CHAPTER III.

_The_ Host _conducts the_ Angler _and_ Painter _to_ Beresford Hall _and_

Mr. Cotton’s _Fishing House on the River_ Dove.

_Painter._

So, brother, you are ‘stirring with the lark.’

_Angler._ Aye, Sir, I have been wakeful this hour and past; and because

I heard you were a-bed, I sauntered out awhile, that I might have the

enjoyment of the fresh morning.

_Painter._ And I’ll warrant, you wandered down to the banks of the

river, like a crane, to look after fishes.

_Angler._ You have made a wrong guess for this turn: because after a

while I chanced to find myself in the church-yard, and quietly walked up

and down.

_Painter._ Surely that was a sad employment!

_Angler._ Pensive, so please you, but not sad: and there I met the

sexton,—not ‘an ill willer to human nature,’ but an honest good man, who

had the key of the church: and I have seldom seen a country church more

embellished with rare carving and joiners’ work:—you may believe me, it

is quite unmatchable.

_Painter._ Indeed!

_Angler._ And Mr. Cotton’s family seat is carved with delicate

ornaments; and his armorial bearings chiselled in oak, with a canopy

over head, in rich tracery work. Indeed, the whole church, as the

baptismal font, and chancel, the pulpit and altar, and a lofty organ,

all worthy of those earlier and better ages, when the same spirit

pervaded the Church as possessed the heart of Mary Magdalene, who

bestowed upon her loved Master that alabaster box of ointment of

spikenard, as the most precious testimony of her reverence and

affection. For then mankind were of opinion that the houses of God,

dedicated to His service and worship, were deserving of all the honour

they could pay to them, as being His temples who hath consecrated the

Church by His own blood.

_Painter._ They were better times indeed.—Alas! the day when the

separatists of this nation like the heathen of old, ‘_raged, and the

people imagined a vain thing_!’ when ‘_the rulers took counsel together

against the Lord and against His anointed_’—sad workers of pillage, who

defaced the sanctuary, stripped the altars, overturned the holy fonts,

broke the ornamental paintings of the windows, and rich tracery work in

stone, made free booty of the sacramental plate, and stabled their

troopers even beneath the holy vaulted roofs, which had wont to resound

to the voices of the choirs,—chaunting the praises of God; but then,

alas! made to re-echo their unhallowed imprecations against all

ordinances and government.

_Angler._ But fear not, brother.—God is ever with His Church; and hath

He not said, ‘_I will restore to you the years that the locust and the

cankerworm hath eaten_?’[33] Believe me, a bright day of joy shall come,

when our village churches, and those fair stately ministers throughout

the land, and especially their daily services and the appointed

festivals, shall be restored as in ancient times.——What! did not God

stir up the spirit of the heathen king of Persia to cause His holy

temple to be rebuilt after the long captivity of His people in Babylon?

‘_Then Joshua and Jerubbabel, and their brethren builded the altar of

the God of Israel, and offered the_ DAILY OFFERINGS, _according to the

custom, as the duty of every day required, and afterward the continual

services of all the_ SET FEASTS THAT WERE CONSECRATED.’[34] Did the

Spirit of God thus kindle the affections of the Israelites ‘_as one

man_?’ And is His arm shortened that He cannot deliver? Then I may never

believe that our kings, and the nobles and people of this christian

land, and her ‘_merchants and traffickers, who are princes and the

honourable of the earth_,’[35] will ornament their own ceiled houses and

tables with the pride of gold and precious things, and leave the temples

of their master, who died for them, ‘_as a cottage in a vineyard, as a

lodge in a garden of cucumbers_.’[36]

_Painter._ I declare, dear brother, your fond hopes make my heart burn

within me; and I will believe and pray that our altars and fonts, and

the holy sacraments, shall be established in the affections of the

people of England: and this branch of the CATHOLIC CHURCH spread her

shadowing influence far and near, and carry forth our name and religion

to the most distant regions. Then may we see that oneness of the church

restored, which holy Ignatius speaks of, when ‘_the Presbytery was so

fitted together into the Bishop as strings into a harp, and when Jesus

Christ was sung in unity of mind, and the ancient one-voiced hymn of

love was sung, the people, man by man, being the harmonious

chorus_.’[37] But no more of this.

_Angler._ Well then, tell me how you slept.

_Painter._ To be honest, I was so weary after our walk from Derby, I

could not rouse myself till mine host entered my chamber, and told me

you were up and drest.

_Angler._ Well! do not mock at me, if I confess I had many dreams glided

into my mind, concerning the Dove and that meek master of angling, Mr.

Izaak Walton. And such was the confusion of my thoughts, I was deluded

into a belief that I went a-fishing with him.

_Painter._ Went a-fishing in your dreams, with Mr. Izaak Walton! that’s

brave! an excellent conceit!

_Angler._ It is a truth; and yet by a strange perversity I was ever

detained on the opposite side of the river from him; and as he looked

upon me with a benevolent aspect, his very garb and gesture were full of

primitive composure.

_Painter._ Worthy disciple of a benevolent master! And there you could

peruse the very dress and bearing of PISCATOR, as you went a-fishing

with him. Oh! the mysteries of this craft of angling! And did you

converse nothing with the serene old gentleman?

_Angler._ Sometimes I essayed to speak with him, but he placed his

finger on his lip, in token of a mutual silence. Then I dreamed that he

caught a basket full of fishes with his worms, and I meanwhile was not

able to take one. Whereupon methought I climbed a rock to come at him,

that I might have a part in his recreation on the other side the river;

but when I would have struggled to go over the rock, I was hindered by

an invisible check; and being in danger of falling, I attempted to call

out to him for assistance; but then my voice faulted, and I could not

persuade him to give me an answer; for he would only beckon me to

silence by placing his finger on his lip.

_Painter._ Ah! ha! ha! And all the while this meek master of anglers

went on to ply his art, and catch fishes, and now and then was so

condescending as to look upon you with a benevolent aspect?

_Angler._ Nevertheless methought it uncivil in him not to be more

troubled to see me dangling on the rock.

_Painter._ It was all because of his sweetness and serenity; for doubt

not he felt a pity for your unpleasantness: and what other accidents

befell you in this pleasant dream of yours?

_Angler._ I was all in a confusion of thoughts; sometimes I tangled my

fishing-harness on the branches of the trees; and after that a great

fish carried it all away with the top joint of my rod, just as I thought

to land him; then again I found myself on the slippery sides of Hanson

Toot; and just as——but here comes the host.

_Host._ Gentlemen, your servant. I hope you slept soundly, and found the

beds to your liking?

_Painter._ Excellent well: and pleasant dreams to boot: for this

gentleman——

_Angler._ Hush! hush!——your ‘finger on your lip.’

_Painter._ I understand:—come, Mr. Marsh, let us have a light breakfast,

a morning cup of barley wine, with a manchet or two, or an oaten cake,

and then for Beresford Hall, and Mr. Cotton’s fishing-house. What are

you for, brother?

_Angler._ I care not if it be ale, or sweet whey fresh from the

cheese-vat, so you give me such an oaten cake as we had yesterday.

_Host._ Gentlemen, here they are at your service.—And now, if it please

you, I’ll be your willing guide to Beresford Hall.

_Angler._ If you are in earnest and your own business will permit, we

shall be greatly beholden to you.

_Host._ I have occasion towards Hartington; and the Hall stands by the

road.

_Painter._ I’m glad to hear it: so, by your leave, we’ll light our

pipes, and whiff a counterblast[38] to King James, of peaceable memory.

Now, brother, ‘en avant;’ I am ready for as many measures of Derbyshire

miles as a reasonable, courteous gentleman may challenge.

_Angler._ You are mettlesome betimes; and we may chance to put you to

the trial.

_Host._ Sir, two miles will suffice to bring us to the Hall; but I

should first tell you there are two ways; one is the coach road, and the

other a bridle-way through the Narrow Dale; and this last is the

shortest.

_Angler._ I incline to whichsoever Mr. Cotton travels by, when he is on

horseback, because that was the road he took with VIATOR, when he

pointed to the house, and said, ‘_This is now like to be your inn for

want of a better_.’

_Painter._ If I may choose, let it be whichever will give us the best

prospect over Beresford Hall.

_Angler._ You are in the right, brother: I yield me to your better

opinion.

_Host._ Well, then, Gentlemen, you shall both have your desires, if you

will take to the right hand path, which leads to Narrow Dale.

_Angler._ Now we are out upon the hills, what a spacious prospect is

before us! and here’s a sweet-scented morning, fit for honest anglers.

_Painter._ But what a rocky barren place! and what lines of stone walls,

that have cost more money to build than the land is worth!

_Host._ Give me leave to tell you, Sir, the pasturage hereabouts is very

fertile; and you may remember how Mr. Cotton declares ‘_these hills

breed and feed good beef and mutton_.’

_Angler._ Aye, and make the best cheese that goes to Derby market.

_Painter._ But you will not deny this to be a lone country of moorish

mountains, and no ornament of woods to give them a relief?

_Host._ Very true, Sir, when you are upon the hills; but down in the

dales and glens, and by the banks of our trouty streams, I may undertake

to find you some rich landskips, so grown over with shady sycamore, and

all kinds of trees, that you will not think it tedious to walk along

them.

