Head-Quarters of the Moravians—Good Buildings—Quiet, Cleanliness, and Order—A Gottesdienst—The Church—Simplicity—The Ribbons—A Requiem—The Service—God's-Field—The Tombs—Suggestive Inscriptions—Tombs of the Zinzendorfs—The Pavilion—The Panorama—The Herrnhuters' Work—An Informing Guide—No Merry Voices—The Heinrichsberg—Pretty Grounds—The First Tree—An Old Wife's Gossip—Evening Service—A Contrast—The Sisters' House—A Stroll at Sunset—The Night Watch.

I had seen the Moravian colony at Zeist near Utrecht, and was prepared for a similar order of things at Herrnhut. A short distance from the station along the high road to Zittau, and you come to a well-built, quiet street, rising up a gentle ascent, where, strange sight in Saxony, the footways are paved with broad stone slabs. Farther on you come to a broad opening, where two other main streets run off, and here the inn, Gemeinlogis, and the principal buildings are situate, all substantially built of brick. Everywhere the same quietness, neatness, and cleanliness, the same good paving, set off in places by rows and groups of trees, and hornbeam hedges.

The innkeeper—or steward as he may be called, for he is a paid servant of the brotherhood—told me there would be a Gottesdienst (God's service) at three o'clock, and suggested my occupying the interval with the newspapers that lay on the table. There was the GÖrlitzer Anzeiger, published three times a week, Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday, four good quarto pages, for fifteen pence a quarter; and equally cheap the Zittauische Wochentliche Nachrichten. But I preferred a stroll through the village and into the spacious gardens, which, teeming with fruit, flowers, and vegetables, stretch away to the south, and unite with the pleasure-walks in the bordering wood.

At three I went to the church. Outside no pains have been taken to give it an ecclesiastical look; inside it contains a spacious hall, large enough to contain the whole community, with a gallery at each end, and on the floor two divisions of open seats made of unpainted fir placed opposite a dais along the wall. Whatever is painted is white—white walls, white panelling, white curtains to the windows, and a white organ. Something Quaker-like in appearance and arrangement. But when a number of women came in together wearing coloured cap-ribbons, passing broad and full under the chin, a lively contrast was opposed to the prevailing sobriety of aspect. The colours denote age and condition. The unmarried sisters put on cherry-red at sixteen, and change it after eighteen for pink. The married wear dark blue, and the widows white. Many a pretty, beaming face was there among them, yet sedate withal.

The choir assembled on each side of a piano placed in the opening between the benches, for the organ was undergoing a course of repair. No practical jokes among them, as in the cathedral on the Hradschin; but all sedate too. Presently came in from the door on the left five dignified-looking sisters, and took their seats on one half of the dais; then seven brethren, among whom a bishop or two, from the door on the right, to the other half; and their leader, a tall man of handsome, intelligent countenance, to the central seat at the desk.

The service was in commemoration of a sister whom in the morning the congregation had followed to her resting-place in the Gottesacker (God's acre). The choir stood up, all besides remaining seated, and sang a requiem, and sang it well; for the Moravians, wiser than the Quakers, do not cheat their hearts and souls of music. A hymn followed, in which the whole assembly joined, the several voices according to their part, till one great solemn harmony filled the building. Then the preacher at the desk, still sitting, began an exhortation, in which a testimony concerning the deceased was interwoven with simple Gospel truth. His word and manner were alike impressive; no passion, no whining. Rarely have I heard such ready, graceful eloquence, combined with a clear and ringing voice. He ended suddenly: a hymn was sung, at the last two lines of which every one stood up, and with a few words of prayer the service was closed. It had lasted an hour. The congregation, which numbered about three hundred, dispersed quietly, the children walking as sedately as their parents.

All the roads leading out of Herrnhut are pleasant avenues of trees—limes, oaks, beech, and birch. A short distance along the one leading to Berthelsdorf you come to a wooden arch bearing the inscription, "Christ is risen from the dead." It is the entrance to God's field; and if you turn on entering, you will see written on the inside of the arch, "And become the firstling of them that slept." The ground slopes gently upwards to the brow of the Hutberg, divided into square compartments by broad paths and clipped limes. Within these compartments are the graves; no mounds; nothing but rows of thick stone slabs, each about two feet in length, by one and a half in width, lying on the grass. All alike; no one honoured above the rest, except in some instances by a brief phrase in addition to the name, age, and birthplace. The first at the corner has been renewed, that a record of an interesting incident in the history of the place may not be lost. The inscription reads: Christian David, the Lord's servant, born the 31st December, 1690, at Senftleben in Moravia. Went home the 3rd February, 1751.

