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THE BUILDING OF THE CHURCH OF ST. -DENIS.

775

service with His divine voice. And having completed the office. He called the trem- bling leper to Him and made him whole, drawing from him his leprous skin , which He flung against the wall, where it remained mi- raculously fixed in the image of life as a tes- timony of the mira- cle. Then He bade the poor man go and tell what he had wit- nessed. When the king heard it he hast- ened to the church with all his train, and having beheld the signs of the consecra- tion and the marks of the holy water and holy oil used by the Lord of lords, and see- ing the leper's skin at- tached to the wall, he forbade all other con- secration. For centu- ries the skin of the leper was preserved,

encased in silver, as a most sacred relic. The retention of the old walls thus divine- ly consecrated may account for the fact that hardly ninety years after the comple- tion of Suger's work, during the reign of St. Louis, the nave required reconstruction. The aisles of the choir and the chapels of the apse remain to-day as they were con- structed in the twelfth century, while the west front, and the door of the north transept, though in part restored, retain many of their original features, and ex- hibit their original design.

Suger lived long enough to sec his work essentially complete. He describes with genial satisfaction the glorious painted windows, the costly altars, the jewelled vessels and crosses of gold witli which he adorned the church. The wealth of the abbey and the offerings of the pious sufficed to heap together trea- sures that could be compared with those of St. Sophia, at Constantinople. Such treasures were safer within church walls then elsewhere. In 1151 lie died, ami was laid in his tomb within the most splendid church in the realm of France,

IX THE CRYPT.

the church for which he had cared, as he himself says, as for nothing else under heaven.

The old church had been the burial- place of the kings of France, and in the new church king after king was laid to sleep with his fathers, under the pro- tection of the patron saint of the realm, and with the sacred banner, the ori- flamme of France, hanging above them. Here rested the ashes of St. Louis, his memory giving a new consecration to the holy place. St. -Denis was the scene from age to age of man 3 a famous ceremony. It was associated with the proudest mem oriesof France. But in the heighl of the French Revolution, not a hundred years ago, when France revolted againsi her own past, the good of it as well as the

had. when the town of Si. Denis Was to he known no longer by its old name, hut thenceforth was to be called Franciade, the church was sacked and desecrated by a drunken mob, the tombs were rum maged and emptied, the dusl and the holes of kings and saints were heaped up pell mell together; the statues were hack

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ed and broken, the windows — the work of the artists whom Suger had employed — were shivered to pieces, and everything of price and worth was ruined, or carried oil' as booty. The work of destruction went on for three days, till there was nothing left but bare walls and fragments of works that time never could replace;

MONT

even \nift

off to

ter this the

market place.

In later years what could be done in the way of restoration was effected. But the marks of such acts of brutal folly are never to be obliterated.

as stripped

or a time af-

vas used as an open

AN OLD LANCASTER HOUSE.

A PECULIAR PEOPLE.

BY HOWARD PYI.K.

THE city of Lancaster is bustling and progressive. But here and there, crowded in between structures of modern date, are remnants of old times, curious little houses one story high, with very steep roofs and one or two dormer-win- dows peeping over the edge. They are the houses of old German Lancaster. One visiting this old town is struck by the pe- culiarly foreign appearance of main of the folk he meets. He sees a smooth- shaven, long-haired people — -the Mennon- ite Baptists — and here and there long- bearded members of the Dunker or Ger- man Baptist sect, both speaking Pennsyl- vania Dutch. It is of the latter people.

and of a sect springing from them, that we have here chiefly to speak.

Some fifteen miles from Lancaster by turnpike and twenty by rail lies the little village of Ephrata. It is a very secluded, sleepy-looking little place, in spite of the railroad that runs through it, shut in by surrounding hills and by a low line of mountains dignified by the name of Ephrata Ridge. The houses of the town straggle along a broad road which crosses the railroad near the station, clips away tin til it sweeps around in a curve over a bridge, past an old mill in front of a broad- built red brick house, and so away into the country. The houses, generally brick-

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777

built, in many cases old fashioned, are very comfortable and home-like.

Here one meets the Dunker per se in every by-road and lane — men with long beards and flowing hair parted in the mid- dle. At the farm-houses are pleasant, matronly faces, stamped with humility and gentleness, while an air of almost saintly simplicity is given by the clear- starched cap, the handkerchief crossed on the breast, the white apron, and the plain gray or drab stuff of the dresses.