_Angler._ And forget not, brother, these are the very scenes, where the

two great masters of my art have loved to wile away their cheerful

hours, in the most excellent of all recreations, and have been possessed

with those happy thoughts which they have recorded in the first and

second parts of the _Complete Angler_. And so long as truth and virtuous

inclinations have any power to move the affections, their book shall

continue to be embalmed in the judgments of men. Who that has read those

pages can wander on the banks of never-ceasing Dove, where they have

whispered their silent joys, or tread the paths they have trod, linked

in a generous friendship, without some touch of a mutual feeling! But

come, Mr. Marsh, we are ready to follow you.

_Host._ Gentlemen, so please you to turn down this lane; and now we are

come to the top of Narrow Dale, look through the opening of the hills,

and there is Beresford before you.

_Angler._ There, Sir, there! what say you now?

_Painter._ Indeed, a goodly mansion in the distance: and those mountains

which bound the prospect rise up with a natural variety, and blend

themselves into an harmonious landskip.

_Angler._ And does not ‘_the house stand prettily_?’

_Painter._ Aye, truly: and now, brother, as we approach so near to the

object of our happy pilgrimage, I glow with a part of your zeal.—Forgive

me that I have been merry against anglers, and couched my doubtful

meaning beneath some quips and quibbles. But now I open my heart to you,

that I may participate in all your pleasures, and therefore do you guide

and govern me, for I am wholly yours.

_Angler._ And there’s my hand in testimony that I return all your

friendly thoughts: and I doubt not you will be better entertained on a

nearer acquaintance with Beresford Hall.

_Painter._ But, methinks, there is something of a Tower.

_Angler._ Nay, I see it not.

_Painter._ There, above the woods, to the right of the mansion.

_Angler._ At the top of the hill?

_Host._ The same; and it is called the Flambeaux Tower.

_Painter._ It is all a choice subject, therefore give me leave to make a

hasty design.

_Angler._ In this, brother, you show your love for me. And pr’ythee,

mine host, is the Tower of Mr. Cotton’s building?

_Host._ Aye, Sir, and of free-stone, brought from the quarry that lies a

few miles off. But I shall not here enlarge to particulars, because a

closer view will testify how it is done by the clearest rules of order.

_Angler._ But wherefore the name of the Flambeaux Tower?

_Host._ Sir, I am to tell you that is a fancy of Mr. Cotton’s; for he

will often ride a distance from home, to visit the Earl of Devonshire at

Chatsworth, or to Haddon Hall, and other great houses, that he may take

the pastime of hunting the red deer, and hawking, and such like

diversions, as gentlemen in England love to exercise themselves in: so

you may believe he will sometimes return to the Hall by night.

_Painter._ Methinks he should be a skilful rider to trust his neck over

these precipices and hills in the dark.

_Host._ Sir, you may trust my master’s well-bred steeds, and if you

could but once see him on horseback, you would have no fears about him:

for he has learned to ride the great horse in the schools; and no bounds

or faults can move him. And when he is mounted for the field, in his

close doublet and large round hosen, with his high boots, he is like a

part of his horse, and you would presently ask, ‘what noble cavalier is

yonder?’ and I have but this more to say, when I was once in attendance

upon him at the Earl of Derby’s with his cast of hawks, I heard the

‘_loyal Duke_’ of Newcastle,[39] that excellent judge of horsemanship,

declare before a great company of gallants that he knew no gentleman who

carried himself more gracefully in the manage of a horse than Mr.

Cotton. And thus it is, when he is expected home o’ dark nights, my lady

will cause the beacon to be lighted at the top of the Tower, that he may

have a sure guide across the hills, and an early distant welcome to

cheer him.

_Painter._ A brave thought, and like the beautiful Hero, in ancient

story, when she waited impatiently on the rocks for her Leander to swim

across the Hellespont, at a great hazard, and only for the sweet short

joy of breathing out his love;—then she set up a blazing torch, to be

his guiding star through the darkness of the night and the deep waves.

_Host._ Indeed? now I see why Mr. Cotton will sometimes call it his

‘_Hero’s Tower_!’[40] and I was too unlearned to understand the reason

of it before; but this I know, there is none within the Hall but is

ready to bid the master welcome when he comes.

_Angler._ That I believe; and I remember how VIATOR says to Mr. Cotton;

‘_that your meal is so soon ready is a sign your servants know your

certain hours_.’ No doubt, they attend upon him with alacrity.

_Host._ It were strange else; and I would you might see the gladness of

the commonalty and poorer sorts that live hereabouts, to have him

amongst them;—as on Sundays, when they expect him at the church-door in

Alstonfields, at the fix’t hour of service; or on festivals and

holidays, when the young men and maidens look for him to be a witness of

their country pastimes, and think their May-day games, and Lamb-ale at

sheep-shearing feasts, want half their joyfulness, if any accident

hinders him;—such is their natural affection for his person. But now,

Gentlemen, we are to take this side of the Narrow Dale, for in some

parts it is boggy and moory; you may see the path winds by a moderate

declivity; and now we are come to the bottom, and here is Beresford

Lane; so we may pass under this row of ash trees to the outer

gate:——will you be pleased to enter?

_Angler._ Surely this steep road was cut out of the rock, and here is a

young wood about it, which seems to be of Mr. Cotton’s own planting.

_Host._ Aye, Sir: for he loves the ornamental art of planting gardens

and orchards; nay, he hath writ a book of instructions for the same, and

caused it to be printed in London.[41]

_Painter._ Indeed! I knew not he was author of any book, save his

COMPLETE ANGLER.

_Host._ Sir, Mr. Cotton has produced various compositions: and to say

the truth, I know not if angling or books have the greater charms for

his vacant hours. Some of his writings are of a poetic cast, and there

is one writ in praise of His present Majesty;[42] and, as I have heard,

some useful histories have been Englished by his pen out of the French

tongue.[43]

_Angler._ And I cannot doubt his writings reflect the image of his

ingenuous disposition, and show his reverence for virtue.

_Painter._ I hope they do. If they could be opposite to this—which I

will not believe, unless you can tell me of your own knowledge,—I should

wish that he had not composed them.

_Host._ And now, Gentlemen, this is Beresford Hall before you.

_Angler._ On my word, a handsome mansion.

_Painter._ I did not think to find such a fair house, so adorned with

architecture: and what a spacious garden, full of contrivances to please

the eye and plantations growing upon the rocks, and those open shady

groves and vistos!

_Host._ Well, Sirs, I am proud to think it is not behind your

expectations.

_Painter._ It hath a choice mixture of natural and composed beauties

that I have not often seen surpassed.

_Host._ And within you will find every thing to be worthy of so

honourable a gentleman as my master. By your leave, I’ll go and warn the

servants of your coming.

_Angler._——Well, brother, what say you to all this? I pray you look at

the peaceful walks underneath those yew trees and chesnuts.

_Painter._ And the structure and workmanship of the house are deserving

of note: see you the bear rampant carved in stone over the doorway?——but

the host returns.

_Host._ Gentlemen, you have the liberty to make yourselves welcome: will

you please to walk in, and a servant will attend you.

_Angler._ What a noble hall is here, wainscotted and pannelled in oak,

with handsome furniture! Observe this mantel with the Cotton arms carved

in oak: and here the family quarterings let into the lattice in ancient

coloured glass: and these high chairs and ebony coffers.

_Painter._ Above all, some exceeding good limnings, and doubtless

portraitures?

_Host._ Sir, they are pictures of the family.

_Painter._ I pray you, whose is this of so noble a mien?

_Host._ That is my master’s late father, Mr. Charles Cotton the elder,

of Ovingden, in the county of Sussex, who died twenty years are now

past. And here is the portraiture of my late mistress: she brought the

mansion-house and lands to the Cottons, in right of her mother, who was

a descendant of the noble family of Beresford.

_Angler._ What a sweet modesty of disposition shines in every lineament

of her face!

_Host._ You may believe me her look is but the mirror of her mind; for

such was the native meekness, discretion, and innocence of Mistress

Olive Cotton, she was a pattern of women, and loved by the poor and

rich.

_Painter._ It is the very image of candour: and the effects of the

colours are so true to life, and the lights and shadows disposed with

such a knowledge of the art, it is plain they are done by no less a hand

than Sir Anthony Vandyke’s. And who is this gentleman with his

hunting-dogs beside him, and a hooded hawk on his wrist?

_Host._ That, Sir, is another of this honourable family, and one who

loved hunting and fowling; he it was brought those antlers you see on

either side of the mantel-piece, from some distant place in Ireland.

_Painter._ It is painted in the manner of that noted limner of Queen

Elizabeth, Frederico Zuchero; and I incline to believe it represents the

queen’s falconer in Ireland, when she commanded Sir Henry Sydney, _her

deputie of that Realm_, to provide the Marquis of Savia, a nobleman of

Spaine, ‘_with hawkes, doggs, and other such pleasures in exchange for

certayne perfumed gloves he presented to her Majesty, much to her lyking

and contentation_.’

_Angler._ And mark these ancient spurs, hunting-horns, and bits for

bridles, and all kinds of implements for the chase, hanging up by the

sides of the windows; and here a bundle of falcons’ hoods, bells, and

jesses.

_Servant._ Sir, next to the diversion of angling, my master loves

falconry; and I have seen him cast and reclaim his hawks as skilfully as

the best gentleman in the county. He entertained a noble large company

of falconers, it is now three months past, and there were so many hounds

and horses they could scarcely be provided withal. Nevertheless, my

master rather applies himself to the practice of angling.

_Angler._ That I believe: and here is every kind of harness for fishing:

fly rods and nets, and spears for eels.

