Part 8

Boswell informs us that Dr. Johnson would not allow much merit to Whitfield's oratory. "His popularity, Sir," said he, "is chiefly owing to the peculiarity of his manner. He would be followed by crowds were he to wear a nightcap in the pulpit, or were he to preach from a tree." And again: "Whitfield never drew as much attention as a mountebank does; he did not draw attention by doing better than others, but by doing what was strange. Were Astley to preach a sermon standing upon his head on a horse's back, he would collect a multitude to hear him; but no wise man would say he had made a better sermon for that. I never treated Whitfield's ministry with contempt; I believe he did good. He had devoted himself to the lower classes of mankind, and among them he was of use. But when familiarity and noise claim the praise due to knowledge, art, and elegance, we must beat down such pretensions."

DR. WOLCOT ("PETER PINDAR") IN JAMAICA.

Dr. Wolcot, the patron of Opie, and better known to fame as "Peter Pindar," practised medicine--descending from a family, members of which in several generations had followed the same profession in Devon and Cornwall. Sir William Trelawny, when he went as Governor to Jamaica, took Wolcot out as surgeon to his household; and there he figured in several characters--as grand master of the ceremonies, private secretary, and chaplain. Whether or not he ever received regular ordination, it is certain that Wolcot acted as rector in the colony for some time; and odd stories of his behaviour as a parish priest were current among his friends as well as his enemies. He read prayers and preached when a congregation presented itself; but that was not oftener than about every fourth Sunday. He was a capital shot, and, with his clerk, used to amuse himself with shooting pigeons. Having shot their way to the church, the pair were wont to wait ten minutes in the porch for the arrival of the congregation; at the end of which time, if nobody appeared, the reverend sportsmen returned to their amusement. If a few negroes only presented themselves at the church, the rector bought them off with a little money; and one old negro, finding out Wolcot's weakness, after a time attended every Sunday, when the rector would address him: "What do you come here for, blackee?" "Why, Massa, for to hear your good sermon and all the prayer ob de church." "Would not a _bit_ or two do you more good?" "Yes, massa doctor; me lub prayer much, but me lub money too." The little transaction would then take place, and the darky retire grinning; and it is said that this man drew thus an income from Wolcot for a whole year. When he returned to England, Wolcot did not succeed in obtaining a practice, and abandoned both physic and divinity for satire--which yielded him a good income while he lived, and won him fame both with his own generation and with posterity.

CHARITY OF ARCHBISHOP TILLOTSON.

In 1685, Archbishop Tillotson avowed himself a warm advocate for affording charitable relief to the French refugees, on the recall of the Edict of Nantes. Dr. Beveridge, the prebendary of Canterbury, having objected to reading a brief for this purpose, as contrary to the rubric, the Archbishop observed to him roughly, "Doctor, Doctor, charity is above all rubrics." While Tillotson was in a private station, he always laid aside two-tenths of his income for charitable uses; and after his elevation to the mitre, he so constantly expended all that he could spare of his annual revenues in acts of beneficence, that the only legacy which he was able to leave to his family consisted of two volumes of sermons, the value of which, however, was such, that the copyright brought not less than £2500. Of Tillotson it is told that once, when King William III. complained of the shortness of his sermon, he replied, "Sire, could I have bestowed more time upon it, it would not have been so long."

DRUBBING-IN RELIGIOUS FEELING.

Pietro della Valle, "who," says Southey, "could be amused at the superstition of others," reports that when the _Ecce Homo_ was displayed during a sermon in the Jesuit church at Goa, the women used to beat their servants if they did not cry enough to please them.

BON-MOTS OF SYDNEY SMITH.

