J. CHURCH.

Transcribed from the 1817 Hay and Turner edition by David Price, email

ccx074@pglaf.org

[Picture: Public domain book cover]

HAY AND TURNER’S GENUINE EDITION,

Entered at Stationers’ Hall.

* * * * *

THE

INFAMOUS LIFE

OF

JOHN CHURCH,

THE

St. George’s Fields Preacher,

FROM HIS INFANCY UP TO HIS TRIAL AND CONVICTION,

WITH

_HIS CONFESSION_,

Sent in a Letter to the Rev. Mr. L—, two days after his Attack on

Adam Foreman, at Vauxhall, with Clerical Remarks by the

same Gentleman; to which is added, his

_Love Epistles to E**** B****_.

* * * * *

Together with various other Letters, particularly one to Cook, of Vere-

Street Notoriety.

* * * * *

London:

_PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY HAY AND TURNER_,

11, NEWCASTLE STREET STRAND;

AND MAY BE HAD OF ALL BOOKSELLERS IN TOWN AND COUNTRY.

1817.

_PRICE FOUR PENCE_.

* * * * *

THE LIFE

OF

_JOHN CHURCH_,

&c. &c.

IT has been justly remarked, by a celebrated writer, that “a sudden rise

from a low station, as it sometimes shews to advantage the virtuous and

amiable qualities, which could not exert themselves before, so it more

frequently calls forth and exposes to view those spots of the soul which

lay lurking in secret, cramped by penury, and veiled with dissimulation.”

JOHN CHURCH, the subject of the following pages, was found, when an

infant, on the steps, or near the porch of a church (some say that of St.

Andrew, in Holborn;) and the overseers of the parish not being able to

discover who were his parents, or by whom he was thus abandoned, had him

sent to the Foundling Hospital, where he received that name, which bears

the nearest analogy to the place where he was found. Here he remained

until he was nine years old, when a complaint to the Governors having

been made against him by the nurses, that he was addicted to improper and

disgusting practices, it was thought prudent to apprentice him out at

that early age, to obviate the possibility of the contagion spreading

amongst the rest of the boys who partook of the bounties of that charity.

From his evident illiteracy, and from the badness of his writing, it is

certain that he must have quitted the Hospital at an earlier age than

usual, because, in general, none leave it who are not good scholars. He

was accordingly placed out as an apprentice to a Gilder, in Blackfriars

Road. Before the expiration of his indenture, he married and quitted the

service of his master. Shortly afterwards, he worked for a composition

ornament maker, in Tottenham Court Road. This immaculate Minister of the

Gospel here commenced his religious career, and, under the assumed garb

of sanctity, took upon him the office of a teacher to the Sunday School,

at that time established at Tottenham Court Chapel. Thinking that

preaching was a better trade than that which he was employed in, this

_precious_ teacher, together with two other young men, hired a garret in

the neighbourhood of Soho, where they used to learn the method of

addressing themselves to a congregation. An old chair was the substitute

for a pulpit. He now began (to use his own expression) “_to gammon the

old women_.”—Good fortune happened at length to procure him the notice of

Old Mother Barr, of Orange-street, who, being interested in his behalf,

allowed him the use of a room of hers, in which he treated her and a few

other choice labourers in the field of piety with his rapturous

discourses.. From this he used to hold forth more publicly. His virtues

and acquirements now recommended him to one Garrett, of notorious memory,

who obtained him a _living_ at Banbury. It was at this place that he

became obnoxious. Having made several violent attempts upon some young

men while at that place, he was driven out from thence, by the trustees

of the chapel in which he preached, and ordered never to show his face

there again. He hastily decamped, leaving behind him his wife and

children; and the police officers having been sent in pursuit, their

searches proved fruitless, and it was a long time before he was heard of.

He once more retired into the country, but was called from his solitude,

to use his influence in town, by a man of his own disgraceful kind, named

_Kitty Cambric_, and well know at the Swan, in _Vere Street_. It is

proper to observe here that some of these wretches assume the names of

women, and that they are absolutely married together, as will be shown

presently, from Church’s having been the parson who performed the

blasphemous mock ceremony of joining them in the ties of “_Holy

Matrimony_.” He now settled himself at Chapel Court, in the Borough,

when his old friend Garrett, publicly charged him with a wicked and

diabolical offence, as the law says, “not to be named amongst

Christians,” and he was obliged to run away from this accusation. By

some fortuitous event he at length got possession of the Obelisk Chapel,

where he began to deliver his doctrines to those who were foolish and

ignorant enough to attend to his fulsome and incoherent exclamations.

