Badly directed to Mr. Oliver, or (Holloway) No. 6, Richmond’s
buildings, Dean Street, Soho.
The next document is a letter dated March 7, 1810, from a person at
Banbury named Hall, who says that there was a report there against Church
of a very scandalous nature. And that the managers of the chapel, after
making enquiries into it, sent him positive orders never to return to
Banbury again.
Then follows a letter from Wm. Clarke of Ipswich, a young man between 19
and 20 years of age, which contains an account of attempts too horrid to
be published in this paper. I have within the last four days seen the
written confession (frightful indeed it is) of this poor simple young
man, whose mind was bewildered by the canting exhortations of Church; and
I have heard the whole of his statements corroborated by the oral
testimony of a Mr. Wire who resides at Colchester, and knows Clarke very
well. The circumstances related by Clarke, would have furnished an ample
ground for a criminal prosecution had he made his complaint _immediately_
after the _assault_ was committed:—but suffering under the influence of
ignorance and fear, he kept it a secret too long, and afterwards accepted
of a pound note from Church. A case was laid before two eminent
barristers, to have their opinion whether such a prosecution could be
carried on with any prospect of conviction. Their opinion, which I now
have before me in their own hand writing, is, that after the long
concealment of a Charge, a Jury would pay no attention to his evidence,
unless he was confirmed in his story by other evidence.
The peace of this poor lad’s mind however is completely destroyed, so
fatally has the event preyed upon him:—so far so as to fill the bosom of
his aged father with such a spirit of indignation and revenge, that he
actually came up to London with a full determination to be the death of
him who had thus ruined the peace of his beloved son, while the mother’s
mind was not less distracted than that of the father. In consequence of
this, the father entered J. Church’s meeting house, with two loaded
pistols, one in each pocket, but under the excess of agitation, he
fainted away, and was carried out of the place.
There are various other documents which are too voluminous to notice at
present. The point to which I now wish to direct the attention of the
public is, the extraordinary circumstance of a man continuing to exercise
the functions of a christian pastor with such heavy imputations as these
hanging over his head. He knows that the whole neighbourhood rings with
accusations; he knows that some hundreds of publications containing
charges so severe, that my statements compared to then, are “lenity and
compassion,” have been sold in St. George’s-fields; and why has he not
brought his action against the printer in order to let the world see that
they are false.
The printer is a respectable and _responsible_ house-holder residing in
the neighbourhood. He has sent forth from his press many hundred sheets
of paper filled with direct allegations of criminality against Church:
and I again ask, why does not Church take that step which an honest
_innocent_ man would take in vindication of his character, namely—that of
bringing an action for damages, wherein evidence to their truth or
falsehood may be _legally_ admitted? Why has he gone to Union Hall with
a counsel at his elbow, and called on the magistrates to do no more than
require the printer to _suppress_ the publication of these printed
papers, which request the magistrates have complied with, on the ground
that such publications tended to a breach of the peace? I hope that no
person—and I am confident that no reader of the Weekly Dispatch will be
so foolish as to join in any riotous proceedings. But is Christianity,
in the mean time, to continue suffering under such a slander as that of
being promulgated by a man who is even _suspected_? A Clergyman of the
Church of England, under similar circumstances, would be immediately
suspended by the Bishop of his diocese. And is there no power in the
state that can impose a temporary silence on a dissenting minister, until
an investigation shall take place respecting accusation publicly
exhibited against him? Is not the ruling power of the state as
interested in preserving the morals of dissenters as of any other class
of subjects?
The reader may probably have some curiosity to know what sort of a
preacher this person is. I have gone to hear him; and I pity his poor
deluded followers. He does indeed deliver himself in a full, clear,
articulate tone of voice; but to criticise style, or analyse the
_substance_ of his discourse, would be a fruitless labour: it would be
like dissecting a cobweb. Unmeaning rhapsodies, and unconnected
sentences, through which the faintest gleam of morality is not to be
traced, must, from their evanescent nature, set the powers of
recollection at defiance: they even escape from the lash of one’s
contempt. {11} In his countenance there is none of that dignified
mildness, none of that subdued expression of piety which one often
observes in Christian preachers whose habits of life are conformable to
their precepts. His manner is forward and imposing; and his eyes are
continually employed in staring at some person among his auditors. But
these being people of the very lowest description, and, to all
appearance, wrapt in a cloud of superstitious stupor, scarcely ever
examine the physiognomy of their idol.
I have a word or two, to add on the subject of riotous proceedings. On
Sunday evening last there was a large crowd of people assembled near the
entrance of the Obelisk Chapel. There were several groupes of persons
holding arguments on the merits of the preacher, but not the slightest
indication of riot. And the only noise or disturbance that I observed,
was created by a gang of fellows who rushed through the crowd in the
character of peace officers with drawn cutlasses in their hands.
_Extract from the Weekly Dispatch of April_ 25, 1813.
