases do they
institute lawsuits against the people of the world. They are averse to
accepting public office, and rarely, if ever, exercise the right of
franchise.
However, the Dunker ideal of personal conduct is a high one. They are
temperate
to abstemiousness, industrious and economical, and Carlyle's gospel of
work is
theirs. They allow no public money to be expended for their poor or
helpless,
but provide for them among themselves, and their two hundred thousand
members
do not include any one who suffers from want. Even those who fail in
business
are aided to make a new effort, and such assistance may be lent three
times.
After the third failure, they accept it as the will of God that the
unfortunate
brother shall not succeed, and thenceforth the aid given him takes
another
form. Naifly primitive is the
Dunker celebration of the Lord's Supper. It is observed in the evening,
and is
always preceded in the afternoon by a love-feast. This commemorates the
supper
which Jesus took with His disciples, and is a solemn religious
festivity, each
Dunker church having its kitchen provided with great kettles and plain
dishes
for its proper observance. When the occasion is at hand, after a day of
preaching, a lamb is killed and a clear soup is made, into which bread
is
broken, and then served in great bowls placed on long and very narrow
tables,
at each side of which sit the participants, four persons eating from
each bowl.
After the eating of the broth comes the ceremony known as the washing
of feet,
each sex performing this duty for its own. Those who are to engage in
the
ordinance presently enter the meeting, carrying tubs of lukewarm water,
and
each member on the front benches removes his or her shoes and
stockings. A man
on the men's side and a woman on the women's side then wash the feet
one by
one, taking the right hand of each individual as they finish the
washing, and
giving the kiss of peace. As one benchful has the ceremony performed,
it gives
place to another, the minister or teachers meanwhile making a brief
speech or
reading appropriate portions of Scripture relating to the subject. Following this ceremony
comes the supper itself. Each third bench is so arranged that the back
can be
turned upon a pivot at each end, so as to form the top of a long table.
This is
covered with a white cloth, and presently brothers and sisters enter,
bearing
large bowls of soup, plates of bread and meat, and pies and coffee.
Three or
four people help themselves out of the same dish, and the ceremony
known as the
salutation of the holy kiss concludes the supper. Each brother imparts
a hearty
kiss on the bearded lips of his neighbor at table, and in the same
manner each
sister kisses her sister companion sitting nearest to her. The
communion
service which follows consists in the breaking of unleavened bread and
the
drinking of unfermented wine, the whole ceremony being concluded by the
singing
of hymns and preaching. This the Dunkers contend is the only true
method of
administering the ordinance of the Last Supper, and also hold that it
is an
exact and faithful copy of that ceremony as celebrated in the earliest
Christian Church. Not less interesting than the foregoing is the Dunker
ordinance of anointing the sick with oil. The sick one calls upon the
elders of
the meeting, and at a settled time the ceremony is performed. It
consists of
pouring oil upon the head of the sick person, and of laying hands upon
and
praying over him. Dunker or Tunker comes
from the German tunker, which means to dip, and rigid adherence is
still given
to the doctrine laid down by Mack, that no soul can hope to enter the
realms of
the blest unless the body has been plunged three times face downward
into the
water. Nor is the method ever modified by stress of weather. It is not
uncommon
in the winter to see a party of stalwart Dunkers chopping through six
or eight
inches of ice in order to clear a space in which to immerse the
faithful, who
piously pray God to “write their names in the Book of Life,” and I
shall long
remember a Dunker dipping of which I was a witness on a bitter January
day
several years ago. It occurred at a spring on the farm of a Dunker
named
Hostetter, who lives not far from Ephrata. There was little delay after
those
who were expected had arrived, and soon the demure procession left the
farm-house for the spring. The three men who were about to make public
profession of their faith by dipping in the icy water wore only their
shirts,
trousers, and shoes, and were closely muffled up in buffalo-robes. The
four
women — three of them were buxom maidens and the other a gray-haired
matron — were
clad in loose gowns of some coarse material, and were also muffled in
blankets,
shawls, and robes. When the spring was
reached the Dunker faithful formed a circle on the edge of the stream
and
Preacher Amos Holtenstein offered a prayer, invoking the Divine
blessing upon
the water. Then the preacher, who had a long stick in his hand, waded
into the
water. He felt around with his cane until he came to what appeared to
be a
favorable spot, when he indicated that he was ready to receive the
first
candidate for dipping. Preacher Jesse Sonan led a young man to the edge
of the
brook. His bronzed cheeks seemed to have a heightened color and a
bright light
shone in his eye, but his evident determination did not prevent the
shiver that
passed over him as his legs came in contact with the cold water, and
his teeth
chattered as he returned his replies to the solemn questions of the
preacher.