The style of living- of these good people, their manners and customs, are of the most primitive type. Their aim is to imi- tate the early Christians in their habits of life as well as in their religious tenets. There is absolutely no distinction of caste among- them.

They settled at first near Philadelphia, in a spot which has since been called Germantown, from the various German religious refugees who settled there in the early part of the last century. The sect is now chiefly con lined to cen- tral and western Pennsyl- vania, but has spread to other States, principally those of the Northwest, though there are church- es established in western Maryland. West Virginia, and North Carolina. Their dress is of the simplest de- scription, quaint and old- fashioned in its cut; they offer no resistance to inju- ries; they observe no con- formity with the world and its manners and customs; they refuse to take oaths in courts of law: in these and many other ways resem- bling the Society of Friends.

Some of their religious ceremonies are exceeding ly curious. They celebrate tin' Lord's Supper after t be manner of the primitive Christians.

The feast begins about the time of candle-lighting. The men are seated upon one side of the meeting bouse, the women upon the other. The lii-st ceremony is that of the washing of feet, eacli sex performing

this duty for its own. Those who are to engage in the ordinance presently enter the meeting, carrying tubs of luke- warm water, and each member on the front benches removes his or her sIkm-s and stockings. A man on the men's side and a woman on the women's then wash the feet one by one, taking the righl hand of each individual, as they finish the washing, and giving the kiss of peace. After the one who performs the washing follows another with a long towel girded around the waist, who wipes the feet just washed, at the same time giving the right hand and the kiss of peace. As one benchful has the ceremony performed, it gives place to another. While this cer- emony is being conducted, the minister or teachers make a brief speech or read appropriate portions of Scripture relating

to the subject.

The next ceremony is the supper itself. Each third bench is so arranged that the

\ DORMITORY in I'll SISTERS HOUSE I I'lIK \i\

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THE KLOSTER.

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, bear- ing large plates or bowls of soup, which are placed upon the tables. Three or four people help themselves out of the same dish. After this the communion is administered, and the whole ceremony is concluded by the singing of hymns and preaching. This the brethren hold is the only true method of administering the or- dinance of the Last Supper, and also hold that it is similar to that ceremony as cele- brated in the earliest Christian Church.

Another peculiar ordinance among them is that of anointing the sick with oil, in accordance with the text in James, v. 14. 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 per- son, of laying hands upon them, and pray- ing over them.

The ordinance of baptism is adminis- tered in running water and by threefold immersion, the officiating minister then laying his hands upon the recipient, who still kneels in the water, and praying over him or her.

The ministers or teachers, who receive no stipend whatever, are elected by the votes of the members of the church, he who I'eceives the largest number of votes being pronounced elected. These elec- tions are summoned by the elders of the church, who preside over them and re- ceive the votes of the people, either viva voce, in whispers, or by closed ballots. If no candidate has a majority, or if there are a greater number of blank votes cast than for any one candidate, the election is pronounced void.

Such is a brief and condensed account of these people, and of their religious cus- toms and ordinances. They are called Dunkers, or Tunkers, from the German tunlcen, which may be interpreted to dip, or probably "to sop" is a better equiva- lent word. They assume for themselves the name Brethren on account of the text Matthew, xxiii. 8, " One is your Mas- ter, even Christ, and all ye are brethren." They also sometimes call themselves " God's Peculiar People."

The first visit we ever made to a Dun- ker meeting was on a cold day in the lat- ter part of November. The wind piped across the snow-clad hills and over the level white valleys, nipping the nose and

A PECULIAR PEOPLE.

779

making the cheeks feel stiff like leather. As we neared the straggling, old-fashion- ed-looking town we passed an old farmer of the neighborhood and his wife trudg- ing toward the meeting-house, the long gray beard of the former tangling in the wind or wrapping itself around neck and

ing-house were collected the farm wagons and dearborns of the folk, who themselves crowded into the low brick building, the men by one door, the women by the other.

The ceiling was low ; the room was sun- nv and bright: there were two stoves, one

GOING To MEETING.

breast, and further on a young couple in the quaint costume of the people, pictu- resque figures against the white of the broad-stretching road. Around the meet

at either end of the building, af which warmed themselves the white-capped sis ters at one end, the Long bearded brethren at (be other, the latter standing with their

Vol. TA'XIX No 471 - 7 I

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THE KISS OF PEACE.

backs to the stove, holding their horny palms to the warmth and rubbing thern together. Presently a minister entered, and as he moved to the long table where his two confreres sat facing the congrega- tion, he passed by the bench of the elder brethren. One after another of those nearest to him arose, the two right hands were clasped, and the two long gray beards met in the kiss of peace.

