The Guardian.

VOL. XVIII.-JUNE, 1867.-No. 6.

THE CEMETERY OF NEW GOSCHENHOPPEN.

Its Antiquity established from the Tongues of the Living, and the Tombs of the Dead.

BY PERKIOMEN.

About the close of the seventeenth, or beginning of the eighteenth century, a stranger among strangers breathed his last on the east bank of the Perkiomen, perhaps six miles from its source.* His name must remain a mystery to the end of time. Nevertheless, lest the reader might cast a leer eye upon the opening of our narrative, and suspect us of writing the history of a legendary character, let him be assured that these pages constitute history, since, by the baptism of tradition, he has been indelibly written down, "The Unknown Stranger."

who He is

Neither can we certainly record the name of the hospitable man, took the stranger in, affording him shelter and a couch to die on. believed, however, by singular unanimity, to have been one of the† parent stems of the extensive and wealthy Hillegass' connections, now living in, around, and far beyond the neighborhood. This may be said in support of the opinion, that the oldest inhabitant knows not of a time, when the place had been in possession of any one, not of that name. It is furthermore a tradition-be it of a fable or a fact-which we are most anxious to harbor, since the title of the historic homestead has remained for successive generations to one name, blood and family, and naturally affords us a commentary on the Apostle's exhortation: " Be not forgetful to enter

"Perkiomen" is an Indian term, by which the stream has ever been known, and signifies It rises in the south central part of Berks county, Pennsylvania, in Hereford township; and flowing in a south-eastern direction, through the middle of the county of Montgomery, empties into the Schuylkill river, near Phoenixville. It is a stream of some note; and although not navigable, it abounds in excellent mill-seats.

The locality is well known in the neighborhood, and has been spoken of in conneotion with the above-mentioned circumstance for more than one and one-half century. The homestead is now in possession of Henry Bobb, Esq., a descendant of the original proprietor, who has greatly enhanced its primitive value by extensive improvements.

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tain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” (Heb. xiii. 2.)

The few, and widely scattered settlers, assembled to give the stranger burial. But where to lay the body, was with them a question, which, after much and long counselling, even, they could not determine upon. No one of the company knew of a graveyard, to which they might make claim; indeed, es war damals kein Gottesacker”- -as those ancients told their children—“nicht in der Nähe, auch nicht ein mal in der Ferne!”

In the height of their perplexity, a gentleman of continental garb, and an extensive land proprietor, rode by that way, and seeing the gathering of people, which was not an ordinary occurrence in "ye olden times," and sparsely settled regions, halted to inform himself of its meaning. Having been informed of what had transpired, and of their consequent embarrassment, he immediately asked them to follow him, promising to show them a spot where they might lay the stranger down. He preceded, the neighbors following, bearing the corpse. Having forded the stream-for bridges. were not then-and advanced less than three hundred yards, he dismounted by a yew tree, and pointing to a hollow lying beneath, told them to bury him there. Solemnly and thankfully they committed his body to the tomb. No further care was taken to mark his resting-place; not even a mound is visible, and yet the parents of to-day point vaguely into the sleepy hollow, and tell their children: "Yonder, we do not know where, but somewhere, lies buried, The Unknown Stranger."" The younger children gaze wildly downward, and display the fashion of fear, but they grasp more tightly the hands of their parents.

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But our benefactor did not limit his generosity to the tomb of a manground long enough and narrow enough to contain a corpse. To be charitable to the dead requires, after all, no more than human virtue, merely; whilst charity to the living comes from above. Having inquired, what persuasions the inhabitants of the valley were principally of, and having been informed that they were all of Reformed, Lutheran, or Mennonite ancestry and faith, he at once expressed his readiness to donate an undivided tract of land, measuring six acres, to the three denominations, for church, school, and burial purposes. He pointed to the newly-made grave, and telling them to take it as the centre, and measure the number of acres around it, he rode away, realizing the sweet truth of the Lord's words: "It is more blessed to give than to receive." The joyous recipients of his liberality were left to themselves, wondering, admiring, weeping, and blessing God. They did not shout any thanks after the good Samaritan; for deep gratitude manifests itself in tears, in silence, in awkwardness, but does not cry aloud-does not even seek vent in the conventional utterances, which, from very conventionalism, have been deprived of all unction, as the position of the wheel has worn away the oil from the axle. He, who knows the pious German heart, will most readily join us in the belief, that the German Thanksgiving Hymn-"Nun Danket alle Gott!"- -was never shouted with greater fervency, than when the benevolent land proprietor donated a site for church, school, and burying-ground, to the original settlers in the valley of Goschenhoppen.