_Servant._ So please you, Sir, on those two pegs yonder you may see an

old angle rod, that my master lays great store by: it is roughly made,

but has killed a huge quantity of trouts in its time; for it belongs to

a worthy gentleman, Mr. Izaak Walton.

_Angler._ Say you so?

_Servant._ And I have many times seen him with that spliced rod and a

little bag of brandlings, with a line and a float for bottom fishing,

fill a good sized pannier within a little distance from this, up and

down Dove Dale.—Indeed, it is wonderful to see his artful methods.

_Angler._ I perceive you are well acquainted with his person.

_Servant._ Sir! he is the most familiar of my master’s friends: I have

oftentimes waited upon him a-fishing, when he has visited the Hall, and

hope to do so again; for there is none of my master’s guests we are all

so pleased to serve; he is so condescending, and always thinks himself

obliged. We have a chamber that my master calls ‘_Mr. Walton’s own

chamber_.’

_Angler._ Indeed! I must tell you I profess myself to be a scholar of

his, and we call him the father of anglers: may we, therefore, have

permission to see that apartment?

_Servant._ With pleasure, Sir.

_Angler._ Come, brother, have you done with your admiration of those

limnings? If you please, we may pass on to see Mr. Walton’s bed-chamber.

_Painter._ I am ready to attend you.

_Servant._ This way, Gentlemen, to the great staircase.

_Angler._ Lead on, and we will follow.

_Servant._ Sirs, here is the chamber I told you of.

_Painter._ I declare, a goodly apartment; and his bed with handsome

coverlid and hangings: and I observe three angels’ heads stamped on the

ceiling in relief.

_Angler._ A fit emblem of the peaceful slumbers of the innocent; and so,

I am sure, are Mr. Walton’s. And whose picture is that over the mantel?

_Servant._ That is my master, Sir; it was painted at Court, and brought

last summer from London.

_Angler._ What a lively expression of eye, and a great sweetness in the

lips!

_Servant._ It is the very look of my master; and I have heard say it was

done by the king’s painter, after the expressed desire of Mr. Walton.

_Painter._ Aye, methought it was the touch of Lely, who hath been so

deservedly honoured by his Majesty with the dignity of knighthood.

_Angler._ And is celebrated by the best poets[44] and wits of the age.

_Painter._ This portraiture is so delicately limned, and the colours so

admirable, it could only be of a master’s hand.

_Angler._ Beseech you, brother, may not this chamber deserve to be

highly esteemed of all anglers; think—here it was VIATOR had his

lodgings, when Mr. Cotton brought him to his house.

_Host._ There is the very bed where he was promised ‘_sheets laid up in

lavender_,’ and you may be sure he had them.

_Painter._ And see the pannels of oak-wood in figured patterns over the

chimney.

_Angler._ It is a rich work, and falls in with the rest of the chamber:

look at this fine cabinet chiselled in oak and inlaid with paintings.

_Host._ And here again the lattice windows set with the arms of

Beresford and Cotton.

_Painter._ And whose crest is that? An eagle with wings expanded, argent

beaked and legged, and holding in his dexter a belt azure!

_Host._ That is my master’s crest, and you may see three cotton hanks

for arms; that agrees with the name.

_Angler._ With a chevron azure between.

_Painter._ And a bear salient, sable armed gules, muzzled and chain’d

or.

_Host._ These are the Beresford arms: and here the quarterings of the

noble family of the Stanhopes.

_Painter._ Stanhope, say you?—Quarterly ermine and gules—How is that?

_Host._ Sir, you are to note, my late mistress Olive, the mother of Mr.

Cotton, was the daughter of Sir John Stanhope, Knt. by the heiress of

Beresford.

_Angler._ I thank you; it is all of a piece, and excellently finished.

_Host._ Gentlemen, if I may be so bold to remind you, we have many other

things which will entertain you for some hours—as the Flambeaux Tower,

and the Fishing House, and the River.

_Angler._ True; our present pleasing thoughts had made us forgetful: but

we are ready to follow you.

_Host._ Then, if you please, we may descend once more to the hall, and

so into the garden.——And now I will lead you by this rising ground to

the Tower.

_Angler._ What is here?—a handsome terrace of grass, set round with a

double row of trees.

_Host._ This is the bowling green: if you will take the trouble to look

over this parapet, you may see a precipice some hundred feet deep.

_Angler._ It is quite a gulph, but overgrown with trees and briars. Here

is a smooth ground for bowls; and I remember PISCATOR speaks of this

bowling green, and declares himself to be ‘_no very great bowler_;’ but

he says, ‘_I am not so totally devoted to my own pleasure, but that I

have also some regard to other men’s_.’

_Host._ That was but his modest opinion of himself; for I have seen him

play and win great matches at bowls and quoits, both here and on

Wolfscote Hill, which is a little distance on the other side of the

Dove. But here we have the Prospect Tower: you may see how it stands on

the highest top of the rock, and within is an ornamented summer room.

_Painter._ It is a costly building, and in due proportions of

architecture.

_Angler._ Then I beseech you deny me not a picture, if it be but an

outline,—only a memento.

_Painter._ I am free to do your bidding. And would you have those

handsome stone steps and ballusters leading to the porch, and that stone

seat near the door?

_Angler._ Aye, so please you; and do not forget some of those shady

trees: but above all, the beacon on the top, which has served his

beloved Hero to bring her Leander home, and recalls the olden times of

our forefathers: for learned Mr. Lambarde,[45] in his Perambulation of

Kent, brings this word from the ‘Saxon _Bechnian_, which is to call by

signe, or _beck-on_, when they were made of great stakkes of wood, but

were ordained by King Edward the Third to be highe standards with their

pitch-pots,’ in the fashion you here see it.

_Painter._ ’Tis worthy of all my little skill: an enchanting spot, and

nothing neglected for its adorning.

_Angler._ Was it built by merry Mr. Rolston?

_Host._ The same; and those smooth stones were brought from the quarries

of Sheen, some miles off; and my master told him to do his utmost;

because his resolution was to have a little apartment for his own

especial privateness, where he might feast his eye with these prospects,

and so retired from the world, that no one might interpose between him

and the vein of his thoughts. For he is so inclinable to be in love with

books, that he will sometimes pass his day in a continual study.

_Angler._ I remember, in that poem prefixed to his COMPLETE ANGLER, he

says,

‘Dear solitude, the soul’s best friend,

‘That man acquainted with himself dost make,

‘And all his Maker’s wonders to intend;

‘With thee I here converse at will,

‘And would be glad to do so still;

‘For it is thou alone that keep’st the soul awake.

‘How calm and quiet a delight

‘It is, alone,

‘To read, and meditate and write,

‘By none offended, and offending none!’

_Painter._ Well, it is a place, of all others, where a man may create a

phantastic world around him, free from all the accidents of fortune. And

how tempered in our thoughts and wishes should we all be, if we could

oftener regale ourselves with such spiritual repasts of study and

contemplation! But come, I have designed the tower in black and white;

and now let us within.

_Host._ This way, Sirs,—and so to the top. Here is the beacon and the

marks of the torchlights, that have many a night guided my master on his

return to the Hall.

_Angler._ Look over this mirador, and see the garden below embroidered

with roses, and other choicest plants and flowers.

_Painter._ It is a little paradise: there is such a concealed artfulness

in these contrivances, as makes them like a cultivated nature.

_Host._ This we use to call the garden of the tower, and every flower

and shrub hath been planted and watered by the hand of his Countess.[46]

_Angler._ And here Mr. Cotton occupies many hours with great

pleasantness to himself, in writing those histories you spoke of?

_Painter._ It is not to be wondered at; for so peaceful a spot might

well kindle the thoughts of a less cheerful writer.

_Angler._ But look! what is yonder? a house by the side of the river, in

the shade of some trees!

_Host._ That, Sir, is the FISHING-HOUSE.

_Angler._ And the Dove, ‘_that winds through the vale like a snake_?’

_Host._ The same.

_Angler._ What a sylvan prospect is here! I am transported with the

desire of a nearer view.

_Painter._ Say you so? then let us proceed towards it; for I am no less

impatient.

_Host._ Well, Sirs, now you are come down from the tower, I will bring

you to the river, along a by-path.

_Angler._ Aye, here it is, by the side of that bench of stone underneath

the chesnut trees: but have a care, brother, or you may stumble down.

_Host._ This way, so please you, Gentlemen; by this unorderly path under

the ash trees; but look to your heels; for here are high rocks, and

somewhat difficult.

_Painter._ So-ho! Mr. Marsh, I cannot hold pace with you.

_Angler._ Why what’s the matter, Brother?

_Painter._ Not so fast; I am like to tip over.

_Host._ Here, Sir, take my hand, and put your foot on this root; so, you

are safely down.

_Angler._ And here is the DOVE! as limpid as the Heliconian springs!

_Painter._ Come, master, give over your ecstatics, or clothe your

thoughts in some poetic lines.

_Angler._ Stay a while: for I see a little temple before us, fit for the

shrine of the muses.

_Host._ It is the FISHING-HOUSE; and I have brought the key, that you

may go in and look about you.

_Angler._ Then I beseech you unlock at once; for I have a passionate

desire to put my foot into this retreat ‘_dedicated to anglers_!’ What

do you think of this, brother? ‘_is it not prettily contrived?_’ mark

the cipher carved in the front, on the keystone of the door, which

represents the first letters of Mr. Walton’s and Mr. Cotton’s names,

underneath those inviting words, PISCATORIBUS SACRUM, 1674.