The first thing the latter did was to throw water over the shoulders,
neck, and
that part of the young man's body not covered by the stream, in order
that no
portion should remain untouched. Then the questions were asked and
answered in
Pennsylvania Dutch, and the supreme moment came when Preacher
Holtenstein
pronounced the solemn formula, “In namen der Dreinichte, Fader, Sohn
und
Heilichen Geist.” At each mention of the name of the Deity the preacher
plunged
the head of the young man beneath the water face downward. Then, while
the man
knelt in the water, the preacher prayed that his name might be written
in the
Book of Life, a kiss upon the cheek concluding the ceremony Exactly the
same
form was observed with the six other candidates, save that whereas the
preacher
kissed the men, he did not kiss the women. A singular feature of the
occasion was the seeming insensibility to the cold shown by Preacher
Holtenstein, who though in the water for upward of an hour appeared to
suffer
no discomfort. In answer to a question, he said reverently that he knew
the
Lord gave him strength and upheld those who were thus baptized in
winter
weather, quaintly adding, “I have baptized more than three hundred in
just such
weather as this and not one died.” Preacher Holtenstein, it may be
observed in
passing, is an admirable example of the Dunker minister, who is chosen
from the
laity by the members of the church, he who receives the largest number
of votes
being pronounced elected. These elections are summoned by the elders of
the
church, who preside over them and receive the votes of the people,
either viva
voce , in whispers, or by closed ballots. The successful candidate is
expected
to support himself, — he is usually a prosperous farmer, —
and, as already stated, receives nothing for
his labors as a shepherd to his flock. Under these conditions, as might
be
expected, a man loses something of effectiveness in the pulpit, and the
Dunker
preacher's sermons are usually expositions of the peculiar doctrines of
his
sect. They seem, however, to be a means of grace to those who listen to
them
and to breed an enviable fibre of endurance. There have been from time
to time more or less important secessions from the Dunker Church, and
of the
strangest, most remarkable of these Ephrata boasts the mute yet
eloquent
reminders in a curious pile of buildings of odd, old-fashioned
architecture,
which were once the home and habitat of Conrad Beissel's singular Order
of the
Solitary. Beissel, who learned the trade of weaver under Peter Becker,
the
first Dunker preacher in this country, was a man of intelligence and
education.
