Works and Life, attributed to Southey; _Quarterly Review_, No. 48.
The preacher had innumerable applicants for spiritual advice. To
one person who consults him, he says:--"You need not have made any
apology, as the troubled minds of sensible sinners are my peculiar
province. I am authorised and commissioned by the God of heaven to
transact business and negotiate affairs between the King of kings and
self-condemned rebels." One madman assures him that he was actually
electrified in body and soul by one of his books. This man saw a
brilliant star over the head of Huntington while he was preaching,
and Huntington publishes the letter and assures him that dreams (of
which he has communicated a curious story) are from the Spirit of God.
Sometimes he found that correspondents were troublesome, new-born
babes being never satisfied when they desire the sincere milk of the
word. A certain Mrs. Bull writes to him rather more frequently than is
agreeable. Huntington lets Mrs. Bull know that he does not like her
head-dress; he finds fault with her preposterous streamers, and her
first, second, and third tier of curls; but tells her that a little
more furnace-work will teach her to pull down those useless topsails.
This prediction was verified rather more literally than it was meant,
for the said Mrs. B., thinking it was not his business to interfere
with her head-dress, was about to resent it in a sharp letter; "but,"
says she, "happening to fall asleep by the fire, as I was reading the
Bible, the candle caught the lappet of my cap, and a good deal of my
hair, and I own it a great mercy that I was not consumed myself, and
you may be assured that you will see neither streamers, curls, nor
topsails again."
Mr. Bramah, the celebrated engineer, appears among Huntington's
controversial correspondents; and he tells him that he makes a good
patent lock, but cuts a poor figure with the keys of the kingdom of
heaven.
Mr. Bensley, the printer, was one of his believers, which explains the
handsome appearance of Huntington's collected works, in twenty volumes,
octavo; his spiritual employer calls him dear brother in the Lord,
and dear Tom in the flesh. Trader in faith as he was, there were some
social qualities about him which won and secured the attachment of his
friends, even of those upon whom he drew most largely. He mentions
particularly Mr. and Mrs. Baker, of Oxford Street, who, having no
children of their own, kept caring and travailing many years for him;
and though "sorely tried by various losses in business, bankruptcies,
and bad debts, supplied him with money whenever he required it."
"While the chapel was building," he says, "when money was continually
demanded, if there was one shilling in the house, I was sure to have
it." This couple and another, with whom he was on terms of equal
intimacy, agreed, as they were bound together with their chosen pastor
for life and for eternity, not to be divided in death; and accordingly
they jointly purchased a piece of ground near Petersham, and erected a
substantial tomb there, wherein they might rest together in the dust.
Huntington died in 1813, at Tunbridge Wells; he was buried at Lewes, in
a piece of ground adjoining the chapel of one of his associates: it
was his desire that there should be no funeral sermon preached on the
occasion, and that nothing should be said over his grave. He indited
his own epitaph in these words:--
Here lies the Coalheaver,
Beloved of his God, but abhorred of men.
The Omniscient Judge
At the Grand Assize shall rectify and
Confirm this to the
Confusion of many thousands;
For England and its Metropolis shall know,
That there hath been a prophet
Among them.
The sale of his effects by public auction took place soon after his
death, at his elegantly-furnished villa, Hermes Hill,[29] Pentonville,
and lasted four days. His friends and admirers, anxious to secure
some memorial of Huntington, paid most fabulous sums of money for
articles of no intrinsic value in the excess of their veneration. A
mahogany easy-chair, with hair seat and back cushion in canvas, on
brass-wheel castors, with two sets of flowered calico cases, sold
for 63_l._; an ordinary pair of spectacles sold for seven guineas;
a common silver snuff-box, five guineas; every article of plate at
from 23_s._ to 26_s._ per ounce; his library sold for 252_l._ 19_s._;
a handsome modern town coach for 49_l._ 7_s._ The aggregate of the
four days' sale was 1,800_l._ 11_s._ 2-1/2_d._ In a newspaper,
October, 1813, we read:--"At the sale of the effects of the Rev. Mr.
