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 the glad faces of men and women have chased the evil spirits to their hiding places.  One finds at Johnstown now, beautiful churches, ornamented cemeteries, and cheerful men and women, quite emancipated from the nonsense and terrors of the old theologies.

An important event in our family circle was the marriage of my oldest sister, Tryphena, to Edward Bayard of Wilmington, Delaware.  He was a graduate of Union College, a classmate of my brother, and frequently visited at my father’s house.  At the end of his college course, he came with his brother Henry to study law in Johnstown.  A quiet, retired little village was thought to be a good place in which to sequester young men bent on completing their education, as they were there safe from the temptations and distracting influences of large cities.  In addition to this consideration, my father’s reputation made his office a desirable resort for students, who, furthermore, not only improved their opportunities by reading Blackstone, Kent, and Story, but also by making love to the Judge’s daughters.  We thus had the advantage of many pleasant acquaintances from the leading families in the country, and, in this way, it was that four of the sisters eventually selected most worthy husbands.