_Painter._ Indeed a choice spot for a-fishing-house!

_Angler._ Aye, you see ‘_it stands in a kind of peninsula_.’ And you may

remember how Mr. Cotton promised VIATOR, he should see his fishing-house

‘_upon the margin of one of the finest rivers for trouts and grayling in

England_.’ Mr. Walton’s name and his twisted in cipher declare the near

affinity of love between those happy anglers.

_Painter._ By and by I must make a draught of this, for the neat

building, and this grove of trees, and the Dove, make it all a most

engaging landskip.

_Angler._ And now we could only desire one thing more;—to enjoy the

company of those loving fishermen, and see them take their recreation,

and hear them sing together some choice songs. But come, I am full of

expectation for what we may find within.

_Host._ Gentlemen, the door is open!

_Angler._ This is marvellously contrived: what a delight for fishers!

all the wainscoting covered with landscapes, and cheerful anglers on the

banks of the river, sitting in the shade of rocks, or casting their

flies into the stream.

_Painter._ And fishes most delicately painted on the oak wainscoting.

_Angler._ Aye, spotted trouts, and graylings done to the life.

_Host._ And here are the portraits of Mr. Walton and Mr. Cotton, on the

pannels of the beaufet.

_Angler._ And indeed very handsome and becoming figures.

_Host._ Nor could they be more resembling; there is Mr. Walton in his

‘sad coloured suit,’ leaning against a rock, who is now going to bait

his hooks; and Mr. Cotton has his fly rod in his hand, and a waiting boy

behind with his landing net.

_Angler._ Is this the portrait of Mr. Walton, designed by the gentleman

architect from Nottingham?

_Host._ The same; then Mr. Rolston undertook to paint this of Mr.

Cotton, to be a companion picture to him he loves so dearly.

_Painter._ I declare I have never seen any thing to please me more. They

are worthy of each other.

_Angler._ Dear brother! I dare not ask you for what I now desire.

_Painter._ You may dare ask anything I can pleasure you in.

_Angler._ If you could make me a true copy of all we see here, I would

be the happiest man alive.

_Painter._ I shall do it willingly.

_Angler._ It is kindly spoke, and that I may entice you to the work, I

will read to you that passage in Mr. Cotton’s book, where he brought

hither his happy companion.

_Painter._ Pr’ythee begin, and I’ll prepare the while.

_Angler._ Well then, you are to understand, Mr. Cotton and his guest

being up and drest early the next morning, after their journey from

Derby, PISCATOR said to his boy, ‘_Take the key of my fishing-house and

carry down these two angle rods in the hall window thither with my fish

pannier, pouch, and landing net, and stay you there till we come._’ And

then down they went cheerily together, and a delicate morning it was;

and when they were arrived at the door, PISCATOR invited the other to

walk in, and there sit and talk as long as he pleased. And VIATOR

declared he was ‘_more pleased with this little house than any thing he

ever saw: it stands in a kind of peninsula too, with a delicate clear

river about it. I dare hardly go in, lest I should not like it so well

within as without, but, by your leave, I’ll try. Why, this is better and

better, fine lights, fine wainscoted, and all exceeding neat, with a

marble table and all in the middle._’

_Painter._ Here is the very table made out of fine black marble.

_Host._ Taken from our Derbyshire pits, and as you see, clearly

polished, and all rounded at the corners.

_Angler._ And these chairs, carved in oak, with the handsome pavement in

black and white, are all of a piece with the other ornaments.

_Painter._ He was an exceeding skilful limner, and worthy of Mr.

Cotton’s friendship, that painted these prospects and figures; for the

hills and rocks are to the very nature, and for the portraits, they are

not inferior to any artist of this day; and it was a clear discerning

taste imagined all those ornamental fittings.

_Angler._ And so thought his happy guest, VIATOR; but Mr. Cotton civilly

interrupted his praises, and said, ‘_Enough, Sir, enough; I have laid

open to you the part where I can worst defend myself, and now you attack

me there. Come, boy! set two chairs, and whilst I am taking a pipe of

tobacco, which is always my breakfast, we will, if you please, talk of

something else_;’ and so these affable gentlemen agreed to converse

together about fly-fishing in clear rivers: but first of all VIATOR said

to Mr. Cotton, ‘_If you will lend me your steel, I will light a pipe the

while, for that is commonly my breakfast in a morning too_:’ and then

down they sat, and PISCATOR gave him some instructions in making of

artificial flies, which I have read attentively, and I may declare them

to be worthy of all remembrance and practice by every hopeful angler.

And after that away they went to the river for their amusement, and to

try the flies they had themselves twisted after nature.

_Painter._ And what then?

_Angler._ I think you need not be told that they had good sport of

trouts; and the stranger proved himself to deserve the character Mr.

Walton gave of him in his first part of the COMPLETE ANGLER.

_Painter._ And pray what was that?

_Angler._ Why, Mr. Walton declared that he was so suitable to his own

humour, which is to be free and pleasant, and civilly merry, that his

resolution was to hide nothing that he knew from him. And I have no

doubt Mr. Cotton entertained the same opinion of him; and so they fished

the stream till the servant came to tell them it was dinner time. And

Mr. VIATOR was so allured with the sport, that the next morning he

longed to be at the river again; and when he heard the wind sing in his

chamber window, could forbear no longer, but leapt out of bed, and had

just made an end of dressing himself as Mr. Cotton came in to call him

up.——And now I will leave you to yourself; only, I beseech you, as far

as your patience will allow you, represent all you see: yet I would not

be unreasonable.

_Painter._ I am so in love with the place, that I hope to satisfy you in

every particular; so do you go and catch me a brace or two of trouts.

_Angler._ That I’ll do willingly, and when your work is finished, come

to me and you shall try your luck too. And now, Mr. Marsh, you and I

will walk forth and look at the river; good bye, brother, and remember

this is to be your masterpiece.

_Painter._ I’ll do my best to give you pleasure: let me but find you

with some trouts when I come.

_Angler._ Doubt me not; farewell.——

_Host._ Now, Sir, will you please go higher up the stream?

_Angler._ With all my heart: but let me untie my angle and line, that I

may be ready: and now what fly do you recommend? here is a case, full of

all sorts of my own making: but I remember, Mr. Cotton says, ‘_they who

go to Rome, must do as they at Rome do_;’ and as I have a certain sort

of pride, and have no mind to be laughed at by that satirical gentleman

in the fishing-house, I shall be glad to make a good choice; and I dare

say you know the likings and dislikings of the trouts in the Dove?

_Host._ Well, Sir, I will not put on a false modesty in that matter; and

if you’ll let me see your case of flies, I may be able to find one or

two will make some execution.

_Angler._ Here they are.

_Host._ Aye, indeed! Are these of your own twisting? They are very

skilfully done: nay, Sir, Mr. Cotton himself could not tie them better,

and I am bold to say you are no stranger to our Derbyshire streams?

_Angler._ It is not my first season in the Dove by many: and I know

something of the Wye and Derwent, and the clear Lathkill too.

_Host._ Then, Sir, if you can fish in the Lathkill, which is beyond all

emulation the brightest water in Derbyshire, and perhaps in England, and

breeds the reddest trouts, you must be well skilled in the art; and so I

might take you to be from these flies, which for a close imitation of

the natural fly are quite masterly.

_Angler._ I see you would encourage me with a little praise: but

pr’ythee which do you recommend: it is early in the season for a GREEN

DRAKE, but here is the STONE FLY: or would you prefer the DUN CUT?

_Host._ Sometimes I have known the GREEN DRAKE to appear before this,

and you may depend he will be out in a few days, for I have examined the

caddis and they are almost come to maturity; but you cannot have a

better fly than this DUN CUT, and it is an excellent piece of

workmanship.

_Angler._ I’ll make the trial of it; and now the wind is whistling, and

the water curls merrily, so let us begin.

_Host._ There, Sir, was a rise.

_Angler._ Nay, he came short; but there he is again. I have him; so, so;

now, Mr. Marsh, for the net: ’twas well landed, and a fine fish it is;

but I have seen some in better season—ah! there is another; methinks

he’s yet bigger: and now I come to look at him, he’s better fed: and

there’s a third! Well, this is a gamesome river.

_Host._ Indeed, Sir, you have a gentle wrist. I wish Mr. Cotton could

see you; he would not part with you for some days; but would entertain

you with so many pleasures, that you would be contented to remain at the

Hall, and almost forget yourself to be a stranger.

_Angler._ Would he were here!

_Host._ Alas! I would he were with all my heart.

_Angler._ I have the greatest desire possible to see a gentleman endowed

with so many accomplishments, and of such a generous spirit. But let us

move upwards.

_Host._ Aye, Sir; yonder, where the river makes a bend, ’tis a deep

water, and still; but it is ruffled by a good breeze of wind, and you’ll

find some large trouts lie there.

_Angler._ Wherever you recommend. What a green turfy walk is here! I

could almost envy Mr. Walton his angling with a float, to sit on such a

bank, and recline himself under the shade of these trees: the grass is

so well mowed, ’tis as soft under foot as velvet, and fit for a bowling

ground.

_Host._ Sometimes Mr. Cotton and his friends will have their pleasure

here at bowls instead of yonder by the Tower.

_Angler._ Well, it must take the work of some labouring men to keep all

this grass plot so smooth, for there is near two acres of it.