Sydney Smith was once dining in company with a French gentleman, who had before dinner indulged in a number of free-thinking speculations, and ended by avowing himself a materialist. "Very good soup, this," said Mr. Smith. "Yes, Sir, it is excellent," was the reply. "Pray, Sir, do you _believe_ in a _cook_?" inquired Mr. Smith.--"Do you believe in the apostolical succession?" inquired one of Smith. "I do," he replied; "and my faith in that dogma dates from the moment I became acquainted with the Bishop of ----, _who is so like Judas!_"--In preaching a charity sermon, Sydney Smith frequently repeated the assertion that, of all nations, Englishmen were most distinguished for their generosity, and the love of their _species_. The collection happening to be inferior to his expectation, provoked him to say, that he had evidently made a great mistake; for that his expression should have been, that they were distinguished for the love of their _specie_.--On the departure of Bishop Selwyn for his diocese, New Zealand, Smith, when taking his leave of him, said: "Good-bye, my dear Selwyn; I hope you will not _disagree_ with the man who eats you!"--A friend of Smith inquired, "What is Puseyism?" To which the witty canon replied: "Puseyism, Sir, is inflexion and genuflexion; posture and imposture; bowing to the east, and curtseying to the west."

THE ORIGIN OF OUR INDIAN COMMERCE.

It is perhaps not generally known, says Wadd, in his _Memoirs_, that it was an English surgeon of the name of Broughton whose good fortune it was to open the commerce of India to his countrymen, by the following accident. Having been sent from Surat to Agra in the year 1636, to treat one of the daughters of the Emperor Shah Jehan, he had the good fortune to cure the Princess. By way of recompense, the Emperor, among other favours, gave him the privilege of a free commerce throughout the whole extent of his dominions. Broughton immediately returned to Bengal, to purchase goods, and transmit them by sea to Surat. Scarcely had he returned when he was requested to attend the favourite of the Nabob of the province, labouring under a very dangerous disease. Having fortunately restored his patient to health, the Nabob settled a pension upon him, confirmed the privilege of the Emperor, and promised to allow the same to all the English who should come to Bengal. Broughton communicated all this to the English Governor at Surat, and it was by the advice of the latter that the company sent from England, in 1640, two ships to Bengal. Such was the origin of a commerce that has since been carried to so great an extent--and made the foundation of a vast empire.

CHARLES II. AND BISHOP STILLINGFLEET.

Charles the Second once demanded of Dr. Stillingfleet, who was a preacher to the Court, "Why he read his sermons before him, when on every other occasion his sermons were delivered extempore?" The Bishop answered, that, overawed by so many great and noble personages, and in the presence of his Sovereign, he dared not to trust his powers. "And now," said the divine, "will your Majesty permit me to ask a question?" "Certainly," said the condescending monarch. "Why, then, does your Majesty read your speeches, when it may be presumed that _you_ can have no such reason?" "Why, truly," said the King, "I have asked my subjects so often for money, that I am ashamed to look them in the face."

A TOO PERSONAL APPLICATION.

When Dr. Beadon was rector of Eltham, in Kent, his text one day was, "Who art thou?" After reading the text, he made a pause, for the congregation to reflect upon the words; when a gentleman, in a military dress, who at the instant was marching very sedately up the middle aisle of the church, supposing it a question addressed to him, to the surprise of all present replied, "I am, Sir, an officer of the sixteenth regiment of foot, on a recruiting party here; and having brought my wife and family with me, I wish to be acquainted with the neighbouring clergy and gentry." This so deranged the divine, and astonished the congregation, that though they attempted to listen with decorum, the service was not continued without considerable difficulty.

PREACHING TO PURPOSE.