A hymn Avas sung in English, with a peculiar quavering of the voice and lin- gering upon each word. A hymn in Ger- man followed ; then a sermon in German ; then a second in the same language. The second preacher threw into his tones a pe- culiar intonation which we learned was chai'acteristic of these people. It was a rather high-pitched monotone, carried throughout the sentence, and dropped only at the last word. The gestures were easy and natural, and every now and then the voice dropped suddenly into a

colloquialism absolutely startling, as the preach- er directed some broad truth based on human nature directly at the hearts of his hearers. A sermon in English fol- lowed, and the service was concluded }>y anoth- er German hymn and the reading of a portion of Scripture.

It. was from this peo- ple that a sect, probably one of the most interest- ing in this country, took its rise; a sect once nu- merous, now nearly ex- tinct; once wealthy in fat lands and busy manufac- tories, now poor, though still having many of the comforts of life — the Ger- man Seventh - day Bap- tists. They live as a semi- commune, having only a degree of community of interests in the estate of the society. They are an ideal republic, where ev- ery man is of perfectly equal standing in the society, and they are a monastic order without enforced celibacy or mo- nastic vows. Near the broad road along which Eph- rata stretches its straggling row of houses stands a curious pile of buildings of quaint, old-fashioned architecture. The larger are weather-boarded with planks or shin- gle; the smaller, which have something of a foreign look — half Swiss, half Ger- man— are built of stone. The main build- ings stand on a little rise of ground, the others, some larger, some smaller, of frame and stone, are scattered around in its neighborhood.

The buildings standing on the mound, which loom up before us the moment we enter the ground, are great steep-roofed houses, several stories in height, spotted by many very small windows twinkling in the sunlight. The flooring beams of good sound poplar pierce through the Avails and are pinned upon the outside. The buildings are gray and haggard with age ; here and there the clapboards are loose ; and there is that peculiar blind,

A PECULIAR PEOPLE.

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sightless look that broken windows lend to an old house. These are the remains of the old enclosed village of Ephrata, once the centre of busy life and energy, now rapidly crumbling to decay. The buildings are those of the Kloster (clois- ter) of the German Seventh-day Baptists.

In 1724 Conrad Beissel. a man who learned the trade of weaver under Peter Becker, the first Dunker preacher in this country, was baptized into the German Baptist Church. He was a man of con- siderable intelligence and erudition, and. accepting the idea of primitive Christian- ity inculcated by that society, he saw no reason why they stopped short of com- plete reformation and return to the prim- itive principles of the Christian Church 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 the year 1728. This crea- ted such a disturbance in the society of which he was a member, a society which has ever jealously guarded itself from in- novations, that he was compelled to with- draw himself from membership with it. He retired to the then wilderness along the banks of t lie Cocalico. and there found a hut or cave that had once heen inhabit- ed by a hermit called Elimelech, and in it established himself as a recluse. In time, however, some of his old friends, together with others who had hecome convinced by his tract, gathered themselves together around his retreat, until quite a number had settled in the neighborhood of his once solitary habitation. About the year 1732 this recluse life was changed for a monas- tic one, and the earliest buildings of the Kloster were erected. The habit of the Capuchins, or White Friars, was adopted by the new monastic society. The bro- thers wore shirt, trousers, and vest, with a long white gown and cowl of woollen web in winter and linen in summer. The sisters' costume was the same, with the ex- ception of a coarse flannel petticoat sub stituted for the trousers. There vrere no vows of celibacy exacted or taken, al- though the idea was considerably incul- cated. Monastic names were given to all who entered the Kloster: the Prior, Israel Fcherlin. took the name of Onesimus ; Beissel, who steadily refused to accept any position of influence, took that of Fried sam. and was given the title of Spiritual Father of the community.

The society now gathered numbers, in- somuch that in 1740 there were thirty-six single brothers and thirty -five single sis ters in their respective Klosters, while the community numbered nearly three hun- dred persons. The property and real estate grew to be of great value as the farm he- came productive and mills arose on the banks of the Cocalico, built by the hands of the brethren and sisters ; and this wealth was the common stock of the so- ciety, and the income was devoted to the common support. None, however, was obliged to contribute to this general stock. The mills were at that time the most ex- tensive in that part of the country, em- bracing paper, woollen, saw, and grist mills; but of these little or no vestige now remains. It was here that one of if not the very first printing-press in Pennsyl- vania was erected, and the books and tracts of the society were printed witiiiu its own walls.