_Host._ Yes, Sir, the gardeners have enough to do: and this brings to my

mind a story of Mr. Cotton—but it is not worth your hearing.

_Angler._ I pray you let me have it whatever it is.

_Host._ Well, Sir, I need not tell you my master is the farthest

possible from an avaricious man, for his hand and purse are open to the

poor; and he will always have his servants well provided: but the cook

is sometimes a pinch-crust, and then the servants will grumble. Now it

chanced one day, in the last summer, as Mr. Cotton walked down this way

to fish, the mowers were cutting the grass badly, and so he cried out to

them, ‘How now, fellows! what do you call this? a grass plot or a meadow

land? I pray you let me see it better done, and smoothly.’ Thereupon

they looked at one another doubtingly, and whispered among themselves:

at length one that was known to be something of a dry wit among them,

after some little persuasive winks and nods of the others, came forward

with his hat in his hand to be their spokesman. Then in a very humble

tone, and with something of a facetious look, which always takes with

Mr. Cotton, he said,

‘Little meat, and half enough,

‘Makes the scythe cut high and rough.’

So because Mr. Cotton has no austerity of behaviour towards the lowest

and poorest man that speaks to him civilly, he enquired what his meaning

was, and then the truth came out. ‘Well, well, honest man,’ he replied,

‘go to your work, and I’ll presently see to it.’ And so he walked home

to the Hall, and there he made a rout at the cook, and ordered a servant

to take down provisions enough, and plenty; and in the afternoon he

found his rascals hard at work, bending lustily over their scythes. Then

he goes and looks at them; and then out steps the poet with his hat in

his hand as before, and says to him,

‘Now we’ve meat, and some to spare,

‘It makes the scythe both wipe and pare,’

meaning the grass should be cut smooth and fine. So Mr. Cotton laughed

at his rustical wit, and said ‘go to—go to, thou art a wag;’ and so he

turned away, and took his recreation a-fishing, and I am sure he was

more entertained than he chose to tell them.

_Angler._ They are happy servants to be under a master who is so

accostable and sweet tempered.——But here comes the gentleman from the

fishing-house.

_Painter._ So, brother, what sport?

_Angler._ Excellent good. And how have you sped?

_Painter._ Those paintings in the fishing-house have detained me longer

than I thought; but I have done them with all the correctness I am

master of.

_Angler._ A thousand thanks to you. But look ye, a large fish has come

to me: I have him fast; now do you take the rod, and you shall have the

praise to kill this trout within view of Mr. Cotton’s fishing-house.

_Painter._ It may be the ill luck to lose one; for I shall but bungle at

him.

_Angler._ Come, be persuaded, and quickly.

_Painter._ Well, then, I’ll try a bout with him. Ah me! what an

unmannerly glutton it is.

_Angler._ Point your rod high—keep him with a steady hand; so—it is well

done.

_Painter._ Ah me! how he struggles—there! saw you that tumble he made?

Shall I jerk him out?

_Angler._ Oh, by no means; but have patience: give him his play, and a

little more line—so-ho! that’s enough—hold up your rod—there, now wind

him up with a discretion, and we shall bring him to land presently.

_Painter._ Where is the net?

_Angler._ I have it ready; fetch him round hither.

_Painter._ There was a tug he gave: I shall lose him—beseech you take

the rod again.

_Angler._ Pardon me, you shall have your sport: worry him a bit: see how

he lies on the water—this way, and now you have him, as you well

deserve.

_Painter._ That was exceeding fine sport; I never thought the pleasures

of angling were so great. I’m quite hot and confused. He is a handsome

fish, spotted red all over. How many have you taken?

_Angler._ Three trouts; but this last you have so handled like a skilful

‘prentice in the art is worth them all: it is a heavy fish, and see what

fine condition he’s in. You shall make another trial lower down the

stream, where the water is in rapids. But before we go let me see your

paintings.

_Painter._ There they are; and I was never more in love with my

employment, than when I sat in the fishing-house, and saw Mr. Walton and

Mr. Cotton looking upon me from the doors of the beaufet. I have

endeavoured all I could, (but in vain) to delineate honest Izaak, who

looks so meekly.

_Angler._ Nay; it is an exact copy of yonder portrait: what can be more

winning than to see his mute calmness, which only happy anglers know!

And Mr. Cotton, whose native disposition shines in that mirthful

countenance, which can be no other than his own. What say you, mine

host, to this limning; hath my brother caught Mr. Cotton’s look?

_Host._ Aye, Sir, to the life:—indeed I confess myself surprised how

this gentleman hath handled it. And so for Mr. Walton,—you may now

declare yourself to be acquainted with his person,—and garb, and

gesture.

_Painter._ I hope you speak freely as you think, and then I am

satisfied; and here is the external of the fishing-house, at a near

view.

_Angler._ It is all exceeding good; the lights and shades of this

inviting spot painted with a perceptible truth.

_Painter._ And here is one more which is the fishing-house within doors;

and that, I must say, is the best of all.

_Angler._ I protest this is even beyond yourself. ‘_Give me leave to

embrace you._’ Why, Sir, it is a matchless piece of art. Look you, Mr.

Marsh, there we all are, as like as possible, talking in the

fishing-house.

_Host._ I have never seen such a natural painting.

_Painter._ Come, come, Sirs;—you so enhance my poor deserts, you make me

blush,—indeed you do.

_Angler._ I speak nothing more than the truth: the colours are

admirable, and the whole is breathing with life—and there is the beaufet

in small—and the rocks and river, and contented anglers sitting beside

them:—every touch of Mr. Rolston glowing with an equal vivacity. I

cannot thank you enough.

_Painter._ Well, brother, the pleasure you express is a full reward for

all my pains. So, if you please let us return towards those rocks we

passed in our way from the Prospect Tower.

_Angler._ Most willingly; and there it was I had a purpose in my mind,

to put you in the way to catch another trout.

_Painter._ But what have we yonder, opposite to this bend of the stream?

It seems a fantastical place.

_Host._ That, Sirs, is a green recess, built up by my master, where he

will sometimes have his friends to dine in summer, and now and then give

them a game of bowls for their entertainment in the cool of the evening.

You may see the shelving sides are of soft mossy turf, and made to lean

upon at your length. I have often been a witness to the innocent mirth

of Mr. Cotton when he has entertained his guests underneath those

trees;—as Mr. Alexander Brome,[47] and Mr. Flatman, of the Inner Temple,

in London, and others. And I remember, it is many years now past,

(indeed it was that memorable joyful year of the king’s return from his

forced exile,) Mr. Walton sent my master word, that he and their mutual

friend, Mr. Brome, chancing together to be in Stafford, had challenged

one the other to walk on pilgrimage to Beresford, and make free with the

trouts in his river Dove. Well do I remember the joy of my master, when

he received the letter: alas! methinks those happy days shall never

return.

_Painter._ Nay, Mr. Marsh: it is the permitted liberty of an honest

reason to ‘_hope all things_;’ fortune will sometimes flout the best of

men, and lead them forcibly through all sorts of contrary meanders and

labyrinths; but she can never deject the spirits of brave christian

men.[48] I beseech you entertain more cheerful thoughts: and did the

introduction of Mr. Brome follow this self-invitation of the Stafford

pilgrims?

_Host._ Aye, Sir: and Mr. Thomas Flatman chanced at the time to be a

guest at the Hall, a most ingenious and alluring companion, who, as I

have heard my master jocosely say, was the happy accepted lover of two

mistresses.

_Angler._ And yet, methinks, in his younger days, he wrote a ballad

against the peaceable joys of matrimony.

_Painter._ Mr. Cotton jested merrily with his friend, well knowing how

at once he woo’d the sister arts of Poesy and Painting:[49] and, indeed,

so evenly divided his affections between them, that it may be doubted to

which he paid most successful courtship.

_Host._ Well, Sir, when the message came from Mr. Walton, my master and

Mr. Flatman could scarce express the happy thoughts that possessed them;

only this I may say, every hour seemed to be an age till the arrival of

their friends; and the servants in the house participated in the busy

expectation of their coming; and Mr. Walton’s lodging chamber, and one

for Mr. Brome were prepared. Then at length these friends had the

happiness to embrace each other; and seeing it was in the heat of

summer, Mr. Cotton brought them, after dinner, to this recess, and there

entertained them with pipes, and fruits, and wine; and because it was

soon after the king’s happy and glorious recovery of his throne, they

sung some loyal songs, and drank the king’s health in old Canary.

_Angler._ It was worthy of honest cavaliers; and who is there would not

gladly have joined in such a merry-making?

‘Oh how happy was their leisure,

‘Oh how innocent their pleasure!

‘Oh ye vallies, oh ye mountains,

‘Oh ye groves and crystal fountains!

‘How they loved _to visit ye,

‘And toast the king at liberty_.’

Think, what a happy concurrence of four poets! Methinks I now see them,

seated round this stone table, beneath the shadowy sycamore-trees and

elms.

_Painter._ Four poets, say you? Thou hast a creative fancy; for Mr.