WHEN the late Lord Chief Justice Mansfield promulgated his doctrine
“_that truth was a libel_,” he went upon this principle,—that no man
could be justified in publishing any thing respecting the character or
conduct of another, which should appear, whether true or false, to be of
so abusive and defamatory a nature as to provoke him to commit a breach
of the peace;—that if the person so defamed had committed any offence
against the law, he should be dealt with according to law; and that no
unauthorized individual had a right to become his judge. But Lord
Mansfield little thought at that time, that about thirty or forty years
afterwards, a case would occur, wherein, although the “offence was rank
and smelt to heaven,” the arm of the law was powerless; and wherein an
appeal to public opinion became indispensible towards arresting the havoc
which the most destructive of all vices that can exist in society was
making upon the public morals. We have now before us a case precisely of
this nature. Here is a man of the most infamous character—a man
notoriously addicted to the most horrible of all vices—a man who has been
in the constant habit of corrupting youth, by the instrumentality and
under the mask of religion—this man is exercising all the functions of a
Christian minister of the Gospel—such as reading prayers, preaching
sermons, baptizing, and administering the holy sacrament;—a man at the
very idea of whose guilt, every body, except his deluded or _sympathetic_
auditors, shrinks back with feelings of disgust and agony;—and yet there
exists no power either ecclesiastical or civil to arrest his career of
blasphemy and guilt! Under such afflicting circumstances, is the press
to continue silent, because the law tells me that I am not to speak
reproachfully of another, although I should speak the truth? If I see my
neighbour’s house on fire, am I to look on with cold-blooded
indifference, without trying to save the whole street from being involved
in flames, because a law may have declared it a crime for any man to
stir, until the beat of a drum or the ringing of a bell shall have called
the people together? If I see that sort of moral contagion that has been
the ruin of Empires, spreading around me while all the engines that were
intended for its suppression, remain motionless, am I to refrain from
raising my feeble voice against it, because I run a risk of offending
against the _letter_ of the law? The law in this case is, in some manner
at a stand, as will appear from the report I give of the recent
proceedings before the Surry magistrates. It is supposed be unable to
act here, because it was not called into action when the crime, that has
been sworn to, was perpetrated. Yet the enormity of the crime not only
remains undiminished and unatoned for, but the criminal is going forward
in the same career, and is in possession of the same influence, that gave
scope to his criminality: and what is still worse, the Christian religion
is suffering under disgrace and pollution! In such a case then, the
press is the only power that can act: and is that power to be suspended
by cold calculating timidity? The chief duty of a Journalist is to check
the progress of any public evil, by giving activity and force to the LAW
OF OPINION, when the municipal law cannot reach the same. This duty I am
now exercising; and I do it without fear, because I feel conscious that I
am serving the public; and because I may be instrumental in saving a
large portion of the rising generation from ignominy and ruin.
That the public feel an uncommon share of interest in this question is
evident, from the great increase of sale which this paper experienced on
Sunday last; and their continued demand for it ever since. I therefore
conceive that my readers would not be satisfied without some more
information respecting the person to whom I allude; and I now present
then, with the chief incidents of his life, as well as some additional
traits of his character, most of which have come to my knowledge since
last Sunday. The sketch of his life has been furnished me by a
respectable Gentleman on whose veracity I can rely. It is as follows:—
Dr. Jortin, in his _Adversaria_, very justly remarks, 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.”
The Obelisk Parson, John Church, 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 near which 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 among 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 Black friars’ Road. Before the
expiration of his indenture, he was married to his present wife, and
he 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. It was here too, that he first became
acquainted with Mr. William Webster, who has been under the necessity
of holding him to bail, to appear at the next Middlesex Sessions,
where an indictment will be preferred against him for attempts too
shocking to be related in print. Thinking that preaching was a
better trade than that which he was employed in, this _precious_
teacher, together with two other young men, who were candidates for
the gown also, hired a garret in 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 her’s, 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 first 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 shew his face there again. He hastily
decamped, leaving behind him his wife and children, and the police
officers having been sent in pursuit of him, 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 known 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 shewn
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 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 we are in possession
of, and 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. Mr. E— B— has informed the writer of the
present article, that this parson—or rather this monster—when he 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 two years and a half since, 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 is 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, I have next to mention some
circumstances that have been communicated to me by Mr. E— B—, who is a
respectable young man, and a tradesman, residing in the Borough of
Southwark. Mr. B— 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 disgusting freedoms. Mr. B—, however, struck with
horror at such conduct, abandoned the place, and then he received two
letters from Church, of which the following are copies. Had this wretch
received a classical education, one might suppose he had been writing a
paraphrase on Virgil’s eclogue, beginning with the line—_Formosum_ Pastor
Corydon _Ardebat Alexin_.
The thoughts, however, originated in his own polluted mind. The letters
will serve to gratify curiosity, and give a further illustration of his
stile and character.
* * * * *
Copy of a Letter, written by the Rev. John Church, Minister of Obelisk
Chapel, Blackfriars’-road, to Mr. E— B—, Rodney-street, Kent-street,
Borough, dated 3d March, 1809:—
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 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 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 hearths 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.
I remain unalterably thy dear thy loving friend,
J. Church.
* * * * *
This letter, without a date, was written by the Rev. J. Church, Minister
of Obelisk Chapel, Blackfriar’s-road, to Mr. E— B—, at 3, Rodney-street,
Lenox-Street, Borough; and received by him on or about the 15th day
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 you 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 permuted to tramp up and
down the New Cut after you; I only 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, tis near three o’clock; alas! sleep is departed, how
great my grief, how bitter my sorrows, the loss of my character {20}
is nothing to the loss of one dearer to me than my 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 calm 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 for 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, 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 months 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 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