Still their struggles were great, and one wonders whether they could have continued to thrive if it had not been for a friend who appeared upon the scene to act as their champion. The friend was a certain Count Zinzendorf, a noble German. He allowed them to establish a small settlement upon his estates at Herenhorf. If they were anything like my friends, their descendants in Bethlehem, he must have loved them very much. One can easily picture the whole thing. They were normal persons; they displayed no fanaticism; they had a simple ritual, and they must have had among their numbers members of the best families in Bohemia. This would help the count a little. They had some quaint customs. The women dressed simply but nicely. A young lady after marriage wore a pretty blue ribbon around her neck. Before marriage she wore a pink one. I have seen some priceless old pictures in the archives of the church here in Bethlehem of the sweetest old ladies in the world, mostly wearing the blue ribbon. The artist must have been a Moravian himself. The figures are stiff and conventional; the hands dead and lifeless with pointed fingers--you know the sort of thing--but the faces are wonderfully drawn. They have all got something characteristic about them. Sometimes a slight smile, sometimes they look as though they were a little bored with posing, and one can perhaps get an idea of their respective natures, by the way they regard the artist. I felt that I should like to adopt them all as grandmothers. Of course, Count Zinzendorf got very much converted, and, possibly knowing William Penn, he obtained permission for the Moravians to settle here in Bethlehem. I have skipped a lot of their history. I don't know much about their early life in America, but they chose the sweetest spot in this valley for their home. They settled on the north side of the Lehigh River, a pleasant stream which with several tributaries helped them to grind their corn. They converted the Indians largely. At any rate, if you go into the old cemetery you will see the graves of many of the red-skins. The last of the Mohicans, Tschoop, lies in this cemetery. I sometimes stroll through this sacred square and read the weird old inscriptions on the tombs. One dear old lady has her grave in the middle of the pathway so that people passing may be influenced just a little by the remarks made by those who knew and loved her. A weird idea, isn't it? I could write pages about the Moravians, but time and the fact that I may bore you, and so kill your interest in my friends, prevent me from saying very much. Trombones mean almost everything to a Moravian. To be a member of the trombone choir is the highest honour a young Moravian can aspire to. Perhaps interest will die out, perhaps the influence of the huge steel works now taking complete control of Bethlehem will prevent the boys from regarding the thing as a terrific honour.