CURIOSITIES RESPECTING MAN.—(Concluded.)

William Huntingdon, a very eccentric personage, who was originally a coal-heaver, and afterwards became a popular preacher of the Calvinistic persuasion. The following account, formed principally from the preacher’s own words, was first presented to the public in the first volume of “The Pulpit,” 1809. Excepting the circumstance of enlarging his name from Hunt to Huntingdon, which is stated as one of the inevitable consequences of “the follies of his youth,” Mr. Huntingdon has already written, with tolerable truth, the greater portion of the history of himself.

He was born, he says, in the Weald of Kent; and “suffered much from his parents’ poverty, when young.” He long felt other disadvantages attending his birth. Being born in “none of the most polite parts of the world,” he “retained a good deal of his provincial dialect;” so that many of his “expressions sounded very harsh and uncouth.” Of this he complains, with some cause, as it afterwards occasioned numbers of “unsanctified critics to laugh and cavil at” him. He was first an errand boy, then a daily labourer, then a cobbler; and, though he “worked by day,” and “cobbled by night,” he, at one time, “lived upon barley.” His first ministerial preparation is thus told:

“I had now (says Mr. H.) five times a week to preach constantly: on which account I was forced to lay the Bible in a chair by me, and now and then read a little, in order to furnish myself with matter for the pulpit. It sometimes happened that I was under sore temptations and desertions: the Bible, too, appeared a sealed book, insomuch that I could not furnish myself with a text; nor durst I leave my work in order to study or read the Bible; if I did, my little ones would soon want bread; my business would also run very cross at those times.” His earnings did not then amount to more than eight shillings per week. Even when his state grew better, when he got his first “parsonic livery” on his back, he could not study at his ease. “My little cot (he says) was placed in a very vulgar neighbourhood, and the windows were so very low, that I could not study at any of them, without being exposed to the view of my enemies; who often threw stones through the glass, or saluted me with a volley of oaths or imprecations.” This must have been painful enough to one whose “memory was naturally bad.” Providence had long furnished him with very superior accommodations. After many years of itinerant and irregular preaching, William Huntingdon, weary of living at Thames Ditton, secretly longed to leave it, fully persuaded that he “should end his ministry in London.”

“Having unsuccessfully laboured in the vineyard of the country,” and as he “did not see that God had any thing more for him to do there,” he, like one Durant of late, “saw the Lord himself open the door” for his removal. He had resolved to be off; and he contrived to get off. He was now, as he himself says, “to perch upon the thick boughs.” Ditton was to be left for London. Yet had poor Ditton not been so unkind to him. “Some few years before I was married,” says Mr. H. “all my personal effects used to be carried in my hand, or on my shoulders, in one or two large handkerchiefs; but after marriage, for some few years, I used to carry all the goods that we had gotten, on my shoulders, in a large sack: but when we removed from Thames Ditton to London, we loaded two large carts with furniture and other necessaries; besides a post-chaise, well filled with children and cats.”

Being viewed as ludicrous while in the country, he was fearful of being considered as ridiculous elsewhere. I here transcribe his words: “At this (says Mr. H.—having been advertised in Margaret-street Chapel,) I was sorely offended, being very much averse to preaching in London, for several reasons. First, because I had been told it abounded so much with all sorts of errors, that I was afraid of falling into them, there were so many that lay in wait to deceive. Secondly, because I had no learning, and therefore feared I should not be able to deliver myself with any degree of propriety; and as I knew nothing of Greek or Hebrew, nor even of the English Grammar, that I should be exposed to the scourging tongue of every critic in London.”“During many weeks, (he adds,) I laboured under much distress of mind respecting my want of abilities to preach in this great metropolis.” I think this one of the few rational passages to be found in the “Bank of Faith.” Mr. Huntingdon here candidly confesses his own conviction of his then ministerial incompetency, and expresses his apprehension as to the probable nullity of his divine mission. His call seems to fail him now. He feels just as most men would feel in the same state,—fears just as they would fear,—and takes the same chance as to the great end he had in view. “During the space of three years, (says Mr. Huntingdon,) I secretly wished in my soul, that God would favour me with a chapel of my own, being sick of the errors that were perpetually broached by some one or other in Margaret-street Chapel, where I then preached. But though I so much desired this, yet I could not ask God for such a favour, thinking it was not to be brought about by one so very mean, low, and poor as myself. However, God sent a person, unknown to me, to look at a certain spot, who afterwards took me to look at it; but I trembled at the very thought of such an immense undertaking. Then God stirred up a wise man to offer to build a chapel, and to manage the whole work without fee or reward. God drew the pattern on his imagination, while he was hearing me preach a sermon. I then took the ground; this person executed the plan; and the chapel sprung up like a mushroom. As soon as it was finished, this precious scripture came sweet to my soul, ‘He will fulfil the desire of them that fear him:’ Psa. cxlv. 19.

