A Tale of the Kloster: A Romance of the German Mystics of the CocalicoJabez, Brother
Religion
A Tale of the Kloster: A Romance of the German Mystics of the Cocalico
Jabez, Brother
Christian fiction; Ephrata Cloister -- Fiction; Seventh-Day Baptists -- Fiction
With the exception that Brother Onesimus, who was but a poor waterman,
was seasick again all the voyage, nothing worthy of note occurred until
we set foot in the chiefest city of the province of New York, where our
monastic garb again attracted much attention and suspicion, so that we
were arrested as Jesuits from New Spain; and again a kind gentleman, a
justice, knowing our circumstances, interceded so effectually we were
promptly released, whereupon we shook the dust of that city from off our
feet and immediately started on our long journey for Ephrata, by way of
Philadelphia, and it was not long when we were at New Brunswick again,
whence we journeyed by foot to Trenton, where we crossed the Delaware
and soon were in our own Philadelphia, among dear friends. Here we
stopped for a few days with our Brother William Young, to rest before
continuing our journey to Ephrata, which still lay ninety miles to the
west, only that Sonnlein, with his ceaseless activity and insatiate
boyish inquisitiveness, gave himself no rest whatever, but must be
continually about this great city, especially at the wharves, where the
incoming vessels, with their cargoes from all lands under the sun, were
to him a perpetual wonder.
Our rest in this great, noisy, worldly city being at an end, for which I
was not sorry, though our brother did all he could for our comfort and
entertainment, we set out over the king's highway for Lancaster, whence
we intended to reach Ephrata by way of the Reading road, for the season
being now late we could not risk the less traveled ways, for even the
best highways were now in a difficult condition. Sonnlein, however,
being by this time such a veteran pilgrim, seemed not to mind what to
our prior, and Brother Jephune particularly, was a most tiresome
journey, our worthy sky-gazing brother floundering into every muddy bog
in our way.
When we reached Lancaster we were, with all our endurance, so worn out
we were necessitated to make another brief stop, but as soon as our
bodies would obey our wills in any wise cheerfully, we started again for
Ephrata, arriving weary and footsore within sight of Mount Sinai just as
the sun was setting behind the hills. Falling on our knees we offered up
to our Father our heartfelt thanks for our safe return, for indeed it
was much to be thankful for that after our long wanderings we all had
been brought back as safe and well, albeit a trifle weary and worn, as
when we had started on our pilgrimage.
A little farther on we made a short stop with one of the house-fathers,
as the brethren of our secular congregation were called, intending to
time ourselves to arrive at Zion for the midnight devotions, once more
to be enraptured by the strains of celestial music from the lips of our
beloved brothers and sisters.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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