Great Britain -- Social conditions -- 19th century; London (England) -- Description and travel
Not that I have any curiosity to hear powerful preachers. Time was, when
I was dragged by the hair of my head, as one may say, to hear too many.
On summer evenings, when every flower, and tree, and bird, might have
better addressed my soft young heart, I have in my day been caught in the
palm of a female hand by the crown, have been violently scrubbed from the
neck to the roots of the hair as a purification for the Temple, and have
then been carried off highly charged with saponaceous electricity, to be
steamed like a potato in the unventilated breath of the powerful
Boanerges Boiler and his congregation, until what small mind I had, was
quite steamed out of me. In which pitiable plight I have been haled out
of the place of meeting, at the conclusion of the exercises, and
catechised respecting Boanerges Boiler, his fifthly, his sixthly, and his
seventhly, until I have regarded that reverend person in the light of a
most dismal and oppressive Charade. Time was, when I was carried off to
platform assemblages at which no human child, whether of wrath or grace,
could possibly keep its eyes open, and when I felt the fatal sleep
stealing, stealing over me, and when I gradually heard the orator in
possession, spinning and humming like a great top, until he rolled,
collapsed, and tumbled over, and I discovered to my burning shame and
fear, that as to that last stage it was not he, but I. I have sat under
Boanerges when he has specifically addressed himself to us—us, the
infants—and at this present writing I hear his lumbering jocularity
(which never amused us, though we basely pretended that it did), and I
behold his big round face, and I look up the inside of his outstretched
coat-sleeve as if it were a telescope with the stopper on, and I hate him
with an unwholesome hatred for two hours. Through such means did it come
to pass that I knew the powerful preacher from beginning to end, all over
and all through, while I was very young, and that I left him behind at an
early period of life. Peace be with him! More peace than he brought to
me!
Now, I have heard many preachers since that time—not powerful; merely
Christian, unaffected, and reverential—and I have had many such preachers
on my roll of friends. But, it was not to hear these, any more than the
powerful class, that I made my Sunday journeys. They were journeys of
curiosity to the numerous churches in the City of London. It came into
my head one day, here had I been cultivating a familiarity with all the
churches of Rome, and I knew nothing of the insides of the old churches
of London! This befell on a Sunday morning. I began my expeditions that
very same day, and they lasted me a year.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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