Part 60
Ye who with rod and line aspire to catch Leviathans that swim within the stream Of this fam’d _River_, now no longer _New_, Yet still so call’d, come hither to the Sluice-house. Here, largest gudgeons live, and fattest roach Resort, and even barbel have been found. Here too doth sometimes prey the rav’ning shark Of streams like this, that is to say, a jack. If fortune aid ye, ye perchance shall find Upon an average within one day, At least a fish, or two; if ye do not, This will I promise ye, that ye shall have Most glorious nibbles: come then, haste ye here, And with ye bring large stock of baits and patience.
From Canonbury tower onward by the New River, is a pleasant summer afternoon’s walk. Highbury barn, or, as it is now called, Highbury tavern, is the first place of note beyond Canonbury. It was anciently a barn belonging to the ecclesiastics of Clerkenwell; though it is at present only known to the inhabitants of that suburb, by its capacity for filling them with good things in return for the money they spend there. The “barn” itself is the assembly-room, whereon the old roof still remains. This house has stood in the way of all passengers to the Sluice-house, and turned many from their firm-set purpose of fishing in the waters near it. Every man who carries a rod and line is not an Isaac Walton, whom neither blandishment nor obstacle could swerve from his mighty end, when he went forth to kill fish.
He was the great progenitor of all That war upon the tenants of the stream, He neither stumbled, stopt, nor had a fall When he essay’d to war on dace, bleak, bream, Stone-loach or pike, or other fish, I deem.
The Sluice-house is a small wooden building, distant about half a mile beyond Highbury, just before the river angles off towards Newington. With London anglers it has always been a house of celebrity, because it is the nearest spot wherein they have hope of tolerable sport. Within it is now placed a machine for forcing water into the pipes that supply the inhabitants of Holloway, and other parts adjacent. Just beyond is the Eel-pie house, which many who angle thereabouts mistake for the Sluice-house. To instruct the uninformed, and to gratify the eye of some who remember the spot they frequented in their youth, the preceding view, taken in May 1825, has been engraved. If the artist had been also a portrait painter, it would have been well to have secured a sketch of the present keeper of the Sluice-house; his manly mien, and mild expressive face, are worthy of the pencil: if there be truth in physiognomy, he is an honest, good-hearted man. His dame, who tenders Barcelona nuts and oranges at the Sluice-house door for sale, with fishing-lines from two-pence to six-pence, and rods at a penny each, is somewhat stricken in years, and wholly innocent of the metropolis and its manners. She seems of the times--
“When our fathers pluck’d the blackberry And sipp’d the silver tide.”
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An etching of the eccentric individual, from whence the present engraving is taken, was transmitted by a respectable “Cantab,” for insertion in the _Every-Day Book_, with the few particulars ensuing:--
James Gordon was once a respectable solicitor in Cambridge, till “love and liquor”
“Robb’d him of that which once enriched him, And made him poor indeed!”
He is well known to many resident and non-resident sons of _alma mater_, as a _déclamateur_, and for ready wit and repartee, which few can equal. One or two instances may somewhat depict
Gordon meeting a gentleman in the streets of Cambridge who had recently received the honour of knighthood, Jemmy approached him, and looking him full in the face, exclaimed,
“The king, by merely laying sword on, Could make a knight of Jemmy Gordon.”
At a late assize at Cambridge, a man named Pilgrim was convicted of horse-stealing, and sentenced to transportation. Gordon seeing the prosecutor in the street, loudly vociferated to him, “You, sir, have done what the pope of Rome cannot do; you have put a stop to _Pilgrim’s Progress_!”
Gordon was met one day by a person of rather indifferent character, who pitied Jemmy’s forlorn condition, (he being without shoes and stockings,) and said, “Gordon, if you will call at my house, I will give you a pair of shoes.” Jemmy, assuming a contemptuous air, replied, “No, sir! excuse me, I would not stand in your shoes for all the world!”
