Wall, the chapel on the south side wuz meant to be a place to administer jestice at different times, affectin’ meetin’-housen and sech—what they call a Consistery Court.
And here Josiah agin tried to explain things to me.
Sez he, “This is called a Consistery Court—here is where they try to be consistent when they attend to affairs of the meetin’-house.”
And sez I in a dry axent, about as dry as a corn-cob, sez I, “It’s a pity they don’t have sech a court in American meetin’-housen.”
Sez I, “They’re needed there,” and my mind roamed over the pressin’ need of consistency in sech cases as Dr. Briggs, Parkhurst, Beecher, Heber Newton, Felix Adler, Satolli, etc., etc., etc.
“And even in Jonesville,” I sez to myself, “is it not possible to even now have one built in the precincts of the Jonesville meetin’-house, where the members could go in half a day or so a week and try to be consistent?”
Thinkses I, If they did honestly try to live up to the buildin’ they wuz in, and be consistent, there wouldn’t be so much light talk aginst religion as there is now, and more young folks brung into the church.
Howsumever, whether Josiah got it right or not, one thing I do know, right in the midst of this court is a elaborate monument to the Duke of Wellington, that almost fills it up, so jestice is fairly scrunched up and squoze for want of room.
That noble old Duke wouldn’t wanted it so. But how little can we tell what people will do with our memories when we have left ’em! But probble most of us won’t have no sech immense memorial riz up to us after we have passed away.
But my reflections wuz agin cut short, for Josiah wanted to agin show off. Sez he, “The man that that wuz riz up to wuz made of iron mostly—lost his legs and arms, I spoze, and had iron ones made to replace ’em.”