Accepting the idea of primitive Christianity inculcated by the Dunkers,
he saw
no reason why they should stop short of complete reformation and return
to the
principles of apostolic times in respect to observing the seventh
instead of
the first day of the week as the Sabbath. Upon this subject he wrote a
tract,
which he published in 1728. This created great disturbance among the
Dunkers
and led to numerous withdrawals from the society, Beissel himself
retiring to a
cave at the future site of Ephrata on the banks of the Cocalico, and
taking up
the life of a recluse. Here he was joined by many of his old friends,
together
with others who, made converts by his tracts, settled in the
neighborhood of
his once solitary habitation. At the end of four years
this recluse life was changed to a monastic one, and in 1735 the first
cenobitic building, called Kedar, was put up in the centre of the
village, to
which Beissel, in allusion to the 132d Psalm, had given the name of
Ephrata. It
contained a large room for religious exercise, halls for love-feasts
and
feet-washing, and several cells for solitary brethren and sisters, the
latter
occupying the second story. Monastic names were given to all who
entered it,
the prior, Israel Echerlin, taking the name of Onesimus, and Beissel,
who
steadily refused to accept any position of influence, that of Friedsam,
together with the title of Spiritual Father of the community. No vows
of
celibacy were exacted or taken, but the idea was considerably
inculcated, while
the habit of the Capuchins, or White Friars, was early adopted by the
members
of the new society. The brothers wore shirt, trousers, and vests, with
a long
white gown and cowl, and the costume of the sisters was the same, with
the
exception of a coarse flannel petticoat substituted for the trousers
and the
addition of a large veil reaching front and back to the girdle, and
resembling
a scapulary. The garments used in winter were of wool, and in summer of
linen
and cotton. Both sexes went barefooted during the warm season. From time to time other buildings,
designed to serve
religious, residential, or industrial purposes, were added to the
Kloster. In
1738 a large house, called Zion, was built; another, Peniel, went up in
1741,
and in 1745 Saron, one of the buildings still standing, was erected as
a
convent for self-divorced couples, the men and the women living in
different
parts of the house. The plan, however, would not work. The letters of
divorce
were torn up by mutual consent; the couples returned to their
homesteads, and
Saron was assigned to the sisters. New quarters being required for the
monks,
Bethania was built in 1746, with accommodations for one hundred
solitary
brethren. The Kloster, which now included some three hundred persons,
had been
from the first a hive of industry. There were no idlers, and work was
found for
all on the farm, where at first the brethren themselves took the place
of
horses and oxen at the plough; in the mills, at a trade, in the
copying-room,
in the printing-office or the bindery. There was no end of building,
and all
the labor was done by members of the society, which thus made itself
independent of the outside world. Its mills were for many years the
most
extensive in the colony, embracing flour-, paper-, saw-, and
fulling-mills, of
which few traces now remain, while at Ephrata was erected in 1742 one
of the
first printing-presses set up in Pennsylvania, on it being printed most
of the
books and tracts of the society, which are now eagerly sought after by
bibliophiles. Its wealth was for many years the common stock of the
society,
the income being devoted to the common support, and those who applied
for
membership being compelled to surrender all they had, absolutely and
without
reserve. Thus, more than a century before Proudhon ventured upon the
bold
paradox that property is theft, his doctrine had been taught and
practised by
Beissel and his followers. Saal and Saron,
Ephrata,
Pennsylvania Conventual life at Ephrata
was of the severest kind. The cells were only twenty inches wide and
five feet
high, and a bench, with a billet of wood for the head, was the couch of
each
inmate, while the corridors were so narrow that two persons could not
pass, and
if a chance meeting occurred, one had to back to the opening of a cell
and
stand in the niche until the other had passed. The fare of the inmates
was
fruit and vegetables, and they ate from wooden plates and drank from
wooden
goblets. Beissel, who was an accomplished musician, composed all the
hymns sung
at the gatherings of the society and trained several female choirs,
whose
singing is described by those who heard it as being exceptionally sweet
and
tender. “The performers,” writes one visitor in a letter to Governor
Penn, “sat
with their heads reclined, their countenances solemn and dejected,
their faces
pale and emaciated from their manner of living, the clothing exceeding
white
and quite picturesque, and their music such as thrilled the very soul.
