In fact the Judge's religious capital was mostly
invested in good, safe, public petitions to the Almighty--such
investments being rightly considered by the Judge as "gilt-edged,"
for--whatever the returns--it was all profit.
Theoretically the Judge's God noted "even the sparrow's fall," and in
all of his public religious exercises, the Judge stated that fact with
clearness and force. Making practical application of his favorite text
the Judge never killed sparrows. His everyday energies were spent in
collecting mortgages, acquiring real estate, and in like harmless
pursuits, that were--so far as he had observed--not mentioned in the
Word, and presumably, therefore, were passed over by the God of the
sparrow.
So the Judge prayed that night, with pious intonations asking his God
for everything he could think of for himself, his church, his town and
the whole world. And when he could think of no more blessings, he
unblushingly asked God to think of them for him, and to give them all
abundantly--more than they could ask or desire. Reminding God of his
care for the sparrow, he pleaded with him to watch over their beloved
pastor, "who is absent from his flock in search of--ah, enjoying--ah,
the beauties of Nature--ah, and bring him speedily back to his needy
people, that they may all grow strong in the Lord."
Supplementing his prayer with a few solemn reflections, as was expected
from an Elder of the church, the Judge commented on the smallness of the
company present; lamented the decline of spirituality in the churches;
declared the need for the old Jerusalem gospel, and the preaching of the
truth as it is in Christ Jesus; scored roundly those who were absent,
seeking their own pleasure, neglecting their duties while the world was
perishing; and finished with a plea to the faithful to assist their
worthy pastor--who, unfortunately, was not present with them that
evening--in every way possible.
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