His “Defence of the Oratory” is a curious performance. He pretends to derive his own from great authority. “St. Paul is related, Acts 28, to have dwelt two whole years in his own hired house, and to have received all that came in unto him, teaching those things which concern the Lord Jesus Christ with all confidence, no man forbidding him. This was at Rome, and doubtless was his practice in his other travels, there being the same reason in the thing to produce elsewhere the like circumstances.” He proceeds to show “the calumnies and reproaches, and the novelty and impiety, with which Christianity, at its first setting out, was charged, as a mean, abject institution, not only useless and unserviceable, but pernicious to the public and its professors, as the refuse of the world.”—Of the false accusations raised against Jesus—all this he applies to himself and his oratory—and he concludes, that “Bringing men to think rightly will always be reckoned a depraving of their minds by those who are desirous to keep them in a mistake, and who measure all truth by the standard of their own narrow opinions, views, and passions. The principles of this institution are those of right reason: the first ages of Christianity; true facts, clear criticism, and polite literature—if these corrupt the mind, to find a place where the mind will not be corrupted will be impracticable.” Thus speciously could “the Orator” reason, raising himself to the height of apostolical purity. And when he was accused that he did all for lucre, he retorted, that “some do nothing for it;” and that “he preached more charity sermons than any clergyman in the kingdom.”
He once advertised an oration on marriage, which drew together an overflowing assembly of females, at which, solemnly shaking his head, he told the ladies, that “he was afraid, that oftentimes, as well as now, they came to church in hopes to get husbands, rather than be instructed by the preacher;” to which he added a piece of wit not quite decent. He congregated the trade of shoemakers, by offering to show the most expeditious method of making shoes: he held out a boot, and cut off the leg part. He gave a lecture, which he advertised was “for the instruction of those who do not like it; it was on the philosophy, history, and great use of Nonsense to the learned, political, and polite world, who excel in it.”
Dr. Cobden, one of George the Second’s chaplains, having, in 1748, preached a sermon at St. James’s from these words, “Take away the wicked from before the king, and his throne shall be established in righteousness,” it gave so much displeasure, that the doctor was struck out of the list of chaplains; and the next Saturday the following parody of his text appeared as a motto to Henley’s advertisement:
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“Away with the wicked before the king, And away with the wicked behind him; His throne it will bless With righteousness, And we shall know where to find him.” Chalmer’s “Biographical Dictionary.” |
The history of the closing years of Henley’s life is thus given in “The History of the Robin Hood Society,” 1764, a political club, whose debates he occasionally enlivened:—“The Orator, with various success, still kept up his Oratory, King George’s, or Charles’s Chapel, as he differently termed it, till the year 1759, when he died. At its first establishment it was amazingly crowded, and money flowed in upon him apace; and between whiles it languished and drooped: but for some years before its author’s death it dwindled away so much, and fell into such an hectic state, that the few friends of it feared its decease was very near. The doctor, indeed, kept it up to the last, determined it should live as long as he did, and actually exhibited many evenings to empty benches. Finding no one at length would attend, he admitted the acquaintances of his door-keeper, runner, mouth-piece, and some other of his followers, gratis. On the 13th of October, however, the doctor died, and the Oratory ceased; no one having iniquity or impudence sufficient to continue it on.”—Ed.