USA > Pennsylvania > Lehigh County > Bethlehem > Bethlehem and Bethlehem school (history of Moravian Seminary and College for Women (Bethlehem, Pa.)) > Part 2
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In truth, I was in the first dream of childhood, ere it has awakened at all to the sad realities of life. I was taking the world upon trust, and guided altogether by impressions and appearances. Hence I left home without much reluctance and hesitation on my part, aye, perhaps quite pleased with the change.
I went in a private carriage, and we took nearly three days to accomplish a journey which can now be performed in almost as few hours. At first I kept my spirits up by the excitement of travel : but presently I began to feel lonely and sad; and by the time I arrived at Bethlehem I was very home-sick-and I had been there but a few hours. ere I became oppressed by a new and painful feeling. It was that isolation of heart produced by the realizing sense of being now shut out from the presence of all those tender and endearing sym- pathies, which render life so precious to a child at home.
This caused a horribly distressing sensation ; and being entirely new to me, I did not comprehend di- rectly what was really the matter, but believed my- self very ill; and then how many aches and pains I imagined I had; and I remember, too, how my condition at first excited the commiseration of my teachers and some of my schoolmates; also, how
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REMINISCENCES.
they tried to cheer and console me, but all in vain. I refused to be comforted, and fretted until I ac- tually did become quite sick. Then the former scolded me, which almost broke my heart, and said some things to me which only aggravated my dis- tress. Indeed, I was as wretchedly unhappy in feeling as I possibly could be, -- and I know not what would have been the result, had not some kind friends of my parents, resident in the place, opportunely interfered, and by the attention and sympathizing interest they manifested on the oc- casion, so won upon me, as to reconcile me in some degree to my forlorn distressed situation.
But a truce to these reminiscenes of painful memories of my childhood ; and I pass from them to speak of a portion of the events which transpired while at Bethlehem, together with some of the characters with whom I became acquainted while there, both among the inhabitants of the settlement, and belonging to the School.
In doing this, I have quite a variety of mate- rials to draw upon ; but I have selected only those individuals and subjects, which I considered espe- cially as belonging to this work, most of which will be found to contain either a moral or some strik- ing facts.
The world is made up of all sorts of characters ; and there seems to be as great a variety of them, as mark the human face divine. We realize this truth constantly wherever we go; in the population
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VARIETIES OF CHARACTER.
of a small town, as well as in a large city; in a steamboat, public assembly, or in any other gather- ed throng; yea, wherever the different grades of society are to be met with,-aye indeed, in every rank and condition of life, human nature is found in countless varieties of character, disposition, hab- its, and manners; sometimes, it is true, masked ; yet each wearing a livery of characteristics peculiar to its individual personification.
And many of these are to be found in schools, especially in large ones, such as Bethlehem was during the period of my sojourn there, when the boarding pupils at a time, ranged from eighty to rather more than one hundred and fifty; besides at least between twenty and thirty day scholars. And as these were subject to change, and only a few of them, comparatively, were permanently at the Institution for a longer space than a year or two at farthest, then shifted, and gave place to others, this must be considered in the calculation ; thus the list of my schoolmates was constantly in- creasing, and by this means during the period of little more than six years, the aggregate amount of the whole, methinks, at the lowest estimate, must certainly have reached to between four and five hundred.
Of course among so many girls, there were a great variety of the human species of different char- acters and positions in society-while the private history of each had its own distinctive, individual
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UNFORTUNATES.
characteristics. Some of these contained striking facts of interest; incidents not of ordinary occur- rence, which do not happen to everybody, and take place either with or without a voluntary partici- pation of the actors. For instance, in the former kind of case, arising from the disposition and habits of the individual, and in the latter, those resulting entirely from the faults of others.
Among the most prominent were those pro- duced by a disgraceful birth ; this of course was a circumstance for which the children were not to blame, but each case of which was marked with its own peculiar history ; generally of abused confid- ing affection-a broken heart-an early grave-to- gether with a suffering life to the consequences of their sinful folly. Such unfortunates were to be found at Bethlehem School, both among my school- mates and my teachers. The people there called them " Uncles' Children," and at first I could not comprehend the meaning of this term, though the impression given upon my childish mind was, that it indicated a mean and degraded parentage.