Some months ago, Jemmy had the misfortune to fall from a hay-loft, wherein he had retired for the night, and broke his thigh; since then he has _reposed_ in a workhouse. No man’s life is more calculated
“To adorn a moral, and to point a tale.”
N.
These brief memoranda suffice to memorialize a peculiar individual. James Gordon at one time possessed “fame, wealth, and honours:” now--his “fame” is a hapless notoriety; all the “wealth” that remains to him is a form that might have been less careworn had he been less careless; his honour is “air--thin air,” “his gibes, his jests, his flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table in a roar,” no longer enliven the plenteous banquet:--
“Deserted in his utmost need By men his former bounty fed,”
the bitter morsel for his life’s support is parish dole. “The gayest of the gay” is forgotten in his age--in the darkness of life; when reflection on what _was_, cannot better what _is_. Brilliant circles of acquaintance sparkle with frivolity, but friendship has no place within them. The prudence of sensuality is selfishness.
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The Cambridge communication concerning James Gordon is accompanied by an amusing list of names derived from “men and things.”
_Personages and their Callings at Cambridge in 1825._
A King is a brewer A Bishop a tailor A Baron a horse-dealer A Knight a turf-dealer A Proctor a tailor A Marshall a cheesemonger An Earl a laundress A Butler a picture-frame maker A Page a bookbinder
A Pope an old woman An Abbott a bonnet-maker A Monk a waterman A Nun a horse-dealer A Moor a poulterer A Savage a carpenter A Scott an Englishman A Rose a fishmonger A Lilly a brewer
A Crab a butcher A Salmon a linendraper A Leech a fruiterer A Pike a milkman A Sole a shoemaker
A Wood a grocer A Field a confectioner A Tunnell a baker A Marsh a carrier A Brook a turf-dealer A Greenwood a baker
A Lee an innkeeper A Bush a carpenter A Grove a shoemaker A Lane a carpenter A Green a builder A Hill a butcher A Haycock a publican A Barne a grocer A Shed a butler A Hutt a shoeblack A Hovel a draper
A Hatt a bookseller A Capp a gardener A Spencer a butcher
A Bullock a baker A Fox a brazier A Lamb a sadler A Lion a grocer A Mole a town-crier A Roe an engraver A Buck a college gyp. A Hogg a gentleman
A Bond a grocer A Binder a fruiterer
A Cock a shoemaker A Hawk a paperhanger A Drake a dissenting minister A Swan a shoemaker A Bird an innkeeper A Peacock a lawyer A Rook a tailor A Wren a bricklayer’s labourer A Falcon a gentleman A Crow a builder
A Pearl a cook A Stone a glazier A Cross a boatwright
A Barefoot an innkeeper A Leg a mantua-maker
White a shoemaker Green a carpenter Brown a fishmonger Grey a painter Pink a publican
Tall a printer Short a tailor Long a shopkeeper Christmas an ironmonger Summer a carpenter Sad a barber Grief a glazier Peace a carpenter Bacon a tobacconist.
A Hard-man A Wise-man A Good-man A Black-man A Chap-man A Free-man A New-man A Bow-man A Spear-man A Hill-man A Wood-man A Pack-man A Pit-man A Red-man A True-man.
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Lilac. _Syringa vulgaris._ Dedicated to _St. Julia_.
~May 24.~
_St. Vincent_ of Lerins, A. D. 450. _Sts. Donatian_ and _Rogatian_, A. D. 287. _St. John de Prado._
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Monkey Poppy. _Papaver Orientale._ Dedicated to _St. Vincent_.
~May 25.~
_St. Mary Magdalen_ of Pazzi, A. D. 1607. _St. Urban_, Pope, A. D. 223. _St. Adhelm_, or _Aldhelm_. _St. Gregory_ VII., Pope, A. D. 1085. _Sts. Maximus_, or _Mauxe_, and _Venerand_, Martyrs in Normandy, 6th Cent. _St. Dumhade_, Abbot, A. D. 717.
