like a flock of sheep at the heels of their shepherd, the congregation,
without regard to time or tune, straggled after their leader.

Years later, the introduction of stoves, a violoncello, Wesley's hymns,
and a choir split the church in twain. These old Scotch Presbyterians
were opposed to all innovations that would afford their people paths of
flowery ease on the road to Heaven. So, when the thermometer was twenty
degrees below zero on the Johnstown Hills, four hundred feet above the
Mohawk Valley, we trudged along through the snow, foot-stoves in hand,
to the cold hospitalities of the "Lord's House," there to be chilled to
the very core by listening to sermons on "predestination,"
"justification by faith," and "eternal damnation."

To be restless, or to fall asleep under such solemn circumstances was a
sure evidence of total depravity, and of the machinations of the devil
striving to turn one's heart from God and his ordinances. As I was
guilty of these shortcomings and many more, I early believed myself a
veritable child of the Evil One, and suffered endless fears lest he
should come some night and claim me as his own. To me he was a personal,
ever-present reality, crouching in a dark corner of the nursery. Ah! how
many times I have stolen out of bed, and sat shivering on the stairs,
where the hall lamp and the sound of voices from the parlor would, in a
measure, mitigate my terror. Thanks to a vigorous constitution and
overflowing animal spirits, I was able to endure for years the strain of
these depressing influences, until my reasoning powers and common sense
triumphed at last over my imagination. The memory of my own suffering
has prevented me from ever shadowing one young soul with any of the
superstitions of the Christian religion. But there have been many
changes, even in my native town, since those dark days. Our old church
was turned into a mitten factory, and the pleasant hum of machinery and