Absence of public and private Amusement—Churches and Chapels—Influence
of the Clergy—A Revival
I never saw any people who appeared to live so much without amusement
as the Cincinnatians. Billiards are forbidden by law, so are cards. To
sell a pack of cards in Ohio subjects the seller to a penalty of fifty
dollars. They have no public balls, excepting, I think, six, during the
Christmas holidays. They have no concerts. They have no dinner parties.
They have a theatre, which is, in fact, the only public amusement of
this triste little town; but they seem to care little about it, and
either from economy or distaste, it is very poorly attended. Ladies are
rarely seen there, and by far the larger proportion of females deem it
an offence against religion to witness the representation of a play. It
is in the churches and chapels of the town that the ladies are to be
seen in full costume; and I am tempted to believe that a stranger from
the continent of Europe would be inclined, on first reconnoitering the
city, to suppose that the places of worship were the theatres and cafes
of the place. No evening in the week but brings throngs of the young
and beautiful to the chapels and meeting- houses, all dressed with
care, and sometimes with great pretension; it is there that all display
is made, and all fashionable distinction sought. The proportion of
gentlemen attending these evening meetings is very small, but often, as
might be expected, a sprinkling of smart young clerks make this
sedulous display of ribbons and ringlets intelligible and natural. Were
it not for the churches, indeed, I think there might be a general
bonfire of best bonnets, for I never could discover any other use for
them.
The ladies are too actively employed in the interior of their houses to
permit much parading in full dress for morning visits. There are no
public gardens or lounging shops of fashionable resort, and were it not
for public worship, and private tea- drinkings, all the ladies in
Cincinnati would be in danger of becoming perfect recluses.
The influence which the ministers of all the innumerable religious
sects throughout America, have on the females of their respective
congregations, approaches very nearly to what we read of in Spain, or
in other strictly Roman Catholic countries. There are many causes for
this peculiar influence. Where equality of rank is affectedly
acknowledged by the rich, and clamourously claimed by the poor,
distinction and preeminence are allowed to the clergy only. This gives
them high importance in the eyes of the ladies. I think, also, that it
is from the clergy only that the women of America receive that sort of
attention which is so dearly valued by every female heart throughout
the world. With the priests of America, the women hold that degree of
influential importance which, in the countries of Europe, is allowed
them throughout all orders and ranks of society, except, perhaps, the
very lowest; and in return for this they seem to give their hearts and
souls into their keeping. I never saw, or read, of any country where
religion had so strong a hold upon the women, or a slighter hold upon
the men.
I mean not to assert that I met with no men of sincerely religious
feelings, or with no women of no religious feeling at all; but I feel
perfectly secure of being correct as to the great majority in the
statement I have made.
We had not been many months in Cincinnati when our curiosity was
excited by hearing the “revival” talked of by every one we met
throughout the town. “The revival will be very full”—“We shall be
constantly engaged during the revival”—were the phrases we constantly
heard repeated, and for a long time, without in the least comprehending
what was meant; but at length I learnt that the un-national church of
America required to be roused, at regular intervals, to greater energy
and exertion. At these seasons the most enthusiastic of the clergy
travel the country, and enter the cities and towns by scores, or by
hundreds, as the accommodation of the place may admit, and for a week
or fortnight, or, if the population be large, for a month; they preach
and pray all day, and often for a considerable portion of the night, in
the various churches and chapels of the place. This is called a
Revival.
I took considerable pains to obtain information on this subject; but in
detailing what I learnt I fear that it is probable I shall be accused
of exaggeration; all I can do is cautiously to avoid deserving it. The
subject is highly interesting, and it would be a fault of no trifling
nature to treat it with levity.
These itinerant clergymen are of all persuasions, I believe, except the
Episcopalian, Catholic, Unitarian, and Quaker. I heard of Presbyterians
of all varieties; of Baptists of I know not how many divisions; and of
Methodists of more denominations than I can remember; whose innumerable
shades of varying belief, it would require much time to explain, and
more to comprehend. They enter all the cities, towns, and villages of
the Union, in succession; I could not learn with sufficient certainty
to repeat, what the interval generally is between their visits. These
itinerants are, for the most part, lodged in the houses of their
respective followers, and every evening that is not spent in the
churches and meeting-houses, is devoted to what would be called parties
by others, but which they designate as prayer meetings. Here they eat,
drink, pray, sing, hear confessions, and make converts. To these
meetings I never got invited, and therefore I have nothing but hearsay
evidence to offer, but my information comes from an eye-witness, and
one on whom I believe I may depend. If one half of what I heard may be
believed, these social prayer meetings are by no means the most
curious, or the least important part of the business.
It is impossible not to smile at the close resemblance to be traced
between the feelings of a first-rate Presbyterian or Methodist lady,
fortunate enough to have secured a favourite Itinerant for her meeting,
and those of a first-rate London Blue, equally blest in the presence of
a fashionable poet. There is a strong family likeness among us all the
world over.
The best rooms, the best dresses, the choicest refreshments solemnize
the meeting. While the party is assembling, the load-star of the hour
is occupied in whispering conversations with the guests as they arrive.
They are called brothers and sisters, and the greetings are very
affectionate. When the room is full, the company, of whom a vast
majority are always women, are invited, intreated, and coaxed to
confess before their brothers and sisters, all their thoughts, faults,
and follies.
These confessions are strange scenes; the more they confess, the more
invariably are they encouraged and caressed. When this is over, they
all kneel, and the Itinerant prays extempore. They then eat and drink;
and then they sing hymns, pray, exhort, sing, and pray again, till the
excitement reaches a very high pitch indeed. These scenes are going on
at some house or other every evening during the revival, nay, at many
at the same time, for the churches and meeting-houses cannot give
occupation to half the Itinerants, though they are all open throughout
the day, and till a late hour in the night, and the officiating
ministers succeed each other in the occupation of them.