MY Cl

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HARPER'S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

"IT WAS TO REPRESENT THE NARROW WAY.

Not the least singular thing ahout this singular people was their music. So far as we are able to discover, it is now near- ly if not quite extinct in the fast decaying branches of the society. This music was composed and written by Beissel himself. It was founded upon the melodious and plaintive chords of the iEolian harp, of which Beissel was very fond, and one of which he had in his cell. It is written in a peculiar melancholy minor key, and was sung with a singularly soft modula- tion.

Such was Ephrata in the old time, prosperous, busy, beautiful, with broad land, with smiling pastures, sunny hills, and dewy dales. But now all its glory has passed. All its prosperity has depart- ed, and nothing remains but ruin, decay — and picturesqueness. The last celibate

brother passed away years ago, and the celi- bate sisters (there are but four of them), with- out monastic name, without monastic chess, plain, matter-of-fact, elderly German wo- men, subsist on a scanty allowance of fuel and flour from the estate, which has now nearly passed out of the hands of the society.

It was a queer old Dunker, gnarled and twisted, scarred and crooked as an aged fruit tree past fruit- bearing time, who act- ed as our cicerone in an exploring trip through the old building of the Sisters' Kloster. He had once been a man of more than ordinary in- telligence among his people, but age and accident had snapped most of the bright strands of his intellect, though many still re- mained. He wore a broad -brimmed beaver hat, showing the white here and there at the edges where the fur was worn away, beneath which hung his long silvery hair almost to his shoulders, meet- ing with the voluminous gray beai'd that lay upon his breast. He wore an ancient and much used coat of that distinctive cut so much affected by the Society of Friends. It, as well as his trousers, which were very short, made of homespun, and of a color brown as butternut, was patched in numerous places with some darker col- ored stuff.

He led us by a short-cut to the build- ing, down the road and across a field, past a well-looking flour-mill of modern build, but having an old foundation. It was a part of the mills of the palmy days of the brotherhood. Beyond this we crossed a stile, cut across a sunny field, past a great rambling building that had once been the Brothers' House, from which faces peeped at us from the many

A PECULIAR PEOPLE.

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different little windows (it is now rented to several families), and so readied the Kloster proper.

The great building fronts toward the northeast, is whitewashed, and forms an L with the chapel adjoining. This is the Sisters' House, and very comfortable it looked from this side, the queer little windows winking down at us in the sun. It was along this wall that the wounded soldiers sat, waited on by the white-cowl- ed sisters, after the bloody fight at Bran- dywine. Nearly three hundred Amer-

afterward found, but live feet high and twenty inches broad. Our old cicerone saw our curiosity at this and explained it to us. It was to represent the narrow way that leads to everlasting life, and always they must be of one size, five feet high and twenty inches broad.

We passed through a dormitory, through a dark passage into the chapel. It was a low room, constructed of heavy beams of poplar timber, hewn by hand, and built by the members of the society in the old da vs. The beams were dark

"IT WAS ALOXG THIS WALL THAT T11K WOl'XDED SOLDIERS SAT.

ican soldiers were brought here to be nursed by the sisterhood.

The old Dunker did not knock at the door, but walked directly in. Leading the way down a long passage to a low-ceiled, whitewashed room where a wood (in- crackled in a large stove, making the ket- tle hum pleasantly to itself. An old- fashioned brass-handled bureau stood on one side, some quaint high-backed chairs stood around, a very thin and very tall old German clock stood against the wall, its top almost touching the ceiling, which, albeit, was only seven feet high; but what most struck us was the exceeding smallness of the doors. They were, we

with age. but the walls were whitewashed to a spotless purity, and the light that struggled in through the little windows showed thai the Boor was actually worn with scrubbing, SO painfully clean that it seemed almost desecration to walk upon

it : the naii beads fairly glistened here and there, so brightly were they polished with numberless applications of soap and sand. Around the walls were a number of curi- ous antique-looking cards about three feet

square, bearing mottoes and texts, all printed by hand, with a beauty of design and delicacy of execution tbat mighl rank them with the lost ait of \ellnm inanu

script printing. Some of the designs were

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HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

INTERIOR OF CHAPEL.

very unique, and all of them were aged, even mediaeval looking. One of them represented the narrow way leading to eternal life. In the distance were numer- ous faces and figures gathered around a lamb. The winding path that led to this group was marked witli appropriate texts from Scripture in German, many relating to the blessedness of celibacy; for in- stance: "They that are of the flesh do mind the things of the flesh," etc.; "He that is unmarried careth for the things that belong to the Lord," etc. ; and others as appropriate.

