Going to Church in 1845 - Part 3

Several mentions of Benjamin Upton and his family~

Going to Church in 1845

Old Time Tales of Warren County

The sermon, the long, long, deadly serious sermon, much more concerned with punishments than rewards now begins. The congregation settles itself for the long stretch. Miss Eliza Jane Upton, destined to be cited by the church session a few years later for attending a "social dance" looks bewitchingly pretty in her pink poke bonnet. Her eyes sparkle and she has very red lips. It is not easy for a girl like this to keep her mind on the sermon, hard for her to think much about Paul's journey "over against Pisgah." It is difficult to believe in hell when there's a catbird singing. Did you think Eliza Jane glanced, ever so slightly, toward the men's side of the church just then? Well, possibly,-poke bonnets are very obscuring. There's a fine looking lad sitting in the third pew, just back of Daniel Horn. Eliza couldn't have been glancing his way, in church meeting!

It is a custom to make the "first sermon" of the day the longer of the two, for a full hour and a half the Reverend McMaster dwells on the frailties of the flesh, the proneness to sin, the terrible punishments thereof. His voice drones on in dreary detail within the little church, rising sometimes suddenly in bursts of vehemence while outside the noonday sun is full of chirruping birds and dancing butterflies. Nature is unimpressed by the fall of man this lovely June day and everything out of doors tempts to enjoyment of the senses.

On and on goes the sermon. Little girls lay their curly heads on mothers' plump laps and fall asleep. Small boys in long trousers and broad white collars shift in their seats and are glanced at severely by the elders.

Daniel Horn, stern visaged pioneer, sits immovable in his pew. Perhaps he is thinking of his soul, perhaps of his dealings with the Holland Land Company, perhaps he is wondering how many straight, sound ship's masts he will be able to cut off the hillside above his home. Grandmother Upton nods a bit. Her nearly ninety years excuse her. The dear old soul is so close to the better world after a long and useful life spent in this one, she has little need of admonitions.

"Sixthly,-and in conclusion," begins the Reverend McMaster and the wives, despite their strict piety, begin thinking of the dinner that will soon be spread in the church yard, begin wondering if the maple icing on the cake has become soft, and will the butter be entirely melted this warm June day!

At length, at very great length, the preacher slowly closes the big bible, a movement every boy and girl in the church, and perhaps more than one older boy and girl, has been watching for intently.

The last hymn, the congregation rise and bow their heads for the benediction. Meeting is over, the people fill the aisle, flow out onto the grassy churchyard. Baskets and hampers are brought out of the wagons, white table cloths are spread on the grass. Disturbing thoughts of eternal punishment are dispelled by pleasant ones concerning boiled ham and roasted chicken and homemade cheese, pies, cakes, cookies, red raspberry jam, yellow June butter fresh from yesterday's churn, stewed dried berries, pickles, hearty brown bread baked in the hot ashes of the hearth, or an outside "Dutch oven," cold tea, brought in brown jugs stoppered with whittled pine plugs.

The tediousness of the long sermon was soon forgotten. After all, there is nothing in the world like a long sermon to produce an appetite. The girls spread blankets on the grass to avoid staining their white skirts. It was really a picnic dinner, howbeit with a certain restraint because this was the Sabbath day, and the preacher, the tails of his frock coat spread apart to prevent wrinkling, sat in their midst, he and his good wife having dinner with the family of the charter elder, James White.

Dinner was a leisurely affair, with a great deal of talk across the spread table cloths. Even the minister discussed worldly affairs, flavoring his conversation with a few well chosen texts. The price of lumber, the value of land, the rapid development of the county and the great, expanding country outside furnished topics enough for conversation. Robert Prather prophesied that some day a railroad with steam engines would come through the valley, and cars would travel as fast as fifteen or even twenty miles an hour. Benjamin Upton thought such a thing might happen some day, but if they were going to race through the country at such terrible speed it would be safe for no one.

Daniel Horn said he believed Glenni Scofield would be appointed the county's next district attorney. The intention of the German Lutherans in Warren to build a church was discussed, and thought a fine thing. Proposed new stages, which would leave Warren in the evening and deliver passengers in Buffalo the following evening in time for the Eastern cars were talked over,-considered a little improbable. Phoebe Davis wanted to know why Mary Patton never came to see her and Mary replied she would be glad enough to come, if someone would only invent a machine that would do sewing, because she was kept so busy with her needle she just never got anywhere.

It was the natural, whole hearted talk of good people gathered together, enjoying each other's company; the talk of honest folk, hard working, who still struggled to expand their homes in the wilderness, to clear more land and build more houses, to have more roads and farm tools and schools to send their children to. And when the hour of two-thirty approached the fragments of the feast had been gathered up, the white table cloths folded and replaced in the baskets, the whole paraphernalia of the dinner put back in the wagons, ready for the trip home. Then the people filed once more into the church and heard another doxology, more hymns, and another lengthy sermon, not so long, however, as that of the morning.

At four o'clock the congregation came filing out again, talk was a little livelier, the long tension was over. There was a great deal of handshaking, even a little well modulated laughter as the Garland Presbyterians took leave of one another. The men lifted the heavy yokes on the oxen's necks, fastened the bow-pins, fetched their spans to the wagon tongues and ran the chain back to its hook.

"Gee-haw Buck,-Berry,--gee-haw-haw--" and off the long wagons rolled, moving less than three miles an hour. Daniel Horn's proud horses trotted on ahead, with their owner driving, sitting erect in his wide winged Henry Clay collar, one of his pretty daughters at his side. As was said before, Daniel Horn was a social leader, his big house up the creek had many rooms and many guests. Lemuel Hoffman, the sexton, closed the two doors of the little church and locked them with a big brass key. There would be no more meetings till the next Sabbath day. But all good Presbyterians would certainly be expected to study their catechisms.

SOURCE:Ancestry.com. Old time tales of Warren County [database on-line]. Provo, UT: The Generations Network, Inc., 2005.
Original data: Bristow, Arch.. Old time tales of Warren County. Meadville, Pa.: Press of Tribune Pub. Co., 1932.