Huntington, at Pentonville, an old arm-chair, intrinsically worth fifty
shillings, actually sold for sixty guineas; and many other articles
fetched equally high prices, so anxious were his besotted admirers
to obtain some precious memorial of that artful fanatic." One of his
steady followers purchased a barrel of ale, which had been brewed for
Christmas, "because he would have something to remember him by."
[29] Huntington resided in the house built by the Swiss doctor De
Valangin, who had been a pupil of Boerhaave, and practised in Soho
Square. He removed thence to Cripplegate, and about 1772 he purchased
ground at Pentonville, and there built himself a villa, which he named,
from the discoverer of chemistry, Hermes Hill, then almost the only
house on or near the spot, except White Conduit House. One of his
medicines, _The Balsam of Life_, he presented to the Apothecaries'
Company. He had, by his first wife, a daughter, who, dying at nine
years of age, was buried in the garden at Hermes Hill, in a very costly
tomb.
Huntington is described as having been, towards the close of his
career, a fat, burly man, with a red face, which rose just above the
pulpit cushion; and a thick, guttural, and rather indistinct voice. A
contemporary says:--"His pulpit prayers are remarkable for omitting
all for the King and his country. He excels in extempore eloquence.
Having formally announced his text, he lays his Bible at once aside,
and never refers to it again. He has every possible text and quotation
at his fingers' end. He proceeds directly to his object, and except
such incidental digressions as 'Take care of your pockets! Wake that
snoring sinner! Silence that noisy numskull! Turn out that drunken
dog!' he never deviates from his course. Nothing can exceed his
dictatorial dogmatism. Believe him, none but him--that's enough. When
he wishes to bind the faith of his congregation, he will say, over
and over, 'As sure as I am born, 'tis so;' or, 'I believe the plain
English of it to be this.' And then he will add, by way of clenching
his point, 'Now you can't help it,' or, 'It must be so, in spite of
you.' He does this with a most significant shake of the head, and with
a sort of Bedlam hauteur, with all the dignity of defiance. He will
then sometimes observe, softening his deportment, 'I don't know whether
I make you understand these things, but I understand them well.' He
rambles sadly and strays so completely from his text, that you often
lose sight of it. The divisions of his sermons are so numerous that one
of his discourses might be divided into three. Preaching is with him
talking; his discourses, story-telling. Action he has none, except that
of shifting his handkerchief from hand to hand and hugging his cushion.
Nature has bestowed on him a vigorous original mind, and he employs it
in everything. Survey him when you will, he seems to have rubbed off
none of his native rudeness or blackness. All his notions are his own,
as well as his mode of imparting them. Religion has not been discovered
by him through the telescopes of commentators."
Huntington's portrait is in the National Portrait Gallery, in
South Kensington. He "might pass, as far as appearances go, for a
convict, but he looks too conceited. The vitality and strength of his
constitution are fearful to behold, and it is certain that he looks
better fitted for coal-heaving than for religious oratory."--_History
of Clerkenwell_, 1865, pp. 529-531.
Amen.
A Correspondent of the _Athenæum_, 1865, writes:--"While some
philosophers seek information in the Far West, and others in the
not-much-nearer East--one, perchance, reducing eccentric arrow heads to
a civilised alphabet; another metamorphosing emblematic pitch-forks,
tom-cats, &c., of 2,000 A.M. into sensation novels of the period;
a third studying the customs and annals of pre-historic America by
the aid of Aztec pots and pipkins--it has been the happy lot of the
undersigned, with no greater effort than a short railway journey and a
pleasant walk, to light upon a treasure of antiquity, which may not be
without interest to some of your readers. The internal evidence of the
following lines is sufficient to show what they purport to be--_viz._
the epitaph of an accomplished parish officer at Crayford, in Kent.
They run as follows:--
"Here lieth the body of
Peter Isnell
(30 years Clerk of this Parish.)
"He lived respected as a pious and mirthful man, and died on his way
to church to assist at a wedding on the 31st day of March, 1811; aged
seventy years.
"The inhabitants of Crayford have raised this stone to his cheerful
memory and as a tribute to his long and faithful services.