Nothing could be more interesting than our ramble through this great barn-like old building under the guidance of one

of the good sisters. Now we mounted a steep flight of stairs, clinging to a rope by way of balustrade; now plunged down a long mysterious passageway leading into utter darkness and mystery, the very place for a good ripe ghost of some long-pass- ed-away cowled and hooded sister; now through vacant hallways down which the wind sighed through cracks and crannies as it lifted the loose shingles and weather- boards outside, making them crack and flap as it shook them about. Here and there we came to queer little rooms piled high with furniture, rickety and antique; here we discovered some curious wooden household utensils, dishes, platters, spoons, and candlesticks, of turned poplar wood,

A CORNER OF SCOTLAND WORTH KNOWING.

785

used in the earlier love-feasts and house- hold life of the community. In another room we found a great hour-glass stand- ing- in the window, a timepiece that had probably drained slowly with the wa- ning life of some former head sister or Prioress; and here was a hewn hench and billet of poplar wood, for in the earlier days the brothers and sisters stretched their weary limbs at night upon such benches, and reposed their weary heads

upon such billets; not from motives of piety, but of economy. All was vacant. barren of the life that had once stirred in- side of it; but here and there, as a little oasis in this desert of mouldering loneli ness, some old sister had gathered togeth- er a lot of the best preserved furniture, and had fitted up a room where the old dame herself was sleepily awaiting the coining of the great night that should give her rest forever.

PRESTOXPANS.

A CORNER OF SCOTLAND WORTH KNOWING.

BY PROFESSOR W. G. BLAIKIE, D.D.

MELROSE and Abbotsford have got such a monopoly of interest for strangers who have a day or two to spend in the neighborhood of Edinburgh that it is very difficult to induce; them to think favorably of any other region. We have no wish to dispute the pre-eminent claims of the immortal abbey and the home of the poet; yet we venture to think that they are not the only places within an hour of the Scottish metropolis worthy of the stranger's notice. We are going to put in a claim for an interesting corner on the southern shore of the Firth id'

Forth, renowned for its ruined castles and the island-rocks on which it looks out; associated with names and events in the past that men love to recall ; and now. in these piping times of peace, enjoying a renown of a different kind, as having the most bracing climate to be found perhaps in all the British Isles, and forming a fa vorite resort of sea-side visitors and others in search of health and recreation.

Suppose we set out from the Waverley

station, and take a return ticket to North Berwick. It is but an hour's ride, and if we start early a long day is before us.

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HADDINGTON CHURCH, WHERE MRS. CARLYLE IS BCRIED.

Passing Portobello, a sea -side suburb of Edinburgh, we take the seaboard line of rail. A few miles' ride brings -us to Pres- tonpans, and we are soon on the field of Preston, where, in 1745, Prince Charlie and his Highlanders inflicted a crushing de- feat on the royal troops. The Prince had already got possession of Edinburgh, and, under Sir John Cope, the King's troops were "hurrying up" from the south for the purpose of checking the victorious rebels. The Prince and li is Highlanders came out from Edinburgh to meet them, and on a foggy September morning fell upon them before daylight, and in four minutes, it is said, routed and all but an- nihilated them. Colonel Gardiner had command of a squadron of cavalry whom he encouraged to the utmost, but, seized with panic, they fled. The gallant old man then placed himself at the head of a body of infantry, but he was cut down by numerous wounds. There are no traces now of the morass that separated the armies, by clearing which before day- break unobserved, the Highlanders pain

ed so great an advantage for their attack. Fertile fields, beautifully cultivated, now cover the whole space. Yet on a misty morning one may fancy the impetuous charge of the Highlanders, with their dirks and claymores, their scowling faces and shaggy locks, and the bewilderment of the English soldiers as some wild mon- ster fell upon them, with his sword in one hand and his dirk in the other, killing two at a time, or wielding a scythe blade at the end of a pole with force enough to- sever the uplifted arm and fracture the skull of his opponent by a single blow. It is difficult to keep one's sympathies from the side of the pretender even yet; though one can well see what a dismal thing it would have been for Scotland and for the cause of liberty had the suc- cess at Preston been followed by corre- sponding victories elsewhere.

A few miles further brings us to the station of Longniddry, from which a branch line goes off to Haddington, the capital of the county.

Haddington has come into public view

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