It is rarely the case that a Court is called upon to decide questions of a purely theological character. Of necessity, however—property interests being involved,—controversies, measurably of a religious character, sometimes arise for judicial determination.
The case to be mentioned is probably the only one where "baptism"— the true mode and manner thereof—has ever come squarely before an American judge. A man under sentence of death for murder was awaiting execution in the jail of one of the counties in northern Kentucky. Under the ministrations of the pastor of the Baptist Church, the prisoner at length made "the good confession" and desired to be baptized. To this end, the faithful pastor applied to the circuit judge before whom the prisoner had been tried, for permission to have the rite observed in the Kentucky River near by. The judge—more deeply versed in "Blackstone" and "Ben Monroe" than in theological lore—declined to have the prisoner removed from the jail, but gave permission to have him baptized in the cell. The physical impossibility of the observance of the solemn rite in the prisoner's cell was at once explained. "Certainly," said the judge in reply, "I know there is no room in there to baptize him that way; but take a bowl of water and sprinkle him right where he is confined." "But," earnestly interposed the man of the sacred office, "our church does not recognize sprinkling as valid baptism. We hold immersion to be the only Scriptural method." "Is it possible?" exclaimed the judge, greatly surprised. "Well, this Court decides that sprinkling is valid baptism; and I tell you once for all, that that infernal scoundrel will be sprinkled, or he will be hung without being baptized at all!"
Inasmuch as this decision has never been overruled by a higher court, it stands as the only judicial determination of the long-controverted question.
A DOUBTFUL COMPLIMENT
Mr. Clark was the leader of the Metamora Bar when I located there— and so continued. My first case, and the compliment of somewhat doubtful significance bestowed upon its termination, came about in this wise. I was retained for the plaintiff before Squire Fairchild in a suit involving the ownership of a calf of the alleged value of seven dollars. It being my first case, and having the aforementioned leader as my professional antagonist—and what was of far greater consequence, a contingent fee of two dollars and a half trembling in the balance—it may well be supposed that no effort was spared upon my part. I won the case, of course—what lawyer ever told about a case that he had not won?
The same evening a little group in the village store were discussing the merits of the case, and comparing the forensic effort of the new lawyer with that of the old-time leader already mentioned. At length one Tobias Wilson, as he slid down from his accustomed perch upon the counter, significantly observed, "Men, you may say what you please, but for my part, I had ruther hear Stevenson speak two minutes than to hear old Clark all day!"
STRONG PERSONAL ATTACHMENT
Mr. Clark—whose early advantages had been none of the best—was once counsel for the proponent in a closely contested will case. The testator, passing by the next of kin, had left his entire estate to a personal friend, a man not of his own blood.
In attempting to impress upon the jury the reasonableness of this disposition, Clark said: "This, gentlemen of the jury, is another striking illustration of the power of human friendship. All history—sacred and profane—is full of instances of strong personal attachments. Who can ever forget the undying affection of David and Jonathan, of Damon and Pythias, of Scylla and Charybdis?"