Burnet records that "two entries made in the Council Books, show the good effects of Latimer's zealous preaching. On the 10th of March he brought in £104 recovered of one who had concealed it from the King, and a little after, £363 of the King's money." The amount of this conscience-money must of course be multiplied manifold, to estimate aright the penetrating and persuading power of the preacher. Latimer's style of preaching is said to have been extremely captivating; simple and familiar, often enlivened with anecdote, irony, and humour; and still oftener swelling into strains of most impassioned and awakening eloquence. Of the earnestness of his manner, which could lead to the disgorgement of great plunder by unscrupulous men, the following, from a sermon against the corruptions of the age, may be taken as a sample:--"Take heed and beware of covetousness; take heed and beware of covetousness; take heed and beware of covetousness. And what if I should say nothing else these three or four hours but these words? Great complaints there are of it, and much crying out, and much preaching, but little amendment that I can see; Covetousness is the root of all evil. Then have at the root; out with your swords, ye preachers, and strike at the root. Stand not ticking and toying at the branches, for new branches will spring out again, but strike at the root; and fear not these great men, these men of power, these oppressors of the needy--fear them not, but strike at the root." In another sermon, Latimer himself gives some account of the restitutions he brought about:--"At my first preaching of restitution, one man took remorse of conscience, and acknowledged himself to me that he had deceived the King, and willing he was to make restitution; and so the first Lent came to my hands £20 to be restored to the King's use. I was promised £20 more the same Lent; but it could not be made, so that it came not. Well, the next Lent came £320 more. I received it myself and paid it to the King's council. So I was asked what he was that made this restitution. But should I have named him? Nay, they should as soon have this weasand of mine. Well, now, this Lent came £180, 10s. which I was paid, and delivered this present day to the King's council; and so this man hath made a godly restitution. And so, quoth I to a certain nobleman that is one of the King's council, if every man that hath beguiled the King should make restitution after this sort, it would cough the King £20,000 I think, said I. Yea, that it would, quoth the other, a whole £100,000. Alack! alack! make restitution for God's sake; ye will cough in hell else, that all the devils there will laugh at your coughing. There is no remedy but restitution, open or secret, or else hell."

SERVANT AND MASTER.

A preacher who differed in opinion with Adolphus Gunn, called upon him, and being known, was denied admittance, "Mr. Gunn being busy in his study." "Tell him," said the importunate visitor, "that a servant of the Lord wishes to speak to him." Gunn sent back this answer: "Tell the servant of the Lord that I am engaged with his Master."

DR. BARROWBY,

Who lived about the middle of last century, when canvassing for a post in St. Bartholomew's Hospital, called upon a grocer in Snow Hill, one of the governors. The grocer was sitting in his counting-house, and thence saw the Doctor enter the shop. Knowing his person, and having little doubt that the object of his visit was to solicit his vote at the approaching election, the grocer immediately donned his hat and spectacles, and greatest parochial consequence, and, strutting into the shop with an insolent air of patronage, addressed the Doctor with--"Well, friend, and what is your business?" Barrowby promptly and quietly said, "I want a pound of plums;" and after the abashed and mortified grocer had weighed them out and put them up, Barrowby paid for them and walked off without saying a word. (This story has been erroneously told of Abernethy.) Of the same Dr. Barrowby, it is related that an Irish gentleman, whom the College of Physicians had declined to pass, called next day on him, and insisted upon fighting him, as being one of the Censors who had been the authors of the rejection. Barrowby, who was small of stature, declined to fight. "I am only the third Censor," he said, "in point of age; you must first call out your countryman, Sir Hans Sloane, our President, and when you have fought him and the two senior Censors, then I shall be ready to meet you."

A DESIRABLE CURE OF SOULS.

Southey copied the following from Jackson's _Oxford Journal_:--

"NEXT PRESENTATION.

"To be sold by auction, by Hoggart and Philips, at the Auction Mart, opposite the Bank of England, on Thursday next, the 11th day of April 1811, the next presentation to a most valuable living, in one of the first sporting counties. The vicinity affords the best coursing in England, also excellent fishing, an extensive cover for game, and numerous packs of fox-hounds, harriers, etc.; it is half-an-hour's ride from one of the first cities, and not far distant from several most fashionable watering-places; the surrounding country is beautiful and healthful, and the society elegant and fashionable. The incumbent is about fifty years of age. Particulars may be had," etc. etc.

BEAU NASH'S TREATMENT OF A PRESCRIPTION.

When Beau Nash was ill, Dr. Cheyne wrote a prescription for him. Next day the Doctor, coming to see his patient, asked him if he had followed the prescription. "No, truly, Doctor," was the answer of Nash; "if I had I should have broken my neck, for I threw it out of a two pair of stairs' window."

PULTENEY'S CURE BY SMALL BEER.

