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.
I remain Your’s, sincerely.
J. CHURCH.
for Mr. Cook, at mr. Halladays Richmond Budgs. Dean St.
There is another letter bearing the two-penny post nark of the 20th of October.—It is as follows:—