_St. Aldhelm._
He founded the abbey of Malmesbury, and was the first Englishman who cultivated Latin and English or Saxon poesy. Among his other mortifications, he was accustomed to recite the psalter at night, plunged up to the shoulders in a pond of water. He was the first bishop of Sherborne, a see which was afterwards removed to Salisbury, and died in 709.[148]
He turned a sunbeam into a clothes-peg; at least, so say his biographers: this was at Rome. Saying mass there in the church of St. John de Lateran, he put off his vestment; the servant neglecting to take it, he hung it on a sunbeam, whereon it remained, “to the wonderful admiration of the beholders.”[149]
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Common Avens. _Geum Urbanum._ Dedicated to _St. Urban_.
[148] Butler.
[149] Porter, Golden Legend.
~May 26.~
_St. Philip Neri_, A. D. 1595. _St. Augustine_, Abp. of Canterbury, A. D. 604. _St. Eleutherius_, Pope, A. D. 192. _St. Quadratus_, Bp. A. D. 125. _St. Oduvald_, Abbot, A. D. 698.
_St. Philip Neri._
He was born at Florence in 1515, became recluse when a child, dedicated himself to poverty, and became miraculously fervent. “The divine love,” says Alban Butler, “so much dilated the breast of our saint, that the gristle which joined the fourth and fifth ribs on the left side was broken, which accident allowed the heart and the larger vessels more play; in which condition he lived fifty years.” According to the same authority, his body was sometimes raised from the ground during his devotions some yards high. Butler relates the same of St. Dunstan, St. Edmund, and many other saints, and says that “Calmet, an author still living, assures us that he knows a religious man who, in devout prayer, is sometimes involuntarily raised in the air, and remains hanging in it without any support; also that he is personally acquainted with a devout nun to whom the same had often happened.” Butler thinks it probable that they themselves would not determine whether they were raised by angels, or by what other supernatural operation. He says, that Neri could detect hidden sins by the smell of the sinners. He died in 1595: the body of such a saint of course worked miracles.
St. Philip Neri founded the congregation or religious order of the Oratory, in 1551. The rules of this religious order savour of no small severity. By the “Institutions of the Oratory,” (printed at Oxford, 1687, 8vo. pp. 49.) they are required to mix corporal punishments with their religious harmony:--“From the first of November to the feast of the resurrection, their contemplation of celestial things shall be heightened by a concert of music; and it is also enjoined, that at certain seasons of frequent occurrence, they all whip themselves in the Oratory. After half an hour’s mental prayer, the officers distribute whips made of small cords full of knots, put forth the children, if there be any, and carefully shutting the doors and windows, extinguish the other lights, except only a small candle so placed in a dark lanthorn upon the altar, that the crucifix may appear clear and visible, but not reflecting any light, thus making all the room dark: then the priest, in a loud and doleful voice, pronounceth the verse _Jube Domine benedicere_, and going through an appointed service, comes _Apprehendite disciplinam_, &c.; at which words, taking their whips, they scourge their naked bodies during the recital of the 50th Psalm, _Miserere_, and the 129th, _De profundis_, with several prayers; at the conclusion of which, upon a sign given, they end their whipping, and put on their clothes in the dark and in silence.”
_Oratorios._
The _Oratorio_ commenced with the fathers of the _Oratory_. In order to draw youth to church, they had hymns, psalms, and spiritual songs, or cantatas, sung either in chorus or by a single favourite voice. These pieces were divided into two parts, the one performed before the sermon, and the other after it. Sacred stories, or events from scripture, written in verse, and by way of dialogue, were set to music, and the first part being performed, the sermon succeeded, which the people were induced to stay and hear, that they might be present at the performance of the second part. The subjects in early times were the good Samaritan, the Prodigal Son, Tobit with the angel, his father, and his wife, and similar histories, which by the excellence of the composition, the band of instruments, and the performance, brought the _Oratory_ into great repute; hence this species of musical drama obtained the general appellation of _Oratorio_.