Mr. Pulteney, afterwards the Earl of Bath, lay (about 1730) for a long time at Lord Chetwynd's house of Ingestre, in Staffordshire, sick, very dangerously, of a pleuritic fever. This illness cost him an expense of 750 guineas for physicians; and, after all, his cure was accomplished merely by a draught of small beer. Dr. Hope, Dr. Swynsen, and other physicians from Stafford, Lichfield, and Derby, were called in, and carried off about 250 guineas of the patient's money, leaving the malady just where they found it. Dr. Freind went down post from London, with Mrs. Pulteney, and received 300 guineas for the journey. Dr. Broxholm went from Oxford, and received 200 guineas. When these two physicians, who were Pulteney's particular friends, arrived, they found his case to be quite desperate, and gave him over, saying that everything had been done that could be done. They prescribed some few medicines, but without the least effect. He was still alive, and was heard to mutter, in a low voice, "Small beer, small beer." They said, "Give him small beer, or anything." Accordingly, a great silver cup was brought, which held two quarts of small beer; they ordered an orange to be squeezed into it, and gave it to him. Pulteney drank off the whole at a draught, and demanded another. Another cupful was administered to him; and soon after that he fell into a profuse perspiration and a profound slumber for nearly twenty-four hours. In his case the saying was eminently verified, "If he sleep he shall do well." From that time forth, he recovered wonderfully, insomuch that in a few days the physicians took their leave. The joy over his recovery was diffused over the whole country; for he was then in the height of that popularity which, after his elevation to the peerage, he completely forfeited.

A WITTY FRENCH PREACHER.

A French preacher, called Father André, was nicknamed by his Bishop _le petit fallot_ (the little lantern). Having to preach before the prelate, André determined to notice this, and took for his text, "Ye are the light of the world." Addressing himself to the Bishop, he said, "Vous etês, monseigneur, le grand fallot de l'église, nous ne sommes que de petits fallots." Father André, preaching before an Archbishop, perceived him to be asleep during the sermon, and thought of the following method to awake him. Turning to the beadle of the church, he said in a loud voice, "Shut the doors, the shepherd is asleep, and the sheep are going out, to whom I am announcing the word of God." This sally caused a stir in the audience, which awoke the Archbishop. Being once to announce a collection for a young lady, to enable her to take the veil, he said, before the commencement of his sermon, "Friends, I recommend to your charity a young lady, who has not enough to enable her to make a vow of poverty." Preaching during the whole of Lent in a town where he was never invited to dine, he said, in his farewell sermon, "I have preached against every vice except that of good living--which, I believe, is not to be found among you, and therefore needed not my reproach."

CROMWELL AND RICHARD BAXTER.

After Cromwell had seized on the government, Richard Baxter, the celebrated Nonconformist divine, once preached before the Protector, when he made use of the following text: "Now, I beseech you, brethren, by the name of our Lord Jesus the Christ, that ye all speak the same thing, and that there be no division amongst you; but that ye be perfectly joined together in the same mind, and in the same judgment." The discourse on these words was levelled against the divisions and distractions which then prevailed, especially in the Church. After the sermon, Cromwell sent for Mr. Baxter, and made a long and serious speech to him, about God's providence in the change of the government, and the great things which had been done at home and abroad. Mr. Baxter answered, that it was too condescending in his Highness to acquaint him so fully with all these matters, which were above his understanding; but that the honest people of the land took their ancient monarchy to be a blessing, and not an evil, and humbly craved his patience, that he might ask how they had forfeited that blessing? At this question Cromwell became angry; he said, "There was no forfeiture; but God had changed things as it pleased Him;" and after reviling the Parliament which thwarted him, and especially by name four or five members who were particular friends of Mr. Baxter, he dismissed the worthy divine with signs of great displeasure.

MESSENGER MONSEY'S DYING JESTS.