In addition to these classes of persons, there were others in the place with whom I became ac- quainted, and more or less connected, whose his- tory then and subsequently interested me. These all start forward now as I write, from the nooks and corners of memory, where they have been so long hidden, and claim their place in my record of these lays of my childhood. It is astonishing how vivid-
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26
FIRST IMPRESSIONS.
ly these ghosts of my memory present themselves, and how fresh they appear. But I was at the age when impressions fasten themselves the strongest upon the mind. Besides, as I had really very little close association with children out of our own domestic circle ere I came to Bethlehem, and in- deed had had but a very limited intercourse with society in general, but had instead lived very much secluded and retired from observation, so every inci- dent of any moment whatever which occurred while at Bethlehem was calculated to make an impression upon my young mind. And as persons and cir- cumstances were so totally different from what I had expected them, from my previous experience of life, so the interest they excited became the greater in proportion to the contrast they pre- sented.
Hence as soon as my feelings of home-sickness had lost their first poignant sensibilities, and it was not long ere my mood was changeful and fluctuat- ing, my curiosity became excited to know more and more of a people with whose church my parents were so intimately connected, and to whom I was already bound by the ties of society-relation as one of their children. And here too I was to pass the remainder of my childhood; and Bethle- hem to be the only world in which I was destined to move during the period of at least six years-an eternity of time to the little girl of eight years of age, No marvel, therefore, that every thing of
I
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SCHOOL APPELLATIONS.
any consequence whatever, every individual cir- cumstance relating either to the place or people, which contained any incident at all striking, or worthy in any way, of any note, attracted my at- tention, and riveted itself upon my mind; and that much of this portion of the history of my child- hood became fastened upon the tablets of my mind, and indelibly impressed there.
Besides this, the prominent position of my father in the church, and with the public, his relation to the School as its Agent, has enabled me to obtain possession of facts in reference to many of the in- dividuals here spoken of, which perhaps I might otherwise never have known. To this circum- stance, together with the fact that I was a child of considerable thought and observation, and had also a good memory, am I indebted for the sub- stance of the narrations which will be found in this book.
Yet ere I enter upon these sketches, it is fitting that I should mention, that as I am speaking alto- gether of the past, of a period when the simplicity of primitive Moravianism was still in a measure apparent in the school-when the teachers were called "Sisters"-the scholars only by their first or last name, without any " Miss " # prefixed to it, and all denominated girls, I have deemed it proper as a faithful narrator, to bestow the same appella-
* Except on public occasions.
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SCHOOL APPELLATIONS,
tions here, notwithstanding the taste of some of iny readers may possibly prefer the more modern and fashionable style of designation. And with this ยท prefatory observation, I pass to the following sketch.
MAMMY SCHINDLER.
I HAD scarcely arrived at Bethlehem, when I found myself an object of considerable attention among the good people of the place, many of whom, from being personal friends of my parents, were desirous to see me, as well as to manifest a kindly interest in my welfare. Some of these came to the School, while others sent for me. Accordingly, accompanied by one or another of my teachers, I was soon on my way to their respective residen- ces.
Among the latter class was an early and much valued friend of my mother, the subject of this sketch. She lived in an upper street of the town- but we shortened the distance by the route we took, which was passing the building called the Corpse- House ; from thence to the burying ground, through one corner of which we crossed-this brought us almost directly into her garden, and led us to the rear of her dwelling, where we found her in her kitchen busily ocenpied with her domestic affairs. She was very much delighted at my coming, and I
30
HER HOME.
never can forget how warmly she greeted me, and with what emotion she pressed me to her affection- ate heart, as she listened to my voice, for she could scarcely see me, as her sight was very dim. But my presence before her seemed to recall pleasant, yet very tender recollections, as for a space she could do little else but weep, while she still con- tinued fondly to embrace me. But by and by she recovered herself, when almost the first words she uttered were to congratulate herself that a daughter of one she loved so well, would now be near her, and perhaps remain at Bethlehem as long as she lived.
