However great may be the mass of folly, ignorance, and fanaticism, which prevail throughout most of the low conventicles of this metropolis, and however injuriously they may operate on the human mind, their effects are innocence and virtue, compared to the influence of that guilt which has so recently been exposed; and it is not too much to observe that the poor silly visionaries who deal in pictures, in miracles, and monstrous conceits, are not wilfully or practically vicious, and that they have _lashed_ themselves into a belief of what they preach; therefore they cannot drag forward so close upon the heels of Mr. John Church as to hold out an appearance of their belonging to the same society. After Church having been held to bail for the purpose of being tried on charges not to be named among Christians, he ought to have abstained from entering his pulpit, and shunned the very light, until his character was cleared up to the satisfaction of his congregation, who ought to have deemed it a sacrilege to be present while he attempted to promulgate the doctrines of Christ in a place of divine worship. But one would think there was a congeniality of sentiment and of _sympathy_ between the pastor and the flock! Indeed this latter remark is founded upon something more than conjecture; for a great number of persons who are in the habit of frequenting his chapel, have taken up the cause of their preacher with a zeal that cannot easily be accounted for in any way but one. They will investigate no charge; they reject all evidence.
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 Boro’, and God opened Chaple 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 starv’d 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 Vauxhall, 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 an heart deprest, disconsolate, and full of woe. O the joy of my enemies! O the distress of my friends! O my poor heart! Let a sigh go up to God for me when you can.