"The Life of this _Clerk_ was just threescore and ten,
Nearly half of which time he had sung out _Amen_;
In his Youth, he was married, like other young men,
But his wife died one day, so he chanted _Amen_.
A second he took, she departed, what then?
He married and buried a third with _Amen_.
Thus his joys and his sorrows were _Trebled_, but then
His voice was deep _Bass_ as he sung out _Amen_.
On the _horn_ he could blow as well as most men,
So his _horn_ was exalted in blowing _Amen_;
But he lost all his _Wind_ after threescore and ten,
And here with three Wives he waits till again
The trumpet shall rouse him to sing out _Amen_."
Strangely Eccentric, yet Sane.
The study of psychology proves that hallucinations, or illusions, may
exist in man without the intellect being disordered. In some instances,
they can be produced, by effort of the will. Dr. Wigan, in his able
work, _Duality of the Mind_, relates:--"A painter who succeeded to a
large portion of the practice, and (as he thought) to more than all
the talent of Sir Joshua Reynolds, was so extensively employed, that
he informed me he had once painted (large and small) three hundred
portraits in one year. This would seem physically impossible, but
the secret of his rapidity and of his astonishing success was this:
He required but one sitting, and painted with miraculous facility. I
myself saw him execute a Kit-Kat portrait of a gentleman well known to
me in little more than eight hours; it was minutely finished, and a
most striking likeness. On asking him to explain it, he said, 'When a
sitter came, I looked at him attentively for half-an-hour, sketching
from time to time on the canvas. I wanted no more--I put away my
canvas, and took another sitter. When I wished to resume my first
portrait, _I took the man and sat him in the chair, where I saw him as
distinctly as if he had been before me in his own proper person_--I may
almost say more vividly. I looked from time to time at the imaginary
figure, then worked with my pencil, then referred to the countenance,
and so on, just as I should have done had the sitter been there. _When
I looked at the chair, I saw the man!_ This made me very popular; and,
as I always succeeded in the likeness, people were very glad to be
spared the tedious sittings of other painters. I gained a great deal of
money, and was very careful of it. Well for me and my children that it
was so. Gradually I began to lose the distinction between the imaginary
figure and the real person, and sometimes disputed with sitters that
they had been with me the day before. At last I was sure of it, and
then--and then--all is confusion. I suppose they took the alarm. I
recollect nothing more--I lost my senses--was thirty years in an
asylum. The whole period, except the last six months of my confinement,
is a dead blank in my memory, though sometimes, when people describe
their visits, I have a sort of imperfect remembrance of them; but I
must not dwell on these subjects.'"
It is an extraordinary fact that, when this gentleman resumed his
pencil, after a lapse of thirty years, he painted nearly as well as
when insanity compelled him to discontinue it. His imagination was
still exceedingly vivid, as was proved by a portrait, for he had only
two sittings of half-an-hour each; the latter solely for the dress and
for the _eyebrows_, which he could not fix in his memory.
It was found that the excitement threatened danger, and he was
persuaded to discontinue the exercise of his art. He lived but a short
time afterwards.
A hallucination, although recognized and appreciated as such by the
person who is the subject of it, may, by its vividness and long
continuance, produce so depressing an influence on the mind as to be
the cause of suicide. "I knew," says Wigan, "a very intelligent and
amiable man, who had the power of this placing before his own eyes
_himself_, and often laughed heartily at _his double_, who always
seemed to laugh in turn. This was long a subject of amusement and joke;
but the ultimate result was lamentable. He became gradually convinced
that he was haunted by himself, or (to violate grammar for the sake of
clearly expressing his idea) by his _self_. This other self would argue
with him pertinaciously, and, to his great mortification, sometimes
refute him, which, as he was very proud of his logical powers,
humiliated him exceedingly. He was eccentric, but was never placed in
confinement or subjected to the slightest restraint. At length, worn
out by the annoyance, he deliberately resolved not to enter on another
year of existence--paid all his debts--wrapped up in separate papers
the amount of the weekly demands--waited pistol in hand, the night of
the 31st of December, and as the clock struck twelve, fired it into his
mouth."