A carpenter: he felled the first tree for the building of Herrnhut, the 17th June, 1722.

Went home and fell asleep are favourite expressions occurring on many of the stones. A member of the Conference of Elders is a frequent memorial on the oldest slabs, numbers of which are blackened, and spotted with moss by age. There are two counts and not a few bishops among the departed, but the same plain slab suffices for all. The separation of the sexes is preserved even after death, some of the compartments being reserved exclusively for women. As you read the names of birthplaces, in lands remote, from all parts of Europe and oversea, the West Indies and Labrador, you will perhaps think that weary pilgrims have journeyed from far to find rest for their souls in peaceful Herrnhut.

There is, however, one marked exception to the rule of uniformity as regards the slabs. It is in favour of Count Zinzendorf and his wife and immediate relatives—a family deservedly held in high respect by the Brethren. Eight monumental tombs, placed side by side across the central path, perpetuate the names of the noble benefactors. Of the count himself it is recorded: He was appointed to bear fruit, and a fruit that yet remains.

On the summit of the hill, beyond the hedge of the burial-ground, a wooden pavilion is built with a circular gallery, from whence you get a fine panoramic view of the surrounding country. The innkeeper had given me the key, and I loitered away an hour looking out on the prospect. Now you see the Gottesacker, with its fifteen formal clipped squares, some yet untenanted, and room for enlargement; the red roofs and white walls of the village; and beyond, the fir-topped Heinrichsberg, and planted slopes which beautify the farther end of the place. Berthelsdorf, the seat of the UnitÄt, stands pleasantly embowered at the foot of the eastern slope. You see miles of road, two or three windmills, and umbrageous green lines thinning off in the distance, the trees all planted by the Herrnhuters; and the fields, orchards, and plantations that fill all the space between, testify to the diligent husbandry of the Brethren.

Every place and prominent object within sight is indicated by a red line notched into the top rail of the balustrade, so that, while sauntering slowly round, you can read the name of any spire or distant peak that catches your eye. The summits are numerous, for hills rise on every side; among them you discover the Landskrone by GÖrlitz, and the crown of the Tafelfichte in the Isergebirge, the only one of the mountains within sight. It is a view that will give you a cheerful impression of Saxony.

The doorkeeper of the church had noticed a stranger, and came up for a talk. I asked him how much of what lay beneath our eyes belonged to the Brethren. "About two hundred acres," he answered, pointing all round, and to an isolated estate away in the direction of Zittau; "enough for comfort and prosperity." Once started, he proved himself no niggard of information. To give the substance of his words: "I like the place very well," he said, "and don't know of any discontent; though we have at times to lament that a brother falls away from us back into the worldly ways. Each fulfils his duty. We are none of us idle. We have weavers, shoemakers, harness-makers, coppersmiths, goldsmiths, workers in iron, lithographers, and artists; indeed, all useful trades; and our workmanship and manufactures are held in good repute. I am a cabinet-maker, and keep eight journeymen always at work. Each one from the age of eighteen to sixty takes his turn in the night-watch; and, night and day, the place is always as quiet as you see it now. You don't hear the voices of children at play, because children are never left to themselves. Whether playing or walking, they are always under the eye of an adult, as when in school. We do not think it right to leave them unwatched. We have service three times every Sunday, and at seven o'clock every evening; besides certain festivals, and a memorial service like that of this afternoon. The preacher you heard is considered a good one: his salary is four hundred dollars a year."

He interrupted his talk by an invitation to go and see the grounds of the Heinrichsberg. As we walked along the street, I could not fail again to remark the absence of sounds which generally inspire pleasure. No merry laughter, accompanied by hearty shouts and quick foot-tramp of boys at play. No running hither and thither at hide-and-seek; no trundling of hoops; no laughing girls with battledore and shuttlecock. I saw but two children, apparently brother and sister, and they were walking as soberly as bishops. I should like to know whether such a repressive system does really answer the purpose intended; for I could not help questioning, in Goldsmith's words, whether the virtue that requires so constant a guard be worth the expense of the sentinel.

