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Ye who with rod and line aspire to catch
Leviathans that swim within the stream
Of this fam'd River, now no longer AVw,
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 R iver.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 assemblyroom, 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
He neither stumbled, stop!, nor had a fall
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, goodhearted man. His dame, who tenders Barcelona nuts and oranges at the Sluicehouse 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."
partee, which few can equal. One two instances may somewhat depict
An etching of the eccentric individual, from whence the present engraving is taken, was transmitted by a respectable " Cantab," for insertion in the EveryDay Book, with the few particulars ensuing:—
James Gordon was once a respectable solicitor in Cambridge, till "love and .iquor"
"Robbed 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 diclamatenr, and for ready wit and reNo. 23.
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 horsestealing, 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'* 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 Id 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."
These brief memoranda suffice to memorialize i peculiar individual. James Gordon at ore 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,
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.
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 siidler
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 labourpi
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
St. Mary Magdalen of Fazzi, A. D. 1607. St. Urban, Pope, A.d. 223. St. Adhelm, or Aldhelm. St. Gregory VII., Pope, A. D. 1085. Stt. Maximus, or Mauxe, and Venerand, Martyrs in Normandy, 6th Cent. St. Dwnhade, 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.*
He turned a sunbeam into a clothespeg; 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." +
Common Avens. Geum Urbanum. Dedicated to St. Urban
St. Philip Neri, A. D. 1595. St. Augmtine, Abp. of Canterbury, A. D. 604. St. Eleutheriui, 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 o' 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 smali
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
£C1^the 50th Psalm> Miserere, and the 129th, De profundi,, with several prayers; at the conclusion of which upon a sign given, they end their whip^ ping, and put on their clothes in the dark and in silence."
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 m 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 Sama!fn: the Prodigal Son, Tobit with the angei, his father, and his wife, and similar histories, which by the excellence of the composmon the band of instruments, and the performance, brought the Oral tory into great repute; hence this species of musical drama obtained the general appellation of Oratorio. 8
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 Ethel
tom:/,rev,oulto tit COmiD«' was accu*
of I. MPa? her devoti°ns in the church or M. Martin just without Canterbury. This mogt ancient edifice still exists. Not notions 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 to-n inhabited by wicked people, who "rel fused hys doctryne and prechyng uterly and drof hym out of the towne, castvn'e on hym the tayles of thornback, or lyke fysshes; wherefore he besought Almvgh.y
.X& 6We hr Jugeraent 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 Rente; but blessed be Code, at thys daye is no such cfcformyte.". It is sid, however^ that they were the natives of a village in Dorsetshire who were thus tail-pieced + W^n°^er.n0table miracle is thas related. Ovf/£ Ug?Stme came 'oCompton, 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 him, and I fynde him the more obsty„ate.» Then St. Augustine demanded why he did not pay his tvthe, toGod and the church; whefeto thelft answered that as he tilled the ground,°he ought to have the tenth sheaf as well a! tne 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 ZI 'd' him, V>d demanded what his wave form ^? iead,body said. " I was former^ lord of this town, and because I would not pay my tithes tc, my curate, he cursed me, and then I died and went to hell » Then Augustine bade the dead lord bring mm to where the curate was buried; which accordingly he did, and Augustine commanded the dead curate to arise, who thereup0n accordingly arose and tood before all the people. Then Augustine demanded 0f the dead curate if heknew the dead lord, who answered, » Would to God I had never known him, for he was a wnhho Wer of his tythes, and, more! over, an evil-doer." Then Augustine delivered to the said curate a rod, and
•GoldmUjeml. tlW, Flower.