Walton was but a writer of prose; notwithstanding, I am ready to grant

his images of rural life are as poetical as any in our language, and his

COMPLEAT ANGLER a continued pastoral, abounding in natural

refinement—nay, equal to those of Phineas Fletcher[50] or Michael

Drayton.[51]

_Angler._ Doubt not, Sir, that Mr. Walton may claim his niche in the

Temple of the Muses: and indeed, of all those who sung joyful quartettos

that day within this recess, he had as clear a title as any to be

crowned with the bays of Parnassus: for when you read, as I hope you

will do, the ingenious poems of loyal Mr. Brome, you will find in the

prefix of friendly encomiums bestowed upon it, a most joyous eclogue of

Damon and Dorus, and writ by Mr. Walton that very day of the King’s

Majestie’s restoration; indeed, I cannot give it a higher testimony of

praise than that it is worthy of his fertile pen; and thus it begins;

_Damon._

‘Hail happy day! Dorus, sit down;

‘Now let no sigh, nor let no frown,

‘Lodge near thy heart nor on thy brow:

‘The King! the King’s return’d! and now

‘Let’s banish all sad thoughts, and sing

‘We have our laws, and have our King.’

_Dorus._

‘’Tis true, and I would sing, but oh!

‘These wars have sunk my heart so low,

‘’Twill not be raised.

_Damon._

‘What—not this day?

‘Why, ’tis _the twenty-ninth of May_:

‘Let rebels’ spirits sink; let those

‘That like the Goths and Vandals rose

‘To ruin families, and bring

‘Contempt on our Church and King,

‘And all that’s dear to us,—be sad;

‘But be not thou; let us be glad.

‘Yea, let us dance, shake hands, and sing

‘We have our laws: GOD SAVE THE KING.’[52]

_Iz. Walton._

_Painter._ I say Amen: and may we always ‘_have our laws and have our

King_!’ and now let us walk higher up the stream, which may vie with the

poetic Castalia as the happy resort of the Muses.

_Host._ Gentlemen, you will find the river very pleasant below, and when

you are across the bridge by that rock, not many steps past the

fishing-house, you will suddenly find yourselves in Derbyshire.

_Angler._ I am ready for any thing, where all is so full of pleasure.

_Host._ And now that we are come to it, so please you, I’ll take my

leave, for I have business at Hartington: and here is the wallet with a

store of provisions for dinner; and so, Gentlemen, my humble service to

you; I wish you good luck a-fishing.

_Angler._ Farewell.—Now, Brother, let us cross to the other side into

Derbyshire, for so Mr. Cotton did with his friend VIATOR, and promised

‘_a good fish should fall to his share_.’

_Painter._ I pray you stay yet a moment within this prospect, for I am

wholly possessed with some peaceful thoughts, that I would not drive

away for any recreation you can promise me. There is a murmur of the

waters over that ledge of rock, which keeps time with a musical measure,

and invites us to linger on the margin.—Think how many thousand years

the Dove has flowed along this rocky dale, and shall flow for ages yet

to come. So God provides for the sustaining of His works;—‘_He sendeth

the springs into the valleys—He watereth the hills from His

chambers._’[53] And as the River is to the natural world, so is the

CHURCH to GOD’S spiritual people on earth. In the first beginnings

flowing from the fountain of the precious blood of His own eternal

SON:—alas! a little despised stream that burst forth from Calvary; but

destined by His mysterious will to flow through the world, gathering

into herself and purifying all the tributary branches to swell her into

an unknown dignity and grandeur.

_Angler._ And who can express the blessings she hath imparted to the

nations by her administration of holy sacraments, and united worship,

according to the inspired oracles, moulding her children, after the

pattern of their Saviour, in innocency and love. Think of the happy

multitudes who have been warned in her sacramental element, as the

appointed laver of regeneration! Think how her ordinances and harmonious

doctrines, her ministry and her creeds, founded by the holy apostles,

have been the sufficient cure of all heartaches and corroding cares, the

refuge of all unquietness, and the very bond of unity to all Catholic

Christians scattered over the world!

_Painter._ And as she hath proceeded onwards from the distant apostolic

ages, bearing the image of Christ, so she will continue to be the mother

of all, who are baptized into His death.

_Angler._ And notwithstanding profane seceders, turning to their own

inventions, shall fall away, and vainly hope to stop her course, and

sully the purity of her streams; still the promise is sure, and she

shall flow on with her unceasing tide, until at last she shall pour all

her collected waters into the boundless ocean of eternity.——But come,

let us pursue our quiet walks; for I verily believe there is nothing in

all this to forbid poor creatures of the earth taking their innocent

enjoyment. Indeed, all these visible beauties of nature are but sweet

expressions of the divine mind, that we should rejoice in Him who hath

created them. But remember, when the wisest of men says, ‘_go thy way,

eat thy bread with joy, and drink thy wine with a merry heart_,’[54] he

adds, ‘_it is the gift of God_,’ whereof we shall one day give an

account. And now I am ready to accompany you.

_Painter._ Come, then, for I have a great desire to make my large trout

a brace, so let us to our angles.

_Angler._ Look you, Brother, here I have a second angle rod, that we may

both fish in company; now say, whether it shall be a fly or a worm? You

are at liberty to make a choice.

_Painter._ Not a doubt, but a worm and a quill for me.

_Angler._ Nay, nay, let me persuade you to be a fly-fisher; assure

yourself it is a delicate sport, worthy of an ingenious artist as you

are; and all anglers are agreed that it is the pleasantest and most

skilful way to deceive trouts.

_Painter._ I will not lose time in arguments; but remit you to honest

Izaak Walton, that is henceforth my master of angling.

_Angler._ As you will: here is your tackling; and now you are fitted; so

let us go over the bridge, that we may follow Mr. Cotton’s footsteps;

for be sure he must know the likeliest holes in his own river. And he

said to his companion, ‘_You shall now go downward to some streams

between the rocks, below the little foot bridge you see there, and try

your fortune. Take heed of slipping into the water as you follow me

under the rock._’ That is the very spot where you now stand.

_Painter._ He must be an unhandy clown, that should slip, for there is

room enough, and to spare.

_Angler._ Well, this is the spot where he advised VIATOR to throw in; to

which the other replied: ‘_This is a fine stream indeed! There is one—I

have him._’

‘_And a precious catch you have of him_,’ answered Mr. Cotton, ‘_pull

him out! I see you have a tender hand. This is a diminutive gentleman,

even throw him in again and let him grow till he be more worthy your

anger._’

‘_Pardon me, Sir_,’ (then said VIATOR) ‘_all’s fish that comes to the

hook with me now_.’

_Painter._ Bravely resolved; and I declare I mean to follow this

example, if I have permission to do so.

_Angler._ You shall do as you list. Only ‘_fish me this stream by

inches_,’ after Mr. Cotton’s instructions.

_Painter._ With all my heart, and I am so much in love with his river

and his instructions, that I scarce know which to think the best.

_Angler._ Well then, to make you love them both the more, you are to

understand VIATOR caught another and another. After that PISCATOR

invited him ‘_to go down the other side, lower, where you will find

finer streams and better sport, I hope, than this_;’ so let us do the

same.

_Painter._ Wherever you please.

_Angler._ Now we are over the bridge and into the Peak of Derbyshire;

and here it was the ingenious fishers pleased themselves and each other

with a discourse on angling: and thought their recreation was innocent,

as being an encourager of cheerfulness, patience, and brotherly

kindness. So do you begin; but keep at your distance, lest the fishes

see you, before you get a glimpse of them; for you are to remember the

Dove is one of the clearest rivers in all England. Now let your quill go

with the stream by the bank yonder, for hereabouts it was PISCATOR

assured him, there were very good fish; ‘_both trout and grayling lie

here; and at that_ GREAT STONE _on the other side, ’tis ten to one a

good trout gives you the meeting_.’

_Painter._ Then I’ll offer him all the temptation I can. Ah! saw you

that, Mr. Angler, my quill went under the water;—and there again!

_Angler._ I pray you be quiet:—now strike, but as Mr. Cotton says,

‘_with moderation_.’

_Painter._ So, I have him tight.

_Angler._ Be gentle; he is gone, as I feared.

_Painter._ ’Twas my hastiness! I incautiously strained at him: but you

shall find me manage the next with greater skill.

_Angler._ Trust me, you have your lesson to learn; for angling is no

less an art than a pleasure, and one that requires both patience and

skill.

_Painter._ That I plainly see: but I have baited my hook again: and

there is another pulling at my worm. Now, if I do not vex him, call me

no fisherman: aye, aye, master, you may plunge and shift as you will;

but I hold you now.

_Angler._ Have a care, for he is a fine one.

_Painter._ Fear me not; you shall see the manner of my handling: but

there! he has thrown off into the middle of the stream; how he dives and

plucks about! I hope he will not demolish my tackle.

_Angler._ Well, then, do not tear him about too much.

_Painter._ What a rage he is in! so, so—he begins to sicken. Where’s the

net?—thank you—we have him. Now, Sirrah: where are you? I declare he is

as big as the other I caught up yonder. And now, brother, that I may not

hinder you, leave me here alone, with my angle rod; and I beseech you

let me have that pleasant book, which Mr. Walton and Mr. Cotton have

printed together, with a love so communicable; that while I recline on

this bank, I may remember how they have often done the same thing: and

it may be I will leave my angle rod for a time, ‘to fish for itself,’

and make a landskip; for look how pleasantly the Prospect Tower hangs

over our heads: and I am sure that rock is a hundred feet high; and is

crowned with oak and ash trees, that grow in all the crevices.

_Angler._ There are many passages of rare beauty in all this glade; and

since you are so disposed, I will invite you to that rising ground, and

there you shall design the fishing-house, and the Tower on the rock, so

as I may have a combination of those two with the bridge, and all the

river and the craggy sides. It will be a choice prospect!