“I will now inform my reader of the kind providence of my God at the time of building the chapel, which I named Providence Chapel (1788); and also mention a few free-will-offerings which the people brought. They first offered about eleven pounds, and laid it on the foundation at the beginning of the building. A good gentleman, with whom I had but little acquaintance, and of whom I bought a load of timber, sent it in with a bill and receipt-in-full, as a present to the Chapel of Providence. Another good man came with tears in his eyes, and blessed me, and desired to paint my pulpit, desk, &c. as a present to the chapel. Another person gave half a dozen chairs for the vestry; and my friends, Mr. and Mrs. Lyon, furnished me with a tea-chest, well stored, and a set of china. My good friends, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, furnished me with a very handsome bed, bedstead, and all its furniture and necessaries, that I might not be under the necessity of walking home in the cold winter nights. A daughter of mine in the faith, gave me a looking-glass for my chapel study. Another friend gave me my pulpit-cushion, and a book-case for my study. Another gave me a book-case for the vestry. And my good friend, Mr. E. seemed to level all his displeasure at the devil; for he was in hopes I should be enabled, through the gracious arm of the Lord, to cut Rahab in pieces; therefore he furnished me with a sword of the Spirit—a new Bible, with Morocco binding and silver clasps. I had got one old cart-horse, (says W. H.) that I had bought with the rest of the stock on the farm, and I wanted two more, but money ran short; and I determined also to have a large tilted cart, to take my family to chapel, and the man should drive it on the Sunday and on lecture nights, and I would ride my little horse. This was the most eligible plan that I could adopt; and on this I determined, as soon as God should send money to procure them. I came to this conclusion on a Friday; and on the next day, toward evening, came two or three friends from town to see me. I wondered not a little at their coming, as they knew that on a Saturday I never like to see any body, and therefore I conceived that they must be come with some heavy tidings; some friend was dead, or something bad had happened. But they came to inform me that some friends had agreed among themselves, and bought me a coach and a pair of horses, which they intended to make me a present of. I informed them that the assessed taxes ran so high, that I should not be able to keep it. But they stopped my mouth by informing me, that the money for paying the taxes for the coach and horses was subscribed also; so that nothing lay upon me, but the keep of the horses. Thus, instead of being at the expense of a tilted cart, God sent me a coach without cost, and two horses without my purchasing them; and which, with my other old horse, would do the work of the farm, as well as the work of the coach; and my bailiff informed me that he could drive it, having formerly drove one. Thus was I set up. But at this time the pocket was bare, and many things were wanting, both in the house and on the farm, and a place to fit up for my bailiff and dairy-woman to live in. And it was but a few days afterward before a gentleman out of the country called upon me; and, being up in my study with me, he said, ‘My friend, I often told you, you would keep your coach before you died; and I always promised, that whenever you had a coach, I would give you a pair of horses; and I will not be worse than my word. I have inquired of Father Green, and he tells me that the horses cost forty-five pounds, and there is the money.’ In a day or two after, the coach, horses, and harness, came; and, having now a little money, I wrote to a friend in the country to send me twelve ewes, and a male with them; and he sent me twelve excellent ones, and the male with them, but would not be paid for them; they were a present to the farm. ‘Whoso is wise and will observe these things, even they shall understand the loving-kindness of the Lord.’ Ps. cvii. 43.”Much did Mr. Huntingdon owe to the singularity of his ways. Singular in his outset and career, singular in his opinions, singular in his own appearance, singular in his chapel, singular in his style of preaching, he seemed to know, as well as most men, the value of singularity. He not only excelled in extempore eloquence, but his peculiarities distinguished him from most other preachers. Having formally announced his text, he laid his Bible at once aside, and never referred to it again. Having laid on one side the volume of inspiration, and disdaining the trammels of transcription, he proceeded directly to his object; and, excepting incidental digressions, as, “Take care of your pockets!” “Wake that snoring sinner!” “Silence that noisy numscull!” “Turn out that drunken dog!” excepting such occasional digressions, which, like the episodes of poetry, must, when skilfully introduced, be understood to heighten the effect of the whole, our orator never deviated from the course in which he commenced his eccentric career of ministerial labour.

He had other advantages over many of his pulpit compeers. Being of the metaphorical and allegorical school, as well as possessing his citations by rote, there is seldom to be found the passage, from the book of Genesis to the Revelation of St. John, that may not have, remotely or allusively, some connection with the subject immediately under his investigation. Hence the variety, as well as the fertility, of his eloquence. Hence the novelty of his commentaries; his truly astonishing talent of reconciling texts, else undoubtedly incongruous; and of discovering dissimilarities, and asserting difficulties, where none were believed to exist. Nothing could exceed the dictatorial dogmatism of this famous preacher. Believe him, none but him,—and that is enough. If he aimed thus to pin the faith of those who hear him, he would say over and over, “As sure as I am born, ’tis,” &c. or, “I believe this,” or, “I know this,” “I am sure of it,” or, “I believe the plain English of it (some difficult text) to be,” &c. When he adds, as he was wont, by way of fixing his point, “Now, you can’t help it,” or, “So it is,” or, “It must be so in spite of you,” he did this with a most significant shake of his head, with a sort of beldam hauteur, with all the dignity of defiance. Action he seemed to have none, except that of shifting his handkerchief from hand to hand, and hugging his cushion as though it were his bolster. He therefore owed his distinction to the absence of those qualities by which most men rise. Self has done great things for him: self-taught, self-raised, all of self. “God (says Mr. H.) enabled me to put out several little books, which were almost universally exclaimed against, both by preachers and professors, and by these means God sent them into all winds; so that I soon rubbed off one hundred, and soon after another, so that, in a short time, I had reduced my thousand pounds (debt) down to seven hundred.”

Of his works, he adds, that “they are calculated (as he thinks,) to suit the earnest inquirer; the soul in bondage, in the furnace, in the path of tribulation, or in the strong hold of Satan; and (says he) I have heard of them from Wales, from Scotland, from Ireland, from various parts of America, from Cadiz in Spain, from Alexandria in Egypt, and, I believe, from both the East and West Indies.”

His “Bank of Faith” has proved a bank of gold! When he wrote so much of what came to him as gifts, was it not to rouse more to give? The man who says he lives by gifts, will, as he gets his friends, find gifts by which he may live. He died at London, in 1813; and such was the avidity of his adherents to obtain a relic of him, that his furniture sold at ten times the original value. An old chair went off at forty pounds.