We read in Dr. de Boismont's very able treatise on Hallucinations
(translated by Hulme):--"All mental labour, by over-exciting the brain,
is liable to give rise to hallucinations. We have known many persons,
and amongst others a medical man, who, when it was night, distinctly
heard voices calling to them; some would stop to reply, or would go to
the door, believing they heard the bell ring. This disposition seems
to us not uncommon in persons who are in the habit of talking aloud to
themselves."
We find in Abercrombie's work the case of a gentleman "who has been
all his life affected by the appearance of spectral figures. To such
an extent does this peculiarity exist, that, if he meets a friend in
the street, he cannot at first satisfy himself whether he really sees
the individual or a spectral figure. By close attention he can remark a
difference between them, in the outline of the real figure being more
distinctly defined than that of the spectral; but in general he takes
means for correcting his visual impression by touching the figure, or
by listening to the sound of his footsteps. He has also the power of
calling up spectral figures at his will, by directing his attention
steadily to the conception of his own mind; and this may consist either
of a figure or a scene which he has seen, or it may be a composition
created by his imagination. But, though he has the faculty of producing
the illusion he has no power of vanishing it; and, when he has called
up any particular spectral figure or scene, he never can say how long
it may continue to haunt him. The gentleman is in the prime of life,
of sound mind, in good health, and engaged in business. Another of his
family has been affected in the same manner, though in a slight degree."
It would be easy to mention many examples of illustrious men who
have been subject to hallucinations, without their having in any way
influenced their conduct.
Thus, Malebranche declared he heard the voice of God distinctly within
him. Descartes, after long confinement, was followed by an invisible
person, calling upon him to pursue the search of truth.
Byron occasionally fancied he was visited by a spectre, which he
confesses was but the effect of an over-stimulated brain.
Dr. Johnson said that he distinctly heard his mother's voice call
"Samuel." This was at a time when she was residing a long way off.
Pope, who suffered much from intestinal disease, one day asked his
medical man what the arm was which seemed to come out of the wall.
Goethe positively asserts that he one day saw the exact counterpart of
himself coming towards him. The German psychologists give the name of
_Deuteroscopia_ to this species of illusion.
Strange Hallucination.
On the 25th of November, 1840, Mr. Pearce, the author of several
medical works, was tried at the Central Criminal Court for shooting
at his wife with intent to murder, and acquitted on the ground of
insanity. He entertained the peculiar notion that his wife wished to
destroy him, and that she had bribed persons to effect his death in
various ways, the principal of which was that his bed was constantly
damped or wetted. This idea seems to have haunted him continually. He
was shortly after his acquittal taken to Bethlem Hospital. For some
time he refused to leave the gallery in which his cell was situated,
and go into the airing-ground; in order, as it appeared, that he might
watch his cell door to prevent anything "villanous" being done.
In a letter addressed to the Governors of the Hospital, Pearce argued
the point in a very serious and connected manner. "If," said he, in
allusion to some of the witnesses, who at various times had stated they
felt his bedding and found it dry, "the simple act of placing one's
hand upon a damp bed, or even the immediate impression on a man's body
when he gets into it, was infallible, how could it occur so frequently
that travellers at times are crippled with rheumatism, or lose their
lives by remaining all night in damp bedding? If the thing was so
easily discoverable, no man of common understanding could be injured by
such a proceeding or accident at inns.
"Technically speaking, the matter of which I complain is not a
delusion; it is an allegation--a positive charge, susceptible of proof,
if proper evidence could be brought to bear upon the fact, not warped
or suborned by the man or men in whose power I hourly am. It would be a
sad delusion for me to declare my bed was composed of straw instead of
flocks, or that I was a prophet, or the Pope, or Sir Astley Cooper. I
grant I have no such crotchets. My mind is perfectly sound, calm, and
reflective; and I implore you to consider well the distinction between
the things which cannot in nature physically be and the things which
can physically be. It is a vital one in my sad case.
"It may be told you, I have charged persons elsewhere with this
atrocity of damping my bed. I have done so. At the private madhouse,
near Uxbridge, whence I was brought here, my bed was kept almost wet
for three months, and I only saved my life by sleeping on a large
trunk, with my daily articles of dress to cover me. Some portion of
this time, the cold was eight and ten degrees below freezing-point."