_Painter._ You are right, and it shall be done to the best of my

abilities; but I’ll lay my angle in the river, near to that ‘_great

stone_’, so that I may have my chance of a trout whilst I’m at work.

_Angler._ And because you leave your angle for my sake, I will read some

passages out of Mr. Walton’s COMPLETE ANGLER for your entertainment

before I begin fishing. Here—is not this a favourable spot?

_Painter._ Aye: come, let us sit on this grass, that smells so sweetly

of wild flowers; and do you make a choice out of Mr. Walton’s book.

_Angler._ Well, then, you may remember, that on a time, in a cheerful

morning in the month of May, VENATOR, a huntsman, walked out towards

Hodsden, (that is a country village not many miles from London,) where

he had appointed a friend or two to meet him, that they might bestow a

day on hunting the otter. Then, by the way, he fell into the company of

a Gentleman Falconer, and as these were come together to Tottenham

Cross, in Hertfordshire, Mr. Walton overtook them: so, after his own

civil manner he accosted the strangers, and asked of their journey and

occasions, saying, ‘You are well overtaken, gentlemen, a good morning to

you both. I have stretched my legs up Tottenham Hill to overtake you,

hoping your business may occasion you towards Ware, whither I am going

this fine fresh May morning.’ Now, Mr. Walton possesses that benignity

of spirit, and such a winning method of discourse, that you may easily

believe ‘he made the way seem shorter’ by his good company.

_Painter._ He should be a pattern of cheerful gravity, or he has, I know

not what, artifice to make himself appear so, since his writings betoken

so many endowments of native gentleness.

_Angler._ But that it is no artifice I may take upon me to declare, and

to say the truth, an inbred sweetness and compliance are notable, both

in his look and words; insomuch that AUCEPS, the falconer, on his first

acquaintance, took the liberty to say: ‘Methinks, Sir, we may promise

good discourse from you that both look and speak so cheerfully.’

_Painter._ Then after those polite salutations they were all inclinable

to travel pleasantly towards Ware?

_Angler._ And as they walked and conversed, they praised their several

recreations: and first, Mr. AUCEPS, the falconer, exercised their

attention concerning the element he used to trade in, which was the air;

and he would fain make it clear, that this was ‘an element that exceeds

both the earth and water; and, though I sometimes deal in both,’ (this

is what Mr. AUCEPS said) ‘yet the air is most properly mine; I and my

hawks use that most, and it yields us most recreation; it stops not the

soaring of my noble, generous falcon; in it she ascends to such a height

as the dull eyes of beasts and fish are not able to reach to; their

bodies are too gross for such high elevations: in the air my troops of

hawks soar up on high, and when they are lost in the sight of men, then

they attend upon and converse with the gods; therefore I think my eagle

is so justly styled _Jove’s servant in ordinary_: and that very falcon,

that I am now going to see, deserves no meaner a title, for she usually

in her flight endangers herself, like the son of Dædalus, to have her

wings scorched by the sun’s heat, she flies so near it: but her mettle

makes her careless of danger; for she then heeds nothing, but makes her

nimble pinions cut the fluid air, and so makes her highway over the

steepest mountains and deepest rivers, and in her glorious career looks

with contempt upon those high steeples and magnificent palaces which we

adore and wonder at; from which height I can make her to descend by a

word from my mouth (which she both knows and obeys) to accept of meat

from my hand, to own me for her master, to go home with me, and be

willing the next day to afford me the like recreation.’ Now, is not that

a cheerful description? and, that I may not be thought immoderate, I

will omit many passages; but I beseech you listen to the praises that

Mr. Falconer makes of ‘those little nimble musicians of the air, that

warble forth their curious ditties, with which nature hath furnished

them to the shame of art. As first the lark, when she means to rejoice;

to cheer herself and those that hear her; she then quits the earth, and

sings as she ascends higher into the air, and having ended her heavenly

employment, grows then mute and sad, to think she must descend to the

dull earth, which she would not touch, but for necessity.’

_Painter._ Aye! ‘grows then mute and sad to think she must descend to

the dull earth!’ How natural that is! Mr. Walton’s words are more

musical than the song of the lark—and his strains higher than her aerial

flight, for they bring you nearer to thoughts of heaven.

_Angler._ Then he proceeds: ‘How do the blackbird and throssel with

their melodious voices bid welcome to the cheerful Spring, and in their

fixed mouths warble forth such ditties as no art or instrument can reach

to! Nay, the smaller birds also do the like, in their particular

seasons, as, namely, the leverock, the titlark, the little linnet, and

the honest robin, that loves mankind both alive and dead.’

_Painter._ Beautiful! ‘the honest robin that loves mankind both alive

and dead;’ that has an allusion to the ballad of the Babes in the Wood,

a sad and simple history that so mightily touches the affections of

children.

‘These pretty babes, with hand in hand,

Went wandering up and downe,

But never more could see the man

Approaching from the towne.

‘Their prettye lippes with blackberries

Were all besmear’d and dyed,

And when they saw the darksome night

They sat them downe and cryed.

‘Thus wandered these two little babes

Till death did end their grief,

In one another’s arms they dyed

As babes wanting reliefe.

‘No burial this pretty pair

Of any man receives,

Till Robin red-breast painfully

Did cover them with leaves.’[55]

Stop, dear brother; for I would not have you to mar those passages you

have now cited out of Mr. Walton by some that are worse.

_Angler._ Listen to one more, and I have done. ‘But the nightingale,

another of my airy creatures, breathes such sweet loud music out of her

little instrumental throat, that it might make mankind to think miracles

are not ceased. He that at midnight, when the very labourer sleeps

securely, should hear, as I have very often, the clear airs, the sweet

descants, the natural rising and falling, the doubling and redoubling of

her voice, might well be lifted above earth, and say, Lord, what music

hast thou provided for the saints in heaven, when thou affordest bad men

such music on earth!’

_Painter._ I now remember that description: it is beyond my praise;—it

is all music together, and I declare to you, I know not which I am most

in love with—the song of the nightingale, or the meek penman who hath

set that song to such music.

_Angler._ I told you the writings of Mr. Walton have a power to unlock

the affections; and I am so bold as to assure you, that many men I could

name, who mocked at fishers and fishing, before they had perused the

COMPLETE ANGLER, have been moved to practise his art by the persuasive

arguments they have found in it.

_Painter._ That I can believe, and for my part I am almost brought to

wish myself a Falconer by these testimonies which AUCEPS hath adduced to

the praise of his ‘noble, generous hawks, and those little nimble

musicians of the air.’

_Angler._ Stay a while, till I bring before you what the merry huntsman

had to say for his recreation; and after that the commendations Mr.

Walton bestows on the greater excellency of his own happy art of

angling. But now I perceive you have made an outline of this landskip,

so let us go down to the lower streams of the river, where I have

something better to show you.

_Painter._ I am not willing to doubt any thing you say: but what can you

find more full of beauty than these landskips hereabouts?

_Angler._ Of that I shall give you leave to judge when I have brought

you to a spot will enchant you; and there you may be sure to catch a

good fish.

_Painter._ Well then, let us be doing; and now I think it is time to

repair to my angle, that I left in the water to fish for itself.

_Angler._ There it is, and so take it up.

_Painter._ How now!—my worm and hook both gone!—Look you!—and it may be

I have lost a good trout, whilst I was charmed with those song-birds,

that sung so sweetly out of Mr. Walton’s aviary.

_Angler._ Never mind,—you shall presently ‘_try a fall_’ with another;

and pray take notice, that trout was not lost, for quiet Mr. Walton

says, ‘no man can lose what he never had.’ Ah! ha! saw you that fish?—he

rose just above yonder great stone on the other side. If I have any

luck, I shall land him presently.

_Painter._ You have cast your fly in the very spot; and

there!—look——there he is again.

_Angler._ I have him fast.

_Painter._ See—what a summersault he made!

_Angler._ He should be a trout from his nimbleness, and a plumper too.

_Painter._ I beseech you handle him like an artist—here is the net and

all ready—haul him in.

_Angler._ Not so fast—not so fast, brother—let him have his time.

_Painter._ There again! saw you that leap he gave? By my word you have

the right knack.

_Angler._ Now you observe he has a running line—and now I may bring him

up again—so, so—he has done his worst—now fetch the net; but if you love

me, manage him with a prudent hand; so, you performed it handsomely; and

a fine fish he is: come, let us go down to PIKE POOL. I know not how it

may fare with you;—but methinks it should be near to dinnertime.

_Painter._ In plain truth I am well disposed to play my part at that.

_Angler._ Away then by this bank, where the stream becomes broader. See

how it hurries by that bed of rock with a loud murmuring.

_Painter._ How now! there is a rock in the river like a church steeple,

and forty feet high!

_Angler._ That is the PIKE POOL you have heard of.

_Painter._ Say you so? what a spot of solitude is here!

_Angler._ Now tell me is not this a charming nook for a recluse angler?

But here we must make our passage once more into Staffordshire, by these

cobble stones, that we may come to the margin of the POOL; for you see

we are stopped on this side by the rocks.

_Painter._ I am willing to follow you.