_St. Augustine._
This was the monk sent to England by St. Gregory the Great, to convert the English; by favour of Ethelbert, he became archbishop of Canterbury. Christianity, however, had long preceded Augustine’s arrival, for the queen of Ethelbert, previous to his coming, was accustomed to pay her devotions in the church of St. Martin just without Canterbury. This most ancient edifice still exists. Not noticing more at present concerning his historical character, it is to be observed that, according to his biographers, he worked many miracles, whereof may be observed this:--
St. Augustine came to a certain town, inhabited by wicked people, who “refused hys doctryne and prechyng uterly, and drof hym out of the towne, castyng on hym the tayles of thornback, or lyke fysshes; wherefore he besought Almyghty God to shewe hys jugement on them; and God sent to them a shamefull token; for the chyldren that were born after in the place, had tayles, as it is sayd, tyll they had repented them. It is said comynly that this fyll at Strode in Kente; but blyssed be Gode, at thys daye is no such deformyte.”[150] It is said, however, that they were the natives of a village in Dorsetshire who were thus tail-pieced.[151]
Another notable miracle is thus related. When St. Augustine came to Compton, in Oxfordshire, the curate complained, that though he had often warned the lord of the place to pay his tythes, yet they were withheld, “and therefore I,” said the curate, “have cursed hym, and I fynde him the more obstynate.” Then St. Augustine demanded why he did not pay his tythes to God and the church; whereto the knight answered, that as he tilled the ground, he ought to have the tenth sheaf as well as the ninth. Augustine, finding that he could not bend this lord to his purpose, then departed and went to mass; but before he began, he charged all those that were accursed to go out of the church. Then a dead body arose, and went out of the church into the churchyard with a white cloth on his head, and stood there till mass was done; whereupon St. Augustine went to him, and demanded what he was; and the dead body said, “I was formerly lord of this town, and because I would not pay my tithes to my curate, he cursed me, and then I died and went to hell.” Then Augustine bade the dead lord bring him to where the curate was buried, which accordingly he did, and Augustine commanded the dead curate to arise, who thereupon accordingly arose and stood before all the people. Then Augustine demanded of the dead curate if he knew the dead lord, who answered, “Would to God I had never known him, for he was a withholder of his tythes, and, more over, an evil-doer.” Then Augustine delivered to the said curate a rod, and then the dead lord kneeling, received penance thereby; which done, Augustine commanded the dead lord to go again to his grave, there to abide until the day of judgment; and forthwith the said lord entered his grave, and fell to ashes. Then Augustine asked the curate, how long he had been dead; and he said, a hundred and fifty years. And Augustine offered to pray for him, that he might remain on earth to confirm men in their belief; but the curate refused, because he was in the place of rest. Then said Augustine, “Go in peace, and pray for me and for holy church;” and immediately the curate returned to his grave. At this sight, the lord who had not paid the curate his tythes was sore afraid, and came quaking to St. Augustine, and to his curate, and prayed forgiveness of his trespass, and promised ever after to pay his tythes.
CHRONOLOGY.
On the 26th of May, 1555, was a gay May-game at St. Martin’s-in-the-fields, with _giants_ and hobby-horses, drums and guns, morrice-dances, and other minstrels.[152]
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Rhododendron. _Rhododendrum Ponticum._ Dedicated to _St. Augustine_. Yellow Azalea. _Azalea pontica._ Dedicated to _St. Philip Neri_.
[150] Golden Legend.
[151] Porter’s Flowers.
[152] Strype’s Memorials.
~May 27.~
_St. John_, Pope, A. D. 526. _St. Bede_, A. D. 735. _St. Julius_, about A. D. 302.
_St. John_, Pope.
This pontiff was imprisoned by Theodoric, king of the Goths, in Italy, and died in confinement. This sovereign had previously put to death the philosopher Boëtius, who, according to Ribadeneira, after he was beheaded, was scoffingly asked by one of the executioners, “who hath put thee to death?” whereupon Boëtius answered, “wicked men,” and immediately taking up his head in his own hands, walked away with it to the adjoining church.
