Illustrated in the History of Albany. 



95 



We can scarcely imagine how great a change has been wrought in 

 dwel ing-houses by the improvements in the methods of heating and 

 lighting them. Whether we are with all these improvements more 

 healthy may be a matter of doubt, but there can be no question that 

 we are more comfortable. What Avould we say now if we had, like our 

 grandfathers, to sleep in rooms where the water froze at night? They 

 hovered in the cold windy weather around open fires, which kept one 

 side hot while the other was freezing. They went to church and sat 

 through an hour's, sometimes a two hours' sermon without fire, where 

 even the men, to keep themselves warm, sat with their hats on their 

 heads and their hands in a muff. On a Sunday morning it was a sight 

 to behold the string of negro slaves who came to the church carrying 

 their mistresses' foot-stoves filled with hickory coals or hot water. I 

 fear you would find in other particulars a good deal less of comfort in 

 the old church than is now deemed essential to the proper worsliip of 

 God. I venture to give you here a little picture, which has been drawn 

 for us of the chnrcli and its equipments of that day: 



The cliurcli was old, the church was queer ; 



Would you like to look in on the Sabbath day 

 And witness their strange, old-fashioned gear, 



And gather a hint of the ancieut way ? 



The walls were plain, the roof was square, 

 The carpets — ah ! well, they were not there ; 

 And the pews — of course they were better bare. 

 For cushions were deemed a carnal affair. 

 And the Meinherrs, they took in the winter weather 

 A foot-stove of tin well soldered together. 

 And filled with water at a boiling heat, 

 To protect from the cold their freezing feet ; 

 For remember that no one ever hears 

 Of a stove in a church back a hundred years. 



But the pride of the church, the glory of all, 

 Was the pulpit which towered against the wall. 

 Twas set so high, said the wits of the town, 

 For the preaching was heavy and would settle down. 

 Like an egg-cup it stood on a narrow base, 

 While the good old dominie held the place 

 Of the spoon in the empty shell, 



To stir in the pepper and salt, and he stirred them well 



Over his head a sounding board hung, 



Like a vast extinguisher above him swung. 



Ready to fall and put out his light. 



As candles are quenched at dead of night. 



