University of Virginia Library


273

Huntington.

But then I sigh, and with a piece of Scripture
Tell them that God bids us do good for evil:
And thus I clothe my naked villany
With old odd ends, stol'n forth of Holy Writ,
And seem a Saint when most I play the Devil.

If truth now is in me, I blush, gentle reader,
To note down the tenets of shameful seceder
From Protestant doctrine, whose purpose was pelf,
Converting Religion to benefit—self.
From brain of this hypocrite works without number
Have serv'd to accumulate blasphemous lumber.

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Unlike former Wesleys, who virtues possess'd,
A Whitfield or Hill, though I deem each a pest,

275

This coal-heaver vow'd he was link'd in God's tether,
Who prov'd famous maker of short-clothes of leather,

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Of Taylors great master—renown'd for all stitches,
Purveyor, that gratis found Coat, Waistcoat, Breeches;
With precepts thus damning to sense and the soul,
Our Huntington gain'd curst profanity's goal.
Even Wilberforce self such vile trash must deride,
Since the knave and the fool thro' this code are descried.
With Methodist dogmas the press teems we find,
Nor will the Dissenters e'en lag far behind;

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But when such a race of iniquity's run,
As tarnish'd the annals of Bill Huntington,

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No longer with laughter as folly I treat it,
From blasphemy shrinking, with terror I meet it,

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And with wonder contemplate the source of all Grace,
That suffer'd such monster its name to debase.
 

The numerous compositions of this arch-hypocrite are not only a disgrace to the press, but a melancholy proof of the besotted state into which a large portion of the community has sunk, which can tolerate such barefaced profanation. As it would be wasting words to say more in reprehension of the writings to which I allude, the remainder of this stricture shall be dedicated to anecdotes, in some measure illustrative of the rhapsodical nonsense of these defilers of the principles of salvation.

The following is a definition of the spirit of salvation delivered by the Rev. Mr. Owen, late of Fulham, in a style which by far surpasses any definition handed down to us by Dr. Johnson, the great pioneer of literature.

“The spirit of salvation is a sweetly vibrating testimonial, a soul comforting assurance, that we are treading in the way pointed out by the warp of all nature, to that final goal of soul subduing bliss, in etherial regions of transcendant emotion of the mind, distinct from material sensation, for ever receiving and exciting it with the new warmth of their everlasting ecstasies, made more dear by uniting with him in tenfold folds of unsubstantial sympathy, rendered doubly pleasing by the almost inextinguishable flame of all pervading love. This (says Mr. O.) is the only definition that, in my humble opinion, has any claim to intelligibility.”

Some years back, two sailors went ashore at Charles Town, Carolina; they naturally advanced towards a crowd which had gathered round the celebrated Whitfield, who was preaching with great vehemence against the sins of his auditory. The tars arrived just in time to hear the pastor exclaim, with infinite force of gesticulation, “and I your pastor, your teacher, shall be forced to bear witness against you at the awful day of judgment.”— “Halloo, Jack!” cried one of the sailors, who was divided by the crowd from his messmate, “D—n my eyes, if that isn't just as it goes at the Old Bailey; the greatest rogue always turns king's evidence.”

Dr. Bacon, some time fellow of Oxford, chanced one morning to ride by a methodist chapel, and on seeing these words, “Let your moderation be known to all men,” painted in large capitals on the door, he alighted, took out his pencil, and wrote the following lines immediately under:

What! talk of moderation, sons of w—res!
Who've shut your moderation out of doors.

In order to expose the advocates and writers in support of these anti-protestant opinions, one Joseph Nightingale published a work, entitled A Portrait of Methodism and Catholicism, which places the followers of these doctrines in the most disgusting point of view; it may not be superfluous to add, that the writer of the work in question has not enrolled his name with the booksellers in a manner very creditable to himself on the score of honourable dealing.

Having advanced so much in opposition to this class of writers, generally speaking, I cannot in justice withhold the following curious statement, which proves that there is no rule without an exception.

At the York Assizes, in 1803, John Holden, clerk to a respectable house in Leeds, was tried on a charge of forgery, found guilty, and received condemnation: his family sustained a very respectable rank in Halifax, and his father in particular was a most worthy character. Immediately after the sentence passed upon the unhappy son, a dissenting minister in that neighbourhood, of the Baptist persuasion, who had been long and intimately attached to the father, presumed to address his Majesty in a moving petition for the pardon of the son of his deceased friend. Fully aware that it has been almost an invariable rule with the Sovereign to grant no pardon for the crime of forgery, he had little hopes of success; but his petition prevailed, and the pardon was granted. That the solicitation of a private individual should thus have succeeded, while similar applications, urged by numbers and backed with the weight of personal influence, should have failed, may no doubt excite astonishment: the following circumstance, however, the veracity of which may be relied upon, will tend to explain the singularity of the preceding statement. In the year 1802, a divine, preaching before the Royal Family, quoted a passage, illustrative of his text, from a living author, whose name however was not mentioned. The extract arrested the King's attention, who, at the conclusion of the service, inquired from what author the quotation was made; when, being informed that he was a dissenting minister resident in Yorkshire, his Majesty gave orders for the book to be procured, and the author was made acquainted with his Sovereign's pleasure. The work was accordingly transmitted to the King, accompanied by a letter, expressive of the sense the author entertained of the high honour thus conferred upon him. It is said that his Majesty was so highly gratified with the production, that he desired the author might be informed of his readiness to serve him. The petition, presented for the pardon of the young man shortly after, afforded this disinterested and amiable minister the opportunity of supplicating at the hands of his Monarch the exercise of his royal prerogative; while at the same time it exhibited a no less favourable characteristic of the Sovereign, who by his acquiescence evinced the truth and sincerity of his proffered service. That our suffering Monarch, after having voluntarily given assurance of his favour to an obscure and humble (though meritorious) individual, should be induced to depart from an established rule rather than violate the sacredness of his pledge, displays a dignity of mind which elevates his character above all panegyric.

This man, whose sole aim was the accumulation of pelf, reminds me of an anecdote told of a pretended proselyte, who obtained from James the First the Deanery of Windsor. This personage was extremely fond of persuading others to acts of charity, but would never contribute himself; in consequence of which, upon application being made to the chapter of Windsor respecting some pecuniary concern, one of the prebends gave the following answer—“Qui suadet sua det.” As we are now occupied upon the subject of licensed preachers, the following statement will tend to prove that this mode of conduct is not of very recent date.

In 1555, Mr. Tavernier had a special license, signed by King Edward VI. to preach in any place of his Majesty's dominions, though he was a layman; and he is said to have preached before the King at court, wearing a velvet bonnet or round cap, a damask gown, and gold chain about his neck. He appeared in the pulpit at St. Mary's with a sword by his side, and a gold chain about his neck, and preached to the scholars, beginning his sermon in these words: “Arriving at the mount of St. Mary's, in the stony stage where I now stand, I have brought you some fine biscuits, baked in the oven of charity, carefully conserved for the chickens of the church, the sparrows of the spirit, and the sweet swallows of salvation.”