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

Not the least singular among the singular customs of the Kloster were the love-feasts and the night services. The former were held now and then at the houses of affiliated brethren, but most often in the halls of the convent, sometimes for one sex, at other times for both. The night services were held whenever Beissel, or Father Friedsam, as he was called by his followers, gave the summons. This he occasionally did without previous announcement by pulling at a bellcord that stretched from his dwelling to the male and female cloisters, whereupon, no matter what the hour, all had to dress and hasten to the meeting-place. Like the Dunkers from whom they had seceded, Beissel and his adherents regarded the strict and literal interpretation of the Bible as the only rule of faith. They administered apostolic baptism with triune immersion, laying on hands and praying while the recipient still knelt in the water, and they celebrated the Lord's Supper at night, greeting one another with a kiss and washing each other's feet.

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.