I almost
began to think myself in the world of spirits.” Many of Beissel's
manuscript
hymns — he is said to have composed upward of four hundred airs — are
still
preserved in and about Ephrata. Some of them are marvels of beauty and
artistic
penmanship, the result of months, mayhap years, of toil by those who
copied
them, and would be a prize for the antiquarian, could access be gained
to them. Tradition has it that the
copyist most skilful in transcribing Beissel's manuscripts was Sister
Tabea, a
Swiss girl of beautiful face and figure, who before she joined the
Society of
the Solitary had been known to the world as Margaret Thome. There were
those
who said that she was of too lively a disposition to end her days in
nun's
garb. At any rate, when Daniel Scheible began to send her loveletters
she
failed to inform those in authority of this breach of rule, for who
ever knew
of a maid displeased with proofs of the affection of a personable
youth? The
parents of Sister Tabea's lover had been Dunkers who had sought an
asylum in
America by taking ship for Philadelphia, agreeing to be sold for a term
of
years to pay for the fare. They died on the passage, and their son was
sold for
the rest of his minority to cancel their unpaid debt. As a promising
boy he had
been bought by the Ephrata brotherhood and bred into the fraternity,
where,
with the audacity of youth, he conceived a great passion for Sister
Tabea,
sending her any number of surreptitious notes, in which he set forth
the golden
future within their reach provided she would marry and go away with him
to
Philadelphia, where he was planning, now that his apprenticeship was
about to
expire, to seek his fortune. At first Sister Tabea paid
no heed to these tender missives; then she sent an answer to one of
them, and
in the end, after many fluctuations in mind, she promised Scheible to
forsake the
convent for the joys of a home. The day of the wedding was fixed by
means of
the notes which she continued to secretly exchange with Scheible, and
she
prepared to leave Saron and Ephrata for good and all. But when she went
to take
leave of Beissel her resolution failed her. Deep in the inmost recesses
of her
heart she had all along loved Brother Friedsam more fondly than she did
all
other men, and now bursting into tears, she declared that she had
denied the
Lord, and begged for permission to renew her vows to the society. This
was
given her, and Scheible, after vainly trying to persuade her to redeem
the
pledge she had given to him, took solitary and sorrowful leave of
Ephrata, nor
did the little village ever see him more. The next Saturday, for the
seventh
day was the Ephrata Sabbath, Tabea took a new, solemn, and irrevocable
vow; and
from that hour until the (lay of her death she was called Sister
Anastasia, — the
name signifying that she had been reëstablished. What source of
consolation she
had her companions never divined, for how should they guess that
alongside her
religious fervor grew a tender and self-nurtured human love. And I
doubt if
Brother Friedsam ever suspected the truth. He died in 1768, and his
spiritual leadership devolved upon Peter Miller, who for many years had
been
prior of the order, and was a man of great learning and saintly life.
He was,
moreover, an ardent patriot, and during the Revolution won and held the
friendship of many of the leaders, including Washington. The story of
one of
Miller's meetings with the latter demands a place in this chronicle.
One
Michael Widman, an innkeeper of the countryside and a stanch ,member of
the
Dunker Church, had conceived a spiteful feeling against Miller because
he had
renounced the Dunker creed to join the Ephrata brotherhood. When
abusive
language failed to ruffle Miller's temper, Widman went so far as to
spit in his
face without provoking to anger the meek and gentle head of the Order
of the
Solitary. Time, however, brought an opportunity for revenge: during the
Revolution Widman acted as a spy for the British, an offence that when
he fell
into the hands of the Americans brought him under a sentence of death.
News of
his impending fate soon reached Ephrata, and was received with
unanimous approval.
Not quite unanimous, for there was one voice raised on Widman's behalf,
that of
Peter Miller, who not content with mere words set out at once for
Valley Forge,
where, aided by General Lee, who in more peaceful times had been a
frequent
visitor at Ephrata, he secured a prompt audience with Washington. Brother Jabez, as Miller
was known among the brethren, begged long and earnestly for the life of
the
innkeeper, but the patriot commander refused to interfere, pleading the
urgent
need for severity in such cases. “Otherwise,” he added, “I would
cheerfully
release your friend.” “Friend!” was Miller's astonished reply, “he is
my worst
enemy, my unwearied reviler. And being such, my creed commands me to
pray for
those who despitefully use me, and as such, I pray and beseech you in
his
behalf.” Washington could not resist this noble prayer for a bitter
enemy. “The
pardon is granted,” runs the chronicle, “and the prior, with anxious
heart lest
he should be too late, fares forth on a second errand of mercy. After a
weary
day's journey he reaches the block-house where Widman is confined. He
finds a
hollow square drawn up before it, a gibbet in the centre, and the
innkeeper,
with the rope around his neck, addressing the crowd. Peter Miller
pushes his
way through the throng and hands his papers to the commanding officer.