Several young men, whose names are known to the writer, who were

accustomed to hear him, were obliged to leave him in consequence of his

having used them in a manner too indecent to be mentioned or hinted at.

E. B. a respectable tradesman, residing in the Borough of Southwark, has

informed the writer of the present article, that this parson, or rather

this monster, when be was about to preach, would frequently say—“Well, I

am going to tip ’em a gammoning story; my old women would believe the

moon to be made of green cheese if I was to tell them so; and I must tell

them something.” The writer has also been informed, from credible

authority, that Church was a constant attendant in Vere-street, and that

the gang of miscreants who met at the public-house there, some of whom

stood in the pillory about seven or eight years ago, had nominated him to

be their _Chaplain_, and that he officiated in that capacity. By virtue

of his functions in this situation, he was often employed in joining

these monsters in the “indissoluble tie of matrimony!!!” They were

absolutely wedded together. One evening, when Church visited this

infamous place of resort, one of the gang observed, “Here’s Parson

Church. Aye, Parson, how d’ye do? Have you come to see our

Chapel?”—Church replied, “Yes, and to preach too.”

In addition to the above account is the following, communicated by the

before-mentioned E. B. who happened, unfortunately, to be an attendant at

Church’s meeting house, when the latter took notice of and formed an

acquaintance with him, commencing as usual with pious exhortations, and

then followed up by distrusting freedoms. Mr. B. however, struck with

horror at such conduct, abandoned the place, when he received two letters

from Church, of which the following are copies:—

DEAR NED—May the best of blessings be yours in life and in death,

while the sweet sensations of real genuine disinterested friendship

rules every power of your mind body and soul. I can only say I wish

you was as much captivated with sincere friendship as I am but we all

know our own feelings best—Friendship those best of names, affection

those sweetest power like some powerful charm that overcomes the

mind—I could write much on this subject but I dare not trust you with

what I could say much as I esteem you—You would consider it as

unmanly and quite effeminate, and having already proved what human

nature is I must conceal even those emotions of love which I feel. I

wish I had the honor of being loved by you as much and in as great a

degree as I do you. Sometimes the painful thought of a separation

overpowers me, many are now trying at it but last night I told the

persons that called on me that let them insinuate what they would I

would never sacrifice my dear Ned to the shrine of any other friend

upon earth—and that them who did not like him, should have none of my

company at all. I find dear Ned many are using all their power to

part us but I hope it will prove in vain on your side the effect that

all this has upon me is to make me love you ten times more than ever,

I wish opposition may have the same effect upon you in this

particular but I fear not. however I am confident if you love me now

or at any other time my heart will ever be set upon you nor can I

ever forget you till death. Your leaving of me will break my heart,

bring down my poor mind with sorrow to the grave and wring from my

eyes the briny tears, while my busy meddling memory will call to

remembrance the few pleasant hours we spent together. I picture to

my imagination the affecting scene the painful thought, I must close

the affecting subject ’tis more than my feelings are able to bear—My

heart is full, my mind is sunk, I shall be better when I have vented

out my grief. Stand fast my dearest Ned to me I shall to you whether

you do to me or no, and may we be pardoned, justified, and brought

more to the knowledge of Christ. O help me to sing—

When thou my righteous Judge shall come

To fetch thy ransom’d people home,

May I among them stand,

Let such a worthless worm as I,

That sometimes am afraid to die,

Be found at thy right hand.

I love to meet amongst them now,

Before thy gracious feet to bow,

Tho’ vilest of them all;

But can I bear the piercing thought,

What if my name should be left out,

When thou for them should call.

Learn these two verses by heart and then I will write two more, as

they are expressions of mind fears sensations and desires—I must

close, I long to see your dear face again, I long for Sunday morning

till then God bless you.

3d March, 1809.

I remain unalterably thy dear thy loving friend,

J. CHURCH.

The following, without a date, was written by Church to Mr. B. who

received it on or about the 15th day of March, 1809:—

DEAR SIR—Is this thy kindness to thy once professed much loved

friend, surely I never, never did deserve such cruel treatment at

your hands; why not speak to me last night in James-street when you

heard me call, Stop! stop! Ned! do, pray do: but cruel, cruel Ned,

deaf to all intreaties—O why was I permitted to pass the door of Mr.