Those early settlers proceeded subsequently to divide the ground into three equal parts, allotting two acres to the Reformed, two to the Lutheran, and two to the Mennonite churches, in strict accordance with the inten

tion of the donor, to be held for the already named sacred purposes forever. From the tomb of the "Unknown Stranger," thousands have multiplied; the dead within its enclosure can no longer be numbered; a vast nation of fellow-mortals have mingled their ashes with his, and the names of many and many must remain unknown, with his, for whose remains the maiden forest ground was first broken, until the trumpet shall sound, the graves open, and the dead arise. If there be another Grey to write an Elegy, the "Country Church Yard" at New Goschenhoppen will afford him bountiful materials. Here is NECROPOLIS.

We doubt not, the reader is painfully waiting to learn the name of the generous donor. To JOHN HENRY SPROEGEL are the three named denominations-especially the Reformed Church, into whose possession the land subsequently and honorably fell-indebted forever for their original foothold, as well as for that denominational prestige which they now possess in Eastern Pennsylvania. But little is known of his earlier or later his ory, save, that he had been a resident of Philadelphia, and the owner of some thirteen thousand acres of woodland, lying in the northern part of Montgomery, and adjacent counties. After his death, an additional tract was purchased from the Sproegel estate, over parts of which the original burying-ground has at three different periods been greatly enlarged. On the remainder were erected a school-house and the home of the organist. A parochial school had been maintained on the Church land down to the day, when Pennsylvania declared by a vote, that the State would prove a kinder mother to the school than the Church, and that Paganism in education is better than the element of Christianity. Then the parochial school closed its door. The schoolmaster still resides in his allotted home, but he no longer teaches the children of the Church; he sings, but only in the Sunday school and in the congregation.

It is of importance, that we should endeavor to fix a date to the origin of the ancient graveyard at New Goschenhoppen-believed, by those who are ready to give a reason for their faith, to be the oldest in connection with the German Reformed Church in the United States. How gladly would we refer to some partially faded deed. or other musty instrument of conveyance, decipher its characters, and boldly set forth the day, month, and year of so generous a transaction! But no such desideratum ever existed. An octogenarian says: "Our parents never had any instrument of the kind. Their word was sacred, which is more than can be said of bond, note, or deed of our day." There are other sources, however, to be consulted; we mean, the voice of tradition, and the language of epitaphs.

TRADITION.

The tongues of the living repeat the sayings of the dead. We can never bring ourselves to sneer at tradition, but ever feel like sheltering it, and warming it into living truth. It is the only link that connects us with the past, when documents fail. Our veterans, of three score years and ten-yea, of four score and over, a few of whom remain among us*-tell us, that their fathers and mothers heard their grand parents repeat the le

* Mother Dimig is in her ninety-fourth year; Mother Hillegass is her junior by a few years only. We might mention others, but forbear. And let us say here, that an aged woman has a more retentive memory than a veteran man, as well as a more glib tongue.

gend of the "Unknown Stranger."

A mother of ninety-three years says:

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My father told me often, that HIS father was accustomed to hear it related by the old people." We never can get them to say that their parents witnessed the scene of his burial, nor is it their impression that their grand parents had been eye-witnesses. They will invariably cast it still further back into the shadowy past. And unless we take the ground that the story of old is, indeed, a story, not worthy of credence, a very high antiquity must be awarded to the founding of the Goschenhoppen buryingground. Should there be a single reader, nevertheless, who cannot bring himself to trust the "palaver of men and women in their dotage," let us go among the tombs.

THE TOMBS OF THE DEAD.