The
culprit sees him and his pale face is covered with blushes. Once more
he raises
his voice and tries to excuse his conduct, appealing to Peter Miller to
forgive
him now that he stands on the brink of eternity, but the officer curtly
interrupts him with, ‘Your life is spared, and here is your
deliverer.’” The
colonial records show that Widman did not escape all punishment, for
his
property, consisting of several farms and houses, was confiscated and
sold in
March, 1780. The inscription on the
stone above Miller's grave in the burial-ground at Ephrata, where the
brethren
and sisters lie in long rows under the soft green turf, tells the
visitor that
he “fell asleep September 11th, 1796.” But long before his death the
fortunes
of the Order of the Solitary began to decline, since with each passing
year the
world's people trespassed more boldly on the wilderness refuge of the
brotherhood. Thus, time came when only a few aged monks and nuns
lingered in the
desolate convents, and in 1814, with the consent and at the request of
the few
surviving members, the Seventh-Day Baptists of Ephrata were
incorporated to
succeed to the property rights of the dying fraternity, since which
time the
land and buildings of the Solitary have been held in trust for
“religious,
charitable, and literary objects.” In these latter days
Ephrata has become a popular summer resort, but the follower in the
footsteps
of Beissel, when he alights in the quaint old town, will travel in
another
direction than that taken by the modern pleasure-seeker. A half-mile
walk from
the railroad station brings one to an old wooden bridge, spanning the
Cocalico,
on the farther side of which a footpath, winding to the left past an
ancient
grist-mill, leads to Bethania and Saron, where once dwelt the monks and
nuns of
Ephrata. Entering Bethania's low and narrow door, — outside, a high
gable roof,
small windows, and shingled walls, blackened by time and the elements,
give the
huge structure a strange and outlandish appearance, —
one finds one's self in a dimly lighted
hallway running the entire length of the building. No sound breaks the
stillness and the place seems wholly deserted. Tiny cells, bare of
furnishing,
flank both sides of the hallway just referred to, and the upper
stories,
reached by dark and narrow stairways, are arranged in much the same
way. Time
was, as I have shown, when Bethania housed many score of solitary
brethren, but
its only occupants at the present day are a few families of Seventh-Day
Baptists. Saron, or the Sisters'
House, stands at the other end of a well-kept meadow. In crossing to it
two
small buildings are passed, one of which was long occupied by Beissel,
the
founder of Ephrata and the cloister. Both of these are now fallen into
sad
decay. Saron, the present home of a number of widows and spinsters, all
members
of the Seventh-Day Baptist Church, in outward appearance bears a close
resemblance to its mate, Bethania, but its interior has been greatly
altered,
probably to meet modern needs and demands. In one room, devoted to the
purpose,
are displayed a number of rare and beautiful manuscripts and a goodly
collection of the books printed on the famous press of Ephrata, the
specimens
of ornamental penmanship shown clearly evidencing the skill and
adeptness in
this field of comely Anastasia and her pious sisters. After Bethania
and Saron
the most interesting relic of Beissel's society is Saal, which from
Ephrata's
infancy until the present time has been used as a place of worship.
Charts and
allegorical pictures, the latter portraying the life and destiny of the
inmates
of the cloister, cover the walls of the main room, and above its
entrance hangs
a tablet on which is inscribed,— “The house is entered
through this door By peaceful souls that dwell within. Those that have
come
will part no more, For God protects them here from sin, Their bliss is
found in
forms of love, That springs from loving God above.” The Order of the Solitary
had at least one singular offspring. I have said that that which was
most
remarkable at Ephrata was the music. About the year 1800 it attracted
the
attention and evoked the admiration of one Peter Lehman, — and thus the
nunnery
of Snow Hill had its origin, for, when, a little later, he became the
pastor of
a Seventh-Day Baptist church near Waynesboro, in the southern portion
of
Franklin County, Pennsylvania, then a comparative wilderness, he at
once
introduced the Ephrata church music there, and on a farm belonging to
one of
his followers laid the foundations of a religious institution patterned
after
the Order of the Solitary. At first there were only four inmates of the
Snow
Hill nunnery, single men and women, who agreed to become members, to
work for
their board and clothing, and to abide by the rules of the society.
