Sign-board of N. Mowry’s Inn.
One of the sweetest of all tales of an inn is that begun by Professor Reichel and ended by Mr. John W. Jordan of the Historical Society of Pennsylvania; it is called “A Red Rose from the Olden Time.” It is a story of Der neue Gasthof or “The Tavern behind Nazareth,” as it was modestly called, the tavern of the Moravian settlement at Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. It was a substantial building, “quartered, brick-nogged, and snugly weatherboarded, with a yard looking North and a Garden looking South.” In 1754, under the regency of its first ruler, one Schaub, the cooper, and Divert Mary, his faithful wife, it bore a sign-board charged with a full-blown rose, and was ever after known as the Rose. This was not because the walls were coated with Spanish red; this rose bloomed with a life derived from sentiment and history, for it was built on land released by William Penn on an annual payment as rental of ONE RED ROSE.
There is something most restful and beautiful in the story of this old inn. Perhaps part of the hidden charm comes from the Biblical names of the towns. For, without our direct consciousness, there is ever something impressive in Biblical association; there is a magical power in Biblical comparison, a tenderness in the use of Biblical words and terms which we feel without actively noting. So this Red Rose of Nazareth seems built on the road to Paradise. An inventory was made of the homely contents of the Rose in 1765, when a new landlord entered therein; and they smack of the world, the flesh, and the devil. Ample store was there of rum, both of New England and the West Indies, of Lisbon wine, of cider and madigolum, which may have been metheglin. Punch-bowls, tumblers, decanters, funnels, black bottles, and nutmeg-graters and nutmegs also. Feather-beds and pillows were there in abundance, and blankets and coverlets, much pewter and little china, ample kitchen supplies of all sorts. In war and peace its record was of interest, and its solid walls stood still colored a deep red till our own day.
Pine-tree Tavern and Eagle Tavern.
The night-watch went his rounds in many of our colonial towns, and called the hour and the weather. Stumbling along with his long staff and his dim horn-lantern, he formed no very formidable figure either to affright marauders or warn honest citizens that they tarried too long in the taproom. But his voice gave a certain sense of protection to all who chanced to wake in the night, a knowledge that a friend was near. All who dwelt in the old towns of Bethlehem and Nazareth in Pennsylvania could listen and be truly cheered by the sound of the beautiful verses written for the night watchman by Count Zinzendorf. In winter the watchman began his rounds at eight o’clock, in summer at nine. No scenes of brawling or tippling could have prevailed at the Rose Inn when these words of peace and piety rang out:—
Eight o’clock:
The clock is eight! To Bethlehem all is told,
How Noah and his seven were saved of old.
Nine o’clock:
Hear, Brethren, hear! The hour of nine is come;
Keep pure each heart and chasten every home.
Ten o’clock:
Hear, Brethren, hear! Now ten the hour-hand shows;
They only rest who long for night’s repose.
Eleven o’clock:
The clock’s eleven! And ye have heard it all,
How in that hour the mighty God did call.
Twelve o’clock:
It’s midnight now! And at that hour ye know
With lamps to meet the bridegroom we must go.
One o’clock:
The hour is one! Through darkness steals the day.
Shines in your hearts the morning star’s first ray?
Two o’clock:
The clock is two! Who comes to meet the day,
And to the Lord of Days his homage pay?
Three o’clock:
The clock is three! The three in one above
Let body, soul, and spirit truly love.
Four o’clock:
The clock is four! Where’er on earth are three,
The Lord has promised He the fourth will be.
Five o’clock:
The clock is five! While five away were sent,
Five other virgins to the marriage went.
Six o’clock:
The clock is six! And from the watch I’m free,
And every one may his own watchman be.