He then solicited that a lock might be put upon his cell-door to
protect him from this annoyance; and concluded his letter with this
appeal: "I beseech you to commiserate my hard lot. I have some little
claim to the title of a gentleman, and have been estimated by persons
of some consideration in society; I am now, by a wretched chain of
circumstances, in a great prison hospital, dragged from my children
and my home, and the comforts of social life, and doomed to herd with
desperadoes against the State, the destitute, and the mad."
Mr. Pearce was afterwards introduced, and answered the questions put
to him in a very collected manner. He then stated that since his
marriage-trip to Boulogne, he had been subjected to the greatest abuse
from his present wife, and on one occasion, had been struck by her,
and insulted by the vilest epithets. He complained that when first
brought to Bethlem Hospital, he had been "chummed" with Oxford, and
objected, but had been compelled to associate with that ruffian. He
had taught Oxford the French language, and tried to improve his mind.
Oxford had conveyed to him matter of importance relative to the great
crime of which he had been guilty, and which he (Mr. Pearce) thought
of sufficient importance to be communicated to the Secretary of State,
and had accordingly written a letter in Latin, detailing the several
circumstances. It had, however been taken from him, and he did not
know whether it had ever been sent to Downing Street. He wished to show
how Oxford boasted of having cajoled Sir A. Morrison and Dr. Monro into
a belief that he was insane, and how he sent for such books as _Jack
the Giant-Killer_ in order to make the jury let him off on the ground
of insanity. This was what he (Mr. Pearce) wished to tell the Secretary
of State, and now the letter was used against him.
After some further remarks, Mr. Pearce was questioned by the jury, and
persisted in the statement that his bed was damped, that deleterious
drugs were applied to his clothes, and that a conspiracy existed
against him. He produced from under his clothes a small packet, which
he said contained portions of the shirt of which mention had been made,
and a snuff-box, in which he stated he had kept parts of the shirt, and
which he "demanded" to have submitted to the test of Professor Faraday
or some other eminent chemist. He announced himself to be grand-nephew
of Zachariah Pearce, Bishop of Rochester, and translator of Longinus,
and prayed, in conclusion, the jury to relieve him from the situation
in which he was placed.
The jury returned a verdict to the effect "that Mr. Pearce was of
unsound mind, and that he had been so from the 16th of October, 1840."
"Corner Memory Thompson."
In February, 1843, there died, at the age of 86, this remarkable
person, whose eccentric success had become matter of public interest.
John Thompson was a native of St. Giles's, where his father was a
greengrocer; the boy on carrying a salad to the house of an undertaker
in the neighbourhood, attracted attention by his ready and active
manner, and the undertaker took him as errand-boy; then he became
assistant, and next married his master's daughter, and thus obtained
property. This was his _start_ in life, and enabled him to commence
business as an auctioneer and brewer's valuer, by which he amassed
considerable wealth. As he advanced in life, he sought retirement, and
on a spot just below Hampstead Church, built for himself, without plan
or order, "Frognal Priory," an assemblage of grotesque structures, but
without any right of road to it, which he had to purchase at a great
price. Thence, Thompson often went to town in his chariot, to collect
curiosities for his house; and he might be seen pottering about among
the curiosity-shops: as Horace Walpole cheapened Dicky Bateman's chairs
at half-a-crown apiece for Strawberry Hill, so John Thompson collected
his "items of taste and _vertu_" for Frognal Priory, and these, for
a time, he would show to any person who rang at his gate. He was
designated "Corner Memory," for his having, for a bet, drawn a plan of
St. Giles's parish from memory, at three sittings, specifying every
coach-turning, stable-yard, and public pump, and likewise the _corner
shop_ of every street. He possessed a most mechanical memory; for he
would, by reading a newspaper over-night, repeat the whole of it next
morning. He gained some notoriety by presenting to the Queen a carved
bedstead, reputed once to have belonged to Cardinal Wolsey; with this
he sent some other old furniture to Windsor Castle.
Mummy of a Manchester Lady.