Gibbons when you and West were coming out. Why was I permitted to

tramp up and down the New Cut after you; I wanted to speak one bitter

heart breaking painful distressing word, farewell: I only wanted to

pour my sorrows into your bosom, to shake hands with you once more,

but I was denied this indulgence. I never, never thought you would

deceive me—O what an unhappy man am I; the thing that I most feared

is come upon me, no excuse can justify such apparent duplicity; O my

distress is great indeed. O my God! what shall I do? O Christ! O

God! support me in this trying hour, what a night am I passing

through; I cannot sleep, its near three o’clock; alas! sleep is

departed, how great my grief, how bitter my sorrows, the loss of my

character is nothing to the loss of one dearer to me than any thing

else. O let me give vent to tears; but I am too, too much distressed

to cry; O that I could. I feel this like a dagger; never, never can

I forgive the unhappy instrument of my distress in Charlotte-street.

Why did my dear friend Edward deceive me? O how my mind was eased on

Wednesday night; alas, how distressed on Thursday. I have lost my

only bosom friend, nearest dearest friend, bosom from bosom torn, how

horrid. Ah, dear Suffolk-court, never surely can I see you again.

How the Philistines will triumph; there, so would we have it: how

Ebeir, Calvin, Thompson, Edwards, Bridgman, all will rejoice, and I

have lost my friend, my all in this world, except the other part of

myself, my wife, and poor babes; never did I expect this from my dear

E— B—. O for a clam mind, that I might sleep till day light; but no,

this I fear will be denied me. How can I bear the piercing thought,

parted; a dreadful word, worst of sensations, the only indulgence,

the only confident, the only faithful, the only kind and indulgent

sympathising friend, to lose you. O what a stroke; O what a cut,

what shall I do for matter on Sunday; O that I could get some one to

preach for me, how can I lift up my head. O Sir, if you have a grain

of affection left for me, do intreat of God to support me; this is a

worse affliction than the loss of my character nine months ago. A

man cannot lose his character twice. O I did think you knew better:

I did think I had found one in you that I could not find elsewhere;

but no, the first object presented to you, seen suddenly, gained your

mind, gained your affections; and I, poor unhappy distressed I, am

left to deplore your loss. O for submission, but I am distressed;

woe is me. O that I had never, never known you, then I should never

feel what I do; but I thank you for your company hitherto, I have

enjoyed it four moths exactly, but this is over for ever; miserable

as I am, I wish you well for ever, for ever. I write in the

bitterness of my soul which I feel. May you never be cursed with the

feelings I possess as long as you live. What a day I have before me;

I cannot go out of my house till Sunday morning. How can I conceal

my grief from my dear wife? how shall I hide it? what shall I say? I

am miserable, nor can I surmount the shock at all. I have no friend

to pour out my sorrows to now, I wish I had; I am sorry you are so

easily duped by any to answer their purposes; my paper is full, my

paper is full, my heart is worse; God help me; Lord God support me!

what shall I do, dear God! O Lord! have mercy on me, I must close;

this comes from your ever loving but distressed

J. CHURCH.

For some years past, the person just named has been getting a living by

preaching as a Minister of the Gospel in an obscure conventicle close to

the Surrey Theatre. In the mean time, reports had gone abroad that he

was addicted to certain abominable propensities; and certain gentlemen in

the neighbourhood, not actuated by any jealousy towards a successful

“rival in the vineyard,” but dreading the disgrace and pollution which

Christianity might suffer from the immoral character of any of its

teachers, investigated these rumours; and the facts now related came to

light. James Cook, who kept the infamous house in Vere Street, was

released from his two years imprisonment in Newgate, on the 21st of

September 1812. In the course of a few days after, he accidentally met

John Church, and recognized him as the _gay parson_ whom he had formerly

seen at a certain house in the London Road, and at his own house in Vere

Street. A friendly correspondence then took place between these two old

acquaintances. About the 13th of October, Cook received a letter from

him. In this the _Minister of the Gospel_ offers his assistance to the

“Vere Street Culprit,” to enable him to set up another public house, as

the reader will perceive from perusing the letter itself:—

Dear Sir,

Lest I should not have time to call on you or converse with you at I

shall not be alone to Day I thought it But right to Drop you a Line I

wish you all the success you can desire in getting a house fit for

the Business in the public Line as you had a great many acquaintance,

they ought not to fail you if every one acted right according to

there ability I am sure you would soon accomplish it. As I am by no

means Rich, But rather embarrassed I hope you will accept my mite

towards it 1l. 1s. and you shall have another as convenient wishing

you all prosperity.