_St. Bede._
The life of “Venerable Bede” in Butler, is one of the best memoirs in his biography of the saints. He was an Englishman, in priest’s orders. It is said of him that he was a prodigy of learning in an unlearned age; that he surpassed Gregory the Great in eloquence and copiousness of style, and that Europe scarcely produced a greater scholar. He was a teacher of youth, and, at one time had six hundred pupils, yet he exercised his clerical functions with punctuality, and wrote an incredible number of works in theology, science, and the polite arts. It is true he fell into the prevailing credulity of the early age wherein he flourished, but he enlightened it by his erudition, and improved it by his unfeigned piety and unwearied zeal.
Not to ridicule so great a man, but as an instance of the desire to attribute wonderful miracles to distinguished characters, the following silly anecdote concerning Bede is extracted from the “Golden Legend.” He was blind, and desiring to be led forth to preach, his servant carried him to a heap of stones, to which, the good father, believing himself preaching to a sensible congregation, delivered a noble discourse, whereunto, when he had finished his sermon, the stones answered and said “Amen!”
Methinks that to some vacant hermitage My feet would rather turn--to some dry nook Scooped out of living rock, and near a brook Hurled down a mountain cove from stage to stage, Yet tempering, for my sight, its bustling rage In the soft heaven of a translucent pool; Thence creeping under forest arches cool, Fit haunt of shapes whose glorious equipage Perchance would throng my dreams. A beechen bowl, A Maple dish, my furniture should be; Crisp yellow leaves my bed; the hooting Owl My nightwatch: nor should e’er the crested fowl From thorp or vill his matins sound for me, Tired of the world and all its industry. But what if one, through grove or flowery mead, Indulging thus at will the creeping feet Of a voluptuous indolence, should meet The hovering shade of venerable Bede, The saint, the scholar, from a circle freed Of toil stupendous, in a hallowed seat Of learning, where he heard the billows beat On a wild coast--rough monitors to feed Perpetual industry--sublime recluse! The recreant soul, that dares to shun the debt Imposed on human kind, must first forget Thy diligence, thy unrelaxing use Of a long life, and, in the hour of death, The last dear service of thy passing breath!
_Wordsworth._
THE SEASON.
Every thing of good or evil, incident to any period of the year, is to be regarded seasonable; the present time of the year, therefore, must not be quarrelled with, if it be not always agreeable to us. Many days of this month, in 1825, have been most oppressive to the spirits, and injurious to the mental faculties, of persons who are unhappily susceptible of changes in the weather, and especially the winds. These have been borne with some philosophy, by the individual now holding the pen; but, alas! the effects are too apparent, he apprehends, to many who have read what he has been scarcely able to throw together. He hopes that these defaults will be placed to their proper account, and that cloudless skies and genial breezes will enable him to do better.
MAY, 1825.
All hail to thee, hail to thee, god of the morning! How joyous thy steeds from the ocean have sprung! The clouds and the waves smile to see thee returning, And young zephyrs laugh as they gambol along.
No more with the tempest the river is swelling, No angry clouds frown, and no sky darkly lowers; The bee winds his horn, and the gay news is telling, That spring is arrived with her sunshine and flowers.
From her home in the grass see the white primrose peeping, While diamond dew-drops around her are spread, She smiles through her tears, like an infant, whose weeping To laughter is changed when its sorrows are fled.
In the pride of its beauty the young year is shining, And nature with blossoms is wreathing the trees, The white and the green, in rich clusters entwining, Are sprinkling their sweets on the wings of each breeze.
Then hail to thee, hail to thee, god of the morning! Triumphant ride on in thy chariot of light; The earth, with thy bounties her forehead adorning, Comes forth, like a bride, from the chamber of night.
E. C.
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FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Buttercups. _Ranunculus acris._ Dedicated to _St. John_, Pope. Yellow Bachelor’s Buttons. _Ranunculus acris plenus._ Dedicated to _St. Bede_.
~May 28.~
_St. Germanus_, Bp. of Paris, A. D. 576. _St. Caraunus_, also _Caranus_ and _Caro_, (in French, _Cheron_.)
CHRONOLOGY.