Had this wretch received a classical education, one might suppose he had been writing a paraphrase on Virgil’s eclogue, beginning with the line—Formasum Pastor Corydon Ardebat Alexin.

Copy of a letter, written by the Rev. John Church, Minister of the Obelisk-Chapel, Blackfriars’-Road, to Mr. E— B—, Rodney-Street, Kent-Street, Borough, dated March 3, 1809.

“Dear Ned,

“May the best 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 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 dare not trust you with what I could say, much as I esteem you.—You would consider it unmanly and quite effeminate; and having already proved what human nature is, I must conceal even these emotions of love which I feel. I wish I had the honour 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 on earth; and that them you 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 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 any other time, my heart will ever be sat upon you, nor can I 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 be among them now,
Before thy gracious feet to bow,
Though 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.”

Another letter was received by Mr. E— B— on the 15th of March, 1809, from Church, without a date, as follows:

“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 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, 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 anything 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 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 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 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.”

In addition to the confession made to Mrs. Hunter, the following confessional letter from Church, was sent to the great surprise of the Rev. Mr. L—, two days after the offence had been committed. It appears that Church was but very slightly known to the above gentleman, in consequence of some money transactions having passed between them:—

Dear Sir—Surely upon the reception of this short note you will say, ah, Church is like all the rest of the parsons, promise much and do little, yea nothing: to your note I can only with a pained heart reply I cannot indeed—I can scarcely write this note, my soul is too deeply pierced. About eight or nine years ago Dr. Draper left the church in the Borough and God opened Chapel-court for me, many attended and have been blest, now a singular providence, but a most distressing one, has occurred to take me shortly from my dear, dear family and beloved congregation. But God has sent Mr. L— to preach all the truth to my poor dispersed flock, at least so it appears to me, and I would do all the good to promote the success of Mr. L— that my poor people might not be starved till I return to them in peace, which may be many months. My heart is broken, my enemies have ruined me at last, and I shall never, never surmount it, an unpleasant affair happening at Vauxall, is added too, and I must take the consequences: no arm can help, relieve, or deliver, but the Lord’s, and I feel persuaded the Lord will not: judge my feelings if you can. I shall secretly come and hear you, to get all the good I can to a heart deprest, disconsolate, and full of woe. Oh, the joy of my enemies! Oh the distress of my friends! Oh, my poor heart! Let a sigh go up to God for me when you can.

Your’s, in the utmost distress,

J. C.

The following bad character has been given of Church by Mr. and Mrs. Gee, of the New Cut, who keep a cake-shop, where he once lodged:—

“Mr Church, the minister, lodged at our house a year and a half, and left last year at Lady Day.

“We were in hopes that we were about to have a godly praying minster in our house; and to be sure the first night he had somewhat like a prayer, and that once afterwards were the only times he ever went to family prayer in our house. Nor could they have any prayer, as he would be frequently out almost all hours of the night, and would lie in bed till ten in the morning. Several times he and his wife would have skirmishings and fightings between themselves, while the children would be left to run about the streets out of school hours, and allowed to keep company with children that would swear in our hearing most shockingly. His children were always left to be very dirty, and would be sent sometimes three or four times in a morning for spirituous liquors of all sorts. As for reading good books, or even the Bible, he scarce ever thought of it, but would spend a deal of his time in loose and vain talk, in walking about, and fawning upon young men, that was his chief delight.

“Sundays and working days were all alike to them, for they would send out to buy liquors, and whatever else they wanted, on Sundays as well as other days.

“The house would be frequently more like a playhouse (I might say a bawdy house) than a minister’s house, were a set of young people would come and behave more indecently than ought to be mentioned. Even one Sunday morning they made such an uproar as that they broke one of the windows, after that they would go with him to his chapel, and, after that, he would give the sacrament to such disorderly people, let their characters be ever so loose.

“He was always ready to go fast enough out to dinner or supper where he could get good eating and drinking, but poor people might send to him from their sick bed times and times before he would come to them. Seeing so much of his inconsistencies and shocking filthiness in their rooms, (though they always paid their rent,) we were determined to give them warning to quit our house, and we do not think that a worse man or woman ever came into any house before, especially as Mr. Church pretended to preach the gospel; such hypocrites are much worse than others, and, besides this, we never heard a man tell lies so fast in all our lives. It is a great grief to us that ever we went to hear him preach, or suffered him to stop so long in our house.”

George and Frances Gee.

It appears from the testimony of George Tarrier, and James Russell, of Redcross-street; of Richard Jessop, of Castle-street; and William Williams of the Mint; that the Rev. John Church, on the 16th of November, 1809, also attended at the funeral of Richard Oakden, a clerk in the Bank, who was hung before Newgate, for an abominable offence, on 14th November, 1809. This pious minister and his partizans returned to the Hat and Feathers, Gravel-lane, kept by a Mr. Richardson, where the funeral set out from, to partake of a jovial dinner. His conduct here, it seems, was beyond description.