However,
others soon joined the original members, and for many years the average
number
of persons living at the nunnery was fifty. Any Seventh-Day Baptist in
good
standing was eligible to membership in the “Monastical Society of Snow
Hill”
provided he or she was willing to come out from the world and be
separate; to
give up all worldly goods to the society and to lead a life of
celibacy. The
vows were not necessarily for life, but very few of those who entered
ever
returned to the world. No one having a husband or wife living was
admitted, but
widows and widowers could become members. All newcomers were obliged to
serve a
novitiate of one year, after which, if satisfactory, they were admitted
to full
membership and received a new name. Those who desired to marry or to
see more
of the world were free to leave and carry with them everything they had
brought
in, but nothing they had acquired while members of the order. The brothers at Snow Hill
raised stock, tilled a large farm, and operated a flouring-mill, while
the
sisters sowed and spun flax, wove and made linen and woollen cloth, and
gathered herbs for their own use. The sisters who cooked one week made
butter
the next, and the millers of one seven days tended sheep the following
half
fortnight. Idleness was not permitted, neither was over-work, and an
abundance
of wholesome food robbed the life of the monastics of severity. The
whole
society ate their meals in one dining-room, the male members by
themselves at
one long table and the females at another. Prayers were attended twice
a day,
at five o'clock in the morning and at sunset, the brothers and sisters
again
sitting apart from each other. The observance of the Seventh Day began
with
services on Friday evening, and continued all of Saturday, but, of
course, on
the First Day, or Sunday, ordinary vocations were pursued. Interspersed
with
the secular duties at the nunnery were classes in history, music, and
theology,
to the study of which all applied themselves diligently, under the
administration
of Peter Lehman, who acted as prior or father. As was to be expected,
its music
was the most attractive feature of the Snow Hill society, and the
singing of
its choir, after years of study and practice, is described as
exceedingly sweet
and beautiful. The evening service of song was held in the small,
low-roofed
chapel, indented in the walls of which are copies in ancient German
text of the
Lord's Prayer and other inscriptions, now almost obliterated by the
ravages of
the years, and travellers often journeyed many miles to listen to it.
Nor did
the brothers fail to carry on an active and successful propaganda among
the
people of the countryside. Hundreds of converts were baptized in the
brook
which runs through the society's farm, and the affiliated members of
the order
soon spread through the surrounding country, becoming prosperous
farmers and
artisans, and building for themselves a church on the nunnery farm.
Annual
meetings are still held in this old building, and to them come from the
adjacent country and from Ohio and Kentucky the numerous descendants of
the
builders, who cling with pious, single-minded zeal to the faith of
their
forbears. The home of the Snow Hill
devotees was, in most respects, a fitting one, a group of buildings
erected at
different periods, low and rambling in appearance, with quaint
dormer-windows
and a belfry of antique pattern surmounting the roof of the main
structure, the
interior of which consists of a maze of rooms through which it is
almost
impossible for the stranger to find his way. The original cloister was
erected
in 1814, the chapel in 1836, a brothers' house in 1839, and a sisters'
house
four years later. Shops were also erected all over the place, each half
a
century ago a hive of industry. Now, however, all is changed at Snow
Hill. The
causes which worked for the decline and fall of the Order of the
Solitary have
also brought about the eclipse of its offspring. The tokens of ruin and
decay
are everywhere apparent about the buildings at Snow Hill, and for more
than three
decades the waning of the fortunes of the society has been rapid and
continuous, old age and disease fast filling the graveyard in the
meadow, while
no new members came to take the places made vacant by death. The last
brother
and sister died several years ago, and Snow Hill, like Ephrata, now
belongs to
the past. |