Mr. Casson was a tall, burly man, with a strong Cumberland accent. He was full of quaint humour and homely anecdote, which he freely made use of in his sermons, much to the gratification of large portion of his hearers.
The following whimsical order of exemption from the Militia, which appeared amongst the returns posted on the door of St. Mary's church, Gateshead, is characteristic of the man:— “Exempt—a recruiting sergeant in the army of Immanuel, whose kingdom is not of this world, viz:—a licensed Wesleyan Methodist Preacher. Signed—Hodgson Casson.” This freak, together with another circumstance, made him famous.
When Mr. Casson came to Gateshead, there used to be a service every Wednesday evening in the chapel in High Street. One evening he had to conduct the service and coming in just upon the time for commencing, he observed that very few persons were present. He gazed about the chapel for a few seconds, and then remarking to the attendant that he did not like preaching to empty benches, took up his hat and walked out. He proceeded up High Street as far as Sunderland Road. Suddenly turning round, he gathered the tails of his coat under his arms, took off his hat, and commenced running back as hard as he could, shouting at the highest pitch of his voice: “A fight! A fight!” all the way until he reached the chapel. Of course, an immense crowd followed him, thinking he was mad, or that something extraordinary was taking place. He ran into the chapel followed by the crowd, and went direct into the pulpit. Facing the astonished assembly he as soon as they were somewhat settled, took off his coat, doubled up his shirt sleeves and said: ‘My friends you have come to see a fight; you shall not be disappointed; for I am just going to have one with the devil, and here’s a ‘set to.’” He then preached one of his characteristic sermons.
Mr. Casson had never reason to complain afterwards of having to “preach to empty benches.” Wherever he went, in town or country, the chapels were sure to be crowded. He was accustomed when preaching to illustrate his subject with such humorous stories, that it was no uncommon thing for his audience to be on the verge of laughter; indeed, sometimes they offended against the usual decorum, and gate vent to their feelings. When they did so, however, he turned their laughter to tears by some thrilling and pathetic story.
So popular a character as Mr. Casson, and such extraordinary proceedings as the “fight” incident, were not overlooked by scribblers for the press. A pamphlet of sixteen pages, entitled “An Account of the Great Fight in Gateshead between Cumberland Hodge and Brimstone Harry,” was published by an enterprising printer. The title page was adorned with a woodcut, displaying a tall, robust man in fighting position, and another smaller figure holding the coat over his arm, and a bottle in his hand. Facing the pugilistic figure was an orthodox figure of the Devil, with tail, horns, and hoofs, supported by an imp. The tall figure represented Mr. Casson, and his second, the Rev. Mr. Mann, his coadjutor in Gateshead. The subject matter of the pamphlet was written in poetic style, and commenced thus:—
The brochure sold by thousands at a penny each.
On one occasion, when Mr. Casson preached at Sheriff Hill Chapel, every sitting and standing place being filled, we were placed on the top of the steps close to the door of the pulpit. After the sermon, there was a collection. Mr. Casson sat down in the pulpit, but kept talking while the boxes were going round. We well remember him saying:—“Now, my friends, don’t fill the boxes with those big, dirty coins; they are such a weight to carry, and take up so much room, and make very little when counted. Let us have plenty of those bright, clean, white ones; they tell more and are much more respectable. They do not tire the arms of the collector near so much. But what is better still, I like to see some of those pretty yellow ones; they are ten or twenty times better than the white ones, and more than two hundred times better than the dirty black ones.” We have been credibly informed that on another occasion, when preaching on the sin of backsliding, he illustrated his subject by throwing one of his legs over the pulpit stair rail and sliding down to the bottom, saying that his descent was very easy, but that with all his efforts he could not slide up again. The sinner, he added, could go Hell easy enough, but it was not easy to get out.
Another phase of Mr. Casson’s character is exemplified by the following incident:—One cold, bleak day he met a poor man, ill-clad, shivering with cold, and without a shirt on his back. Mr. Casson, in answer to the man’s application for alms, said he could not give him money, as he had none; but asked the supplicant to stay a minute or two. He at once climbed over a gate into a field close by, and took off his shirt, which he gave to the poor man. With many such self-denying acts was Mr. Casson credited.