At this time we had left the kitchen, and were in a small but comfortable apartment, which served all the purposes of a parlor and bedroom ;- and full well do I remember exactly how it was situated, looked, and every article it contained, besides every circumstance of any interest whatever which occurred during that memorable visit. This room had but one window in front and rear; near the latter was an old-fashioned clock, a table, and a spinning-wheel ;- the floor was covered with a rag carpet, while one chimney recess contained a com- mode bureau, and the other her bed, which was concealed from view by a dark curtain. Some wooden chairs and a stool completed the inventory of the furniture gathered there. The whole beto- kened poverty, though not severely so-for although in restricted circumstances, she was not destitute of
31
HER SITUATION.
the means of support, at least as long as she could work, and had hitherto been enabled to provide for her own necessities.
Yet there was much in her situation calculated to excite strong sympathy in her behalf. She was getting old and feeble, besides almost blind and helpless. Added to this she was a childless widow, with no kind kindred about her to render the even- ing of her days cheerful and pleasant, and to obtain for her those little comforts and delicacies so grate- ful, and sometimes so very necessary, in declining health. No, the good Mammy had not a single person upon whom she had a claim to perform those kindly offices for her, and to take care of her when no longer able to do so herself.
Yet she was not left alone and desolate, for being universally beloved and respected in the community, they frequently visited her-besides, she had rented out part of her house, and those who thus shared her peaceful roof were some society for her, and took a friendly interest in the old lady. Their children, as well as themselves, called her Mammy, and so also did every one else, and by this cognomen, and no other, was she generally known in the place. Indeed all the widows among the Moravians in their German settlements, thirty and forty years ago, were thus denominated, while their widowed brethren were the Daddies of their people, and this, too, although they might never. have had any children whatever of their own.
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32
PRIMITIVE MORAVIANS.
Marriage seems to have given them the right to this parental appellative, and thus Mammy Schind- ler was entitled to it.
This much-loved friend of my mother was a specimen of the genuine primitive Moravians. In fact, both she and her excellent husband were natives of that country, and emigrated from their father-land as children, I believe, about a century ago, and presently joined that devoted band of the Society who toiled together for the general benefit at Bethlehem, upon the establishment of that Set- tlement in the association of which I mean to speak elsewhere-the Community of Goods. They con- tinned connected with it until this arrangement was dispensed with, whereupon the husband pur- sued his accustomed mechanical business entirely on his own account, but from various causes with which I am unacquainted, he never succeeded very well, for although industrious and economical, he always remained poor. Yet through the co-opera- tion of his faithful and devoted helpmate, he man- aged to become the owner of his dwelling and workshop, and besides to save a few hundred dol- lars. When he died, he bequeathed all these his earthly possessions to his widow.
When this occurrence took place, the Mammy, I should judge, must have been about sixty years of age, and had already become somewhat infirm in health. Hence it was deemed necessary that her property should be rendered as available as possi-
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THE MAMMY'S SUPPORT.
ble. For this purpose she rented out the shop as well as the greater part of her dwelling, reserving for herself only the accommodations I have men- tioned. As living was cheap at Bethlehem, and her habits of life economical, the income derived from these sources, with the interest on her small capital, together with the produce of her garden, poultry-yard and piggery, though not sufficient for her support, contributed so materially towards it. that by the aid of her spinning-wheel she could manage with care to live comfortably. Thus her means were never ample, but generally, just about enough to supply her actual necessities.