It was at the principal of the Presbyterian churches that I was twice
witness to scenes that made me shudder; in describing one, I describe
both and every one; the same thing is constantly repeated.
It was in the middle of summer, but the service we were recommended to
attend did not begin till it was dark. The church was well lighted, and
crowded almost to suffocation. On entering, we found three priests
standing side by side, in a sort of tribune, placed where the altar
usually is, handsomely fitted up with crimson curtains, and elevated
about as high as our pulpits. We took our places in a pew close to the
rail which surrounded it.
The priest who stood in the middle was praying; the prayer was
extravagantly vehement, and offensively familiar in expression; when
this ended, a hymn was sung, and then another priest took the centre
place, and preached. The sermon had considerable eloquence, but of a
frightful kind. The preacher described, with ghastly minuteness, the
last feeble fainting moments of human life, and then the gradual
progress of decay after death, which he followed through every process
up to the last loathsome stage of decomposition. Suddenly changing his
tone, which had been that of sober accurate description, into the
shrill voice of horror, he bent forward his head, as if to gaze on some
object beneath the pulpit. And as Rebecca made known to Ivanhoe what
she saw through the window, so the preacher made known to us what he
saw in the pit that seemed to open before him. The device was certainly
a happy one for giving effect to his description of hell. No image that
fire, flame, brimestone, molten lead, or red-hot pincers could supply;
with flesh, nerves, and sinews quivering under them, was omitted. The
perspiration ran in streams from the face of the preacher; his eyes
rolled, his lips were covered with foam, and every feature had the deep
expression of horror it would have borne, had he, in truth, been gazing
at the scene he described. The acting was excellent. At length he gave
a languishing look to his supporters on each side, as if to express his
feeble state, and then sat down, and wiped the drops of agony from his
brow.
The other two priests arose, and began to sing a hymn. It was some
seconds before the congregation could join as usual; every upturned
face looked pale and horror struck. When the singing ended, another
took the centre place, and began in a sort of coaxing affectionate
tone, to ask the congregation if what their dear brother had spoken had
reached their hearts? Whether they would avoid the hell he had made
them see? “Come, then!” he continued, stretching out his arms towards
them, “come to us, and tell us so, and we will make you see Jesus, the
dear gentle Jesus, who shall save you from it. But you must come to
him! You must not be ashamed to come to him! This night you shall tell
him that you are not ashamed of him; we will make way for you; we will
clear the bench for anxious sinners to sit upon. Come, then! come to
the anxious bench, and we will shew you Jesus! Come! Come! Come!” Again
a hymn was sung, and while it continued, one of the three was employed
in clearing one or two long benches that went across the rail, sending
the people back to the lower part of the church. The singing ceased,
and again the people were invited, and exhorted not to be ashamed of
Jesus, but to put themselves upon “the anxious benches,” and lay their
heads on his bosom. “Once more we will sing,” he concluded, “that we
may give you time.” And again they sung a hymn.
And now in every part of the church a movement was perceptible, slight
at first, but by degrees becoming more decided. Young girls arose, and
sat down, and rose again; and then the pews opened, and several came
tottering out, their hands clasped, their heads hanging on their
bosoms, and every limb trembling, and still the hymn went on; but as
the poor creatures approached the rail their sobs and groans became
audible. They seated themselves on the “anxious benches;” the hymn
ceased, and two of the three priests walked down from the tribune, and
going, one to the right, and the other to the left, began whispering to
the poor tremblers seated there. These whispers were inaudible to us,
but the sobs and groans increased to a frightful excess. Young
creatures, with features pale and distorted, fell on their knees on the
pavement, and soon sunk forward on their faces; the most violent cries
and shrieks followed, while from time to time a voice was heard in
convulsive accents, exclaiming, “Oh Lord!” “Oh Lord Jesus!” “Help me,
Jesus!” and the like.
Meanwhile the two priests continued to walk among them; they repeatedly
mounted on the benches, and trumpet-mouthed proclaimed to the whole
congregation, “the tidings of salvation,” and then from every corner of
the building arose in reply, short sharp cries of “Amen!” “Glory!”
“Amen!” while the prostrate penitents continued to receive whispered
comfortings, and from time to time a mystic caress. More than once I
saw a young neck encircled by a reverend arm. Violent hysterics and
convulsions seized many of them, and when the tumult was at the
highest, the priest who remained above, again gave out a hymn as if to
drown it.
It was a frightful sight to behold innocent young creatures, in the gay
morning of existence, thus seized upon, horror struck, and rendered
feeble and enervated for ever. One young girl, apparently not more than
fourteen, was supported in the arms of another, some years older; her
face was pale as death; her eyes wide open, and perfectly devoid of
meaning; her chin and bosom wet with slaver; she had every appearance
of idiotism. I saw a priest approach her, he took her delicate hand,
“Jesus is with her! Bless the Lord!” he said, and passed on.
Did the men of America value their women as men ought to value their
wives and daughters, would such scenes be permitted among them?
It is hardly necessary to say that all who obeyed the call to place
themselves on the “anxious benches” were women, and by far the greater
number very young women. The congregation was, in general, extremely
well dressed, and the smartest and most fashionable ladies of the town
were there; during the whole revival the churches and meeting-houses
were every day crowded with well dressed people.
It is thus the ladies of Cincinnati amuse themselves; to attend the
theatre is forbidden; to play cards is unlawful; but they work hard in
their families, and must have some relaxation. For myself, I confess
that I think the coarsest comedy ever written would be a less
detestable exhibition for the eyes of youth and innocence than such a
scene.