Here do we find, written on stone, the same language as that which we found engraved on the tablets of memory. The dead confirm what the living declare. We spent no little time among the tombs,-not, as one might fancy, to while away the hours of setting day, in some modern cemetery, now treading your steps along the spacious walks, then reclining on some lovely, grassy mound, under the shadow of some great, massive monument, and reading from afar the large and legible characters glittering in the sun. Nay, verily! But with chisel and brush we went forth, and occasionally a companion following after with pick and bar. No path is there, and hence we stumbled over the quiet sleepers lying under. Now the feet sink down, as if the grave had been embowelled, or were yawning for another victim; then we stand aloft, as if the tomb beneath were bloated of its prey; again, all is level as your hand, because the different sepulchres have grown together, and are one. Tall grass thrives on the rich dust of man; strawberries bulge forth, with a perfume so sweet, and flavor so delicious, as to banish every thought of the effluvia of the dead; and monstrous roots of huge trees reach down to the remains of those who once were living beings, and fasten themselves thereon like parasites, perchance, to drink in the yet remaining substance. Weeds grow luxuriantly; for the covetousness of living man has not yet led him far enough to cultivate a graveyard, and why else should he mow and clear it? It does not pay! (Ah! yes, we forget; the soulless corporation, after all, turns the "city of the dead" into market, builds palaces on tomb-stones for their foundations, takes the money, and regards not the stench on its fingers.) Tomb-stones are without uniformity as to size, color, position, material, inscriptions-everything. Has the reader an idea of our theatre?

There are three methods by which to distinguish the age of tombs in the old country graveyard. Our classification embraces-Their Habits; their Inscriptions; their Material.

Of their Habits.

By their habits, we understand their position. This (a) is wholly swalwed up, or sunk under, leaving not even the top of the stone visible; the elevated mound is gone, too. Only by a chance stroke of the pick can the seeker discover the presence of the resting-place of a long-forgotten dead one. They have buried themselves with the remains they were to guard. Sentinels sleep, as well as the dead. Of such there are hundreds. Who can tell their age? The living mortal turns away from the dust of his

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brethren, thinking silently, how can we know! There are (b) the halfsunken, too, which are preparing to retire, having grown weary from long watching; or, believing themselves to be of no further service, as their dead are no longer sought after, they will lie down close, as if to hug the human dust. These can easily be raised and read, and found to be of the second generation. (c). The prominent and erect meet your eye first, but plainly tell thereby that they were planted last.

Of their Epitaphs.

The inscriptions are (1) wanting altogether; (2) partially or (3) fully engraved. A pair of small, unpretending, quite bare, undressed stones, represent the first and oldest class. They merely tell the grave; but not who-e. What a contrast they form with those fantastic marble piles, "which display in the presence of Eternity the hideous fashions of death!" They of the second order, bear upon their fronts merely the year of their erection, or the year of death, with, occasionally, a few initial letters. The characters are odd, and without taste or style. plain and unpretending. How honest are the faces of those times! They lie not! Everything about them is home-made-the stone-cutter and engraver not having taken his place as yet, among the artisans. From the year of grace 1750 downward, the inscriptions become more and more full, and of still greater pretensions, until we come to the giant-sided slab, covered with name, day, month, and year of birth; marriage, death, and age; the month and day; text, funeral hymn, and much more that is not found in the catacombs of Rome, or over the sleeping-places of the early Christians.

Of their Material.

The primitive material employed to mark the resting-place of the body, as well as its s ze, was the common rock-stone-bare, undressed, unsightly. This seems to have been succeeded by the red-slate. It is a simple shell, peeled from the body in the quarry. The year of its erection, awkwardly indented thereon; and beyond that, nothing more. Sometimes, indeed, initial letters can be traced. From the year of our Lord 1740 to 1750, the gray sand-stone was in use. Here the hand and chisel of the stonecutter becomes apparent. Mottoes, devices, and epitaphs, stand boldly forth. A little paint and brush render the characters distinct, and you are able to read the letters drawn more than one hundred years ago. The dark, coarse marble was planted during the first half of the nineteenth century. Mildew and lichen revel upon it, hiding the work of love for some dear departed one. The white marble-from the infant tomb-stone to the mammoth monument-supplanted all the others from the middle of the current century to the present day.

Among all these earlier and later tomb-stones, we find some of every date. One, bearing the year 1724, caused us to linger long. But our surprise was greater, when we uncovered a stone with 1713 engraved thereon. This is the oldest known to us. Comparing the last with others, bearing the marks of a sill greater age, we glide back to 1700! And what shall we say of those which bear no marks at all? Allowing but ten years to have elapsed before tomb stones were planted. we transfer ourselves to the close of the seventeenth century-about the time the tongues. of the living say the "Unknown Stranger" was laid to rest.