'Tis true she had a few friends who added to it by occasionally assisting her in some acceptable bestowment-but sometimes these presents did not benefit the recipient, as intended by the kind do- nors thereof, since they were not always allowed to increase her comforts in a pecuniary point of view, as she made them opportunities which she gladly embraced of helping individuals in more necessi- tous circumstances than herself. For this truly excellent woman was generous to a fault, and it afforded her the greatest possible pleasure to give away or share with others whatever she had. Add- ed to this, she possessed a beautiful simplicity of character, united to a very affectionate nature. E'en while I write her venerable form presents itself before me, and with it the remembrance of many acts of considerate kindness and attention
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GOODNESS OF HEART.
that I received from this friend of my childhood, which are carefully preserved among the treasured records of my carly youth. And every portion of the year brought me these tokens of her love. In the season of fruits I had my share of what her garden afforded-of currants, cherries, and plums -- while in winter, apples, nuts, and other good things, such as doughnuts, a plate of fritters or pancakes, or whatever else her kind heart sug- gested might be acceptable.
And besides these free-will offerings of her generous nature, whenever she could conveniently do so, I was invited to take the vesper meal with her. At such times it was her wont to provide a bountiful and good repast, although it may be she could scarcely afford the expense, and was obliged afterwards in consequence to stint herself. Of course she kept me in happy ignorance of this cir- cumstance at the time, while I only realized that she was very kind, and each recurrence of the like attention only deepened the impression upon my mind, and I have never forgotten it.
I had one drawback, however, to my pleasure in visiting her. Her health was failing, and so per- ceptibly, that though only a child, I could not but perceive it. Besides this, her sight was becoming more and more impaired, and fears began to be entertained that she would soon be totally blind. In consequence, she was now very apt to be de-
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1667598
VISITS NEW YORK.
pressed in spirits-aye sometimes quite unhappy, and often in tears.
My parents no sooner were informed of her sad condition, than they urged her to come to them in New York, where she could have the advantage of the best medical advice, which invitation she accepted, and took the earliest and most conven- ient opportunity of doing so, and in company with several of the Moravian Society of Bethlehem. She staid with them, if I recollect right, a month or two. This event was a great undertaking for such an aged woman, especially as she had never before, for more than half a century, been absent from Bethlehem, except to a neighboring settlement- besides, it was the first time in her life that she had made any but a passing sojourn in any large city whatever. Yet, considering all the circumstances of her case, she bore it tolerably well, and after the first fatigue was over, she apparently enjoyed her- self considerably. The novelty of her situation amused her, while she really appeared to derive benefit from the excitement it produced, as, for a space after her return to Bethlehem, her health and
spirits were remarkably good. In truth . she re- ceived so much attention while in the city, and was so kindly treated by the friends she made here, as to keep her mind so constantly, pleasantly oc- cupied, that she had no time to dwell upon her great calamity. Yet her sight did not improve. Indeed, a celebrated oculist in New York, who was
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BECOMES BLIND.
consulted upon the subject, pronounced her case incurable, and only a few months subsequent to her visit to this city, she could scarcely recognize the features of her most familiar friend.
Thus Providence rendered her completely help- less-nor could she spin any more-neither was she able to attend to her household duties. Thus situ- ated, it became necessary to have some one to take care of her, and soon an arrangement was effected with her tenants, who were good people and very fond of her. They had now been domiciled with her quite a number of years and knew all her pecu- liarities, and in her deplorable condition it was probably the very best arrangement which could have been made for her comfort and happiness. Yet the dear old Mammy, though fully agreeing to it, and seemingly satisfied with the proposition, was not really pleased with this change in her domestic affairs ; on the contrary, it painfully affected her.
For she immediately realized that by this ar- rangement she would be placed under some pecu- niary obligations to her friends, and she imagined that she might prove a great tax upon them in consequence. This was not the fact, however; the expense could not be great, and it was cheerfully promised and willingly bestowed. Yet to her it ever appeared a very great kindness, for which she was truly grateful, though her depression of spirits continued. In truth, she keenly felt her dependent situation, and believed that she was not only a
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37
WISHES TO DIE.
helpless and useless being, but a burden to her- self and to others. And there were moments when this consideration rendered her so despondent, that it almost approached to melancholy. At such times she was apt to express herself tired of life, and to manifest an carnest desire to die, which caused her to ask her friends to pray to God to take her.