Dr. Messenger Monsey, the great grandfather of Lord Cranworth (so at least Mr. Jeafferson affirms), was appointed physician to Chelsea Hospital through the influence of Godolphin, and, after holding that office for about half a century, died in his rooms at Chelsea in 1788, in his ninety-fifth year. The eccentricities that had characterized his prime continued to distinguish him to the last. In consequence of his great age, many intending candidates for the office went down to Chelsea, in order to contemplate the various advantages and _agrémens_ of the situation, and observe the progress of the tenacious incumbent towards final recumbency. Monsey, who was at once a humorist, and possessed of a sharp eye for a visitor of this order, one day espied in the College walks a reconnoitring doctor, whom he thus accosted: "So, Sir, I find you are one of the candidates to succeed me." The physician bowed. Monsey proceeded: "But you will be confoundedly disappointed." "Disappointed!" exclaimed the physician, with quivering lips. "Yes," returned Monsey; "you expect to outlive me; but I can discern from your countenance, and other concomitant circumstances, that you are deceiving yourself--you will certainly die first; though, as I have nothing to expect from that event, I shall not rejoice at your death, as I am persuaded you would at mine." It actually fell out as Monsey (possibly only by way of a ghastly jest) had foretold; the candidate lived but a short time. The Doctor was so diverted with checking the aspiring hopes of his brethren of the faculty, that whenever he saw a physician on the look-out, he was not content till he had gone down to comfort him in the same manner. He did so to several; and it is very remarkable--if it be true, as it is alleged--that his predictions were in every case verified. At last the medical speculators shrank in superstitious alarm from Chelsea, and left Monsey to die in peace; indeed, when his death happened, the Minister of the day was not engaged by a single promise, nor had he had for some time a single application for the place of physician to the College. Monsey got out of his own death as much grim fun as he had out of the poor prying place-hunters. A few days before he died, he wrote to Mr. Cruickshanks, the anatomist, begging to know whether it would suit his convenience to undertake the dissection of his body, as he felt that he could not live many hours, and Mr. Forster, his surgeon, was then out of town. The dissection was one of the instructions of his eccentric and rather brutal will; his body was not to be subjected to the insult of any funeral ceremony, but, after the surgeon had finished with it, "the remainder of my carcase may be put into a hole, or crammed into a box with holes, and thrown into the Thames." His will was, so far as regards the dissection, faithfully carried out; Mr. Forster dissected the body, and delivered a lecture upon it to the medical students in the theatre of Guy's Hospital. Before he had disposed of his body by will in the manner described, and when he meant to be buried in his garden, he had written an epitaph eminently characteristic of his violent cynicism and contempt of things sacred:--

MONSEY'S EPITAPH, WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.

"Here lie my old bones; my vexation now ends; I have lived much too long for myself and my friends. As to churches and churchyards, which men may call holy, 'Tis a rank piece of priestcraft, and founded on folly. What the next world may be, never troubled my pate; And be what it may, I beseech you, O fate! When the bodies of millions rise up in a riot, To let the old carcase of Monsey be quiet."

UNMISTAKEABLE IDENTITY.

A Reverend Doctor in London was what is usually termed a popular preacher. His reputation, however, had been gained not by his drawing largely on his own stores of knowledge or eloquence, but by the skill with which he appropriated the thoughts and language of the great divines who had gone before him. With fashionable audiences, lightly versed in pulpit lore, he passed for a miracle of erudition and pathos. It did, for all that, once happen to him to be detected in his larcenies. One Sunday, as he was beginning to amaze and delight his admirers, a grave old gentleman seated himself close to the pulpit, and listened with close attention. The preacher had hardly finished his third sentence, before the old gentleman muttered, loud enough to be heard by those near, "That's Sherlock!" The Doctor frowned, but went on. He had not proceeded much further, when his tormentor broke out with, "That's Tillotson!" The Doctor bit his lips and paused, but, considering discretion the better part of valour, again proceeded. A third exclamation of "That's Blair!" however, was too much, and fairly deprived him of patience. Leaning over the pulpit, he cried, "Fellow, if you do not hold your tongue, you shall be turned out!" Without moving a muscle of his face, the grave old gentleman raised his head, and, looking the Doctor full in the face, retorted, "_That's his own!_"

WHITFIELD AND THE NEW YORK SAILORS.