The Heinrichsberg is behind the Bruderhaus and the street leading to Zittau. Here the fir forest, which once covered the whole hill, has been cut down, and replaced by plantations of beech, birch, hazel, and other leafy trees, and paths are led in many directions along the precipitous slopes, by which you approach a pavilion erected on the commanding point, as at the Gottesacker. The situation is romantic, overhanging the brown cliffs of a stone quarry, with a view into a deep wooded valley, spanned by the lofty railway viaduct. Here the Brethren have shown themselves wise in their generation, and, working with skilful hand, and eye of taste, have made the most of natural resources, and fashioned a resort especially delightful in the sultry days of summer.

When my communicative guide left me to attend to his duties, I strolled up the Zittau road to the place where, in a small opening by the wayside, stands a square stone monument, on which an inscription records an interesting historical incident:

It was cool there in the shade; and sitting down on a seat overhung by the trees, I fell into a reverie about things that had befallen since Christian David's axe wrought here to such good purpose. At that time all was dreary forest; no house nearer than Berthelsdorf, and little could the poverty-stricken refugees have foreseen such a result of their struggle as Herrnhut in its present condition. All at once I was interrupted by an elderly woman, who, returning to her village, sought a rest on the plinth of the monument, and proved herself singularly talkative. Perhaps she owed the Brethren a grudge, for she wound up with: "Nice people, them, sir, in Herrnhut; but they know how to get the money, sir."

About two hundred persons, mostly youthful, were present at the evening service. The dais was occupied as before, but by a lesser number. The preacher, the same eloquent man, gave an exposition of a portion of the Epistle to the Romans, elucidating the Apostle's meaning in obscure passages, which lasted half an hour. He then pronounced a brief benediction, and delivered the first line of a hymn, which was sung by all present, and, as in the afternoon, only at the last two lines did any one stand up.

I was deeply impressed by the contrast between the two services here in the unadorned edifice, and what I witnessed at Prague. Here no ancient prejudice, or ancient dirt, or slovenly ritual, as in the synagogue; but the outpouring of hope and faith from devout and cheerful hearts. Here no showy ceremonial; no swinging of censers, or kissing of pictures, or endless bowings and kneelings, or any of those mechanical observances in which the worshipper too often forgets that it has been given to him to be his own priest, and with full and solemn responsibility for neglect of duty.

The service over, I went and asked permission to look over the Sisters' House: I had seen the Brothers' House at Zeist. It was past the hour for the admission of strangers; but the stewardess, as a special favour, conducted me from floor to floor, where long passages give access on either side to small sitting-rooms, workrooms, and one great bedroom; all scrupulously clean and comfortably furnished. The walls are white; but any sister is at liberty to have her own room papered at her own cost. I saw the chapel in which the inmates assemble for morning and evening thanksgiving;—the refectory where they all eat together;—the kitchen, pervaded by a savoury smell of supper;—and the ware-room in which are kept the gloves, caps, cuffs, and all sorts of devices in needlework produced by the diligent fingers of the sisters. There were some neither too bulky nor too heavy for my knapsack, and of these I bought a few for sedate friends in England.

The unmarried sisters, as the unmarried brothers, dwell in a house apart; and as they eat together, and purchase all articles of consumption in gross, the cost to each is but small. Two persons are placed in authority over each house; one to care for the spiritual, the other for the economical welfare of the inmates. There are, besides, separate houses for widowers and widows.

As the sun went down I strolled once more to the Gottesacker and dreamt away a twilight hour on the gallery of the pavilion. As the golden radiance vanished from off the face of the landscape, and the stillness became yet more profound, I thought that many a heart weary of battling with the world might find in the Work and Worship of Herrnhut a relief from despair, and a new ground for hopefulness.

When I went back to the inn I found half a dozen grave-looking Brethren smoking a quiet pipe over a tankard of beer. We had some genial talk together while I ate my supper; but as ten o'clock approached they all withdrew. The doors were then fastened; and not a sound disturbed the stillness of the night. The watchers began their nightly duty; but they utter no cry as they go their rounds, leading a fierce dog by a thong, while three or four other dogs run at liberty. Should their aid be required in any house from sickness or other causes, a signal is given by candles placed in the window.