. "For," added she, " what good can a poor old blind woman like me do upon earth ? I am only in the way-useless and helpless-I have nothing to live for, and I shall be so much happier with my Saviour ; " and then the tears would fall from those dear old sightless orbs, and she would weep awhile, and maybe talk of her good Daddy and other friends who were deceased, when a smile would pass over that wrinkled and aged face as she joyed in the anticipation of meeting them all again in Heaven.
I still continued my usual visits, when she re- ceived me with her wonted kindness ; and as my be- ing with her always gratified the dear old lady, I never omitted the opportunity to go and see her. I remember that for some time, whenever I was taking my leave, she invariably desired the same message to my mother, together with the carnest request that she and my father would never for a single day fail to unite their prayers to God in her be- half-and especially to entreat Him, as a great favor, that He would send for her-that she might be permitted to die and be with Ilim forever.
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IS VERY ILL.
And more than once she added, "Tell them to remind the Lord that I am here upon earth," for like another of the ancient widows of Bethlehem of whom I mean to make mention in these sketches. she fancied that perhaps God had forgotten it. And I recollect the very last time they saw her she reiterated this request, as she did in like man. ner to other friends who visited her. And in fact, the more she realized the infirmities of age, the in- creasing helplessness and hopelessness of her condi- tion, the wish to quit life seemed to strengthen.
And yet the good Mammy continued to live on ; for the appointed time of her departure had not ar- rived-and she lingered, it may be, until years as well as months were added to her span of being. The boon she so anxiously, yea, impatiently craved, was still denied. I cannot now recollect whether it was then, or antecedent to this period, that her grave-clothes were prepared, and the necessary sum for her coffin and other funeral expenses were care- fully provided and taken care of; also, that she had entirely closed up her account with the world. But as such things were of common occurrence among the Moravians formerly, these arrangements of hers did not excite any particular observation or remark.
Time passed, when at length the dear old Mam- my found herself stretched upon a bed of sickness with a fearful and agonizing disease. It is called the Misery in German, because of the intense dis-
. t.
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SHRINKS FROM DEATH.
tress always attending it. She suffered indescrib- ably, and it became almost directly apparent that the long anticipated and wished for period was near at hand, when her earthly existence would terminate ; and that the angel of death would quickly appear to bear her spirit away. And knowing how ardently she had desired his coming, her friends generally rejoiced on her account. But how did she receive him? how greet his arrival ? was it with willingness and joy, and did she hail him as a friend ? Strange to say, no ; but we were told that, on the contrary, she saw his approach with dread and dismay, and with fear and trembling shrunk from his icy touch. Besides, when the minister who was summoned to her dying bed talked with her upon the subject, and congratulated her upon the certain and speedy realization of this long impatiently desired blessing-this fondly cherished hope and anticipation, she surprised him by saying :
"Oh, my dear brother, it is true I have so spoken, and have for years awaited this moment with ar- dent and longing desire; I have been really impa- tient for my release from this body of suffering, yet I would rather live, for, after all, life is very sweet and pleasant. Yes, I fain would stay here a little longer."
She was suffering greatly at the time, but was perfectly in her senses, although the minister and the other friends who were about her, in their as-
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DESIRES TO LIVE.
tonishment at such expressions falling from her lips, fancied at the moment that perhaps her mind was becoming unsettled. The minister hereupon, anx- ious to ascertain the true state of the case, and how she really felt in the prospect of eternity, took her hand gently within his own while he ob- served :
"But, my dear Mammy, remember that you are going to the Saviour with whom you have so long desired to be ; to the home which He has pre- pared for you, where you will be forever freed from every kind of suffering and infirmity, and besides. be eternally united to all the dear Christian friends who are already with our Lord."
" Oh, I do not forget all these things, I remem- ber them well," she replied, " and it is all very fine and delightful ; but yet, dear brother, if it is His holy will I would, nevertheless, rather not go just yet. Indeed, I would rather get well again-there- fore please tell Him so, if it is only for a little time longer."
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