_Angler._ Look well to your footing, and give me the wallet; for I fear

you will let that drop into the water, and now your hand—so—

_Painter._ We are well over; and of all places I have seen, this is

surpassing in beauty. Surely it is a rocky dell, that is worthy of a

poet’s praise: now if Petrarch had sung of his Laura by these rocks,

they would be thought as fine as Vaucluse; and this stream as bright and

nimble as the Sorga itself, which I was once happy enough to visit as I

passed by Avignon towards Italy: and was permitted the leisure to sketch

some imperfect limnings of the strangely shaped and rugged rocks, from

which the mysterious fount of the river gushes into daylight. It is true

I may not boast to have caught my brace of trouts in its limpid streams;

but I tasted some skilfully drest by the civil hostess of the village

inn that is called after the name of the Poet. Oh Sir, if you had there

been the companion of my prolonged wanderings, with what delight should

we have perused together those unimitable poems of Petrarch! And do you

recollect, how he says,

‘L’acque parlan d’amore, e l’aura e i rami

‘E gli augeletti, e i pesci, e i fiori, e l’erba,

‘Tutti insieme pregando ch’io sempr’ami.’

_Angler._ I remember the lines. And be it known to you, Petrarcha was

himself a brother of the angle.

_Painter._ Nay, Sir, your authority for this? I grant you, the

impassioned poet might grave the name of his Laura on the hard rocks, or

picture to his imagination her beautiful image reflected in the deep

clear caverns of the river;

‘Or in forma di Ninfa or d’altra Diva

‘Che dal più chiaro fondo di Sorga esca

‘E pongasi a sedere in su la riva:’

but I cannot be persuaded to believe that so hopeless a lover could be a

happy angler. He that was the most learned of his age, and Poet Laureat

crowned with the triple garland at Rome, an angler!

_Angler._ Happy or unhappy—learned or unlearned—I may tell you he was a

fisher;—and be these lines my witness, which you may find in his latin

works;

‘Retia nunc sunt arma mihi, et labyrinthius error

‘Vimineâ contextus acu; qui pervius undis

‘Piscibus est carcer, nullâ remeabilis arte:

‘Pro gladiis curvos hamos, fallacibus escis

‘Implicitos, tremulasque sudes, parvumque tridentem

‘PISCATOR modò factus ego, quò terga natantum

‘Sistere jam didici, duroque affigere saxo.

‘Primitias en flumineæ transmittimus artis

‘Et versus quot Clausa domos habet arctaque Vallis,

‘Quæ tibi pisciculos et rustica carmina pascit.’[56]

_Painter._ Marry, Sir, after those harmonious verses that you have so

fixedly treasured up in your memory it is undeniable you may have the

honour to claim Petrarcha for one of your fraternity.

_Angler._ And what was more natural than he should seek an inward

consolation for his diseased thoughts in so quiet and sweet a

recreation; and on the banks of his loved river indulge his thoughts

with those ‘Visions’ of the departed Laura, which Master Edmund

Spenser[57] hath rendered from the Italian into harmonious English

verse:

‘Within this wood, out of a rocke did rise

‘A spring of water, mildly rumbling downe,

‘Whereto approached not in anie wise

‘The homely shepheard, nor the ruder clowne;

‘But many Muses, and the Nymphes withall,

‘That sweetly in accord did tune their voyce

‘To the soft sounding of the waters fall;

‘That my glad hart thereat did much rejoyce.

‘But while herein I tooke my chiefe delight,

‘I saw (alas) the gaping earth devoure

‘The spring, the place, and all cleane out of sight;

‘Which yet aggrieves my hart even to this houre,

‘And wounds my soule with rufull memorie,

‘To see such pleasures gon so suddenly.’

But now look around, and tell me, you that have seen famed VAUCLUSE, if

this dell be not more woody and umbrageous than the banks of the Sorga;

and look at the doublings and wrenches of the stream, which make it the

most singular place that can be imagined for natural beauties; and let

me tell you, they have been designed by Mr. Isaac Walton, junior, the

son of our master of angling.

_Painter._ How! has Mr. Walton a son, and a limner too?

_Angler._ You may take Mr. Cotton’s word for that.

_Painter._ Then I shall be inclined to love him for more reasons than

one.

_Angler._ Well, then, you must know, PISCATOR and VIATOR having fished

the ‘stream by inches,’ came lower down, and then suddenly VIATOR

exclaimed, ‘_But what have we got here? a rock springing up in the

middle of the river! This is one of the oddest sights that ever I saw._’

To this PISCATOR replied, ‘_Why, Sir, from that Pike that you see

standing up there, distant from the rock,—that is called Pike Pool, and

young Mr. Isaac Walton was so pleased with it, as to draw it in

landskip, in black and white, in a blank book I have at home, as he has

done several prospects of my house also, which I keep for a memorial of

his favour_.’

_Painter._ A book full of landskips did you say! in black and white, and

all done by the hand of Mr. Izaak Walton, junior? that were indeed a

treasure to possess! But come;—let us repose ourselves along these shady

banks that Mr. Walton, and his son, and Mr. Cotton all loved, and that

deserve to be loved by every honest angler. See these wild flowers,

which spring around, and make a soft cushion for us; here is the wild

thyme, the Nottingham catchfly, and coltsfoot, and violets——

_Angler._ And what is no less germaine to the present argument,—a

handsome repast!—So let us fall to’t.—Here is an excellent cake, and

some hang’d martinmas beef; with a measure or two of mine Host’s good

ale. Are you prepared?

_Painter._ I may warrant you, and no wise dainty after our long walk.

_Angler._ O that we could now possess our dear accomplish’d Civilian,

that hath more learning than both you and I together!

_Painter._ Aye; if he were here reclining with us by the side of PIKE

POOL, our entertainment would be complete: and let us not despair to

inveigle him hither next month of May.

_Angler._ Well, I have known stranger things come to pass; and now, if

you please, we’ll drink his health in a loving cup of barley wine.

_Painter._ A worthy toast! fill to the brim!

_Angler._ To the brim.

_Both._ Here is a health to our polite Mr.

[Illustration: T. O. A.]

_Angler._ A true lover of honest Izaak; and to hear him descant on the

gentle craft, you might declare him to be a practised disciple.

_Painter._ Then what say you to his books of emblems and engraved

pictures of angling? and do not forget that ebony cabinet in his

chambers in Lincoln’s Inn, furnished with all ancient treatises of your

art, and other merry sports and pastimes of England.

_Angler._ Aye; and I love him the more for his love of my masters: and

though he hath never wetted a line, nor soiled his hosen in pursuit of

the finny tribes, yet in imagination he hath done both one and the

other: and is no less versed in the philosophy of angling than learned

in Lord Coke’s Institutes, and the Law of Nations.

_Angler._ I wish him all health; and may he ever possess Sir Christopher

Hatton’s moderate desires, and be able to sing,

‘I weigh not fortune’s frowne nor smile,

‘I joye not much in worldly joyes;

‘I seek not state, I reake not style,

‘I am not fond of fancie’s toyes!

‘I rest so pleased with what I have,

‘I wish no more,—no more I crave.’

_Painter._ So say I. And now remember your promise, and give me the

huntsman’s arguments in praise of his pastime of hunting, when he was in

the company of Mr. Walton and the Falconer, all the while they walked to

Hodsden.

_Angler._ Most willingly; and you are to know, when Mr. Falconer broke

off his discourse, and entreated VENATOR to say his best in praise of

the chase, that honest candid huntsman began with a commendation of the

earth, being that element upon which he drives his ‘pleasant wholesome

hungry trade;’ and then declared, that ‘hunting is a game for princes

and noble persons; it hath been highly prized in all ages; it was one of

the qualifications that Xenophon bestowed on his Cyrus, that he was a

hunter of wild beasts. Hunting trains up the younger nobility to the use

of manly exercises in their riper age. What more manly exercise than

hunting the wild boar, the stag, the buck, the fox, or the hare? How

doth it preserve health, and increase strength and activity?’

_Painter._ Well said, Mr. Huntsman; pr’ythee proceed.

_Angler._ ‘And for the dogs that we use, who can commend their

excellency to that height which they deserve? How perfect is the hound

at smelling, who never leaves or forsakes his first scent, but follows

it through so many changes and varieties of other scents, even over and

in the water, and into the earth! What music doth a pack of dogs then

make to any man, whose heart and ears are so happy as to be set to the

tune of such instruments! How will a right greyhound fix his eye on the

best buck in the herd, single him out, and follow him, and him only,

through a whole herd of rascal game, and still know, and then kill him!

For my hounds, I know the language of them, and they know the language

and meaning of one another as perfectly as we know the voices of those

with whom we discourse daily.’

_Painter._ Aye, I warrant you, PISCATOR had need of all his eloquence to

overcome these winning arguments in favour of the noble sport of

hunting. And what more did VENATOR say?

_Angler._ At length he gently excused himself from enlarging his

discourse, and said, ‘I will not be so uncivil to Mr. PISCATOR, as not

to allow him time for the commendation of angling, which he calls an

art, but doubtless it is an easy one; and, Mr. AUCEPS, I doubt we shall

hear a watery discourse of it; but I hope it will not be a long one.’

_Painter._ And how did PISCATOR reply to this pleasant jesting?

_Angler._ He received it as a well-bred angler would do, and thus

replied: ‘Gentlemen, let not prejudice prepossess you.’ Do you observe

how enured Mr. Walton is to meekness and patience? And you shall see, by

and by, that he was able to bring forward a store of arguments and

examples to prove the greater excellence of his art of angling.——But

first, I am for another cup of ale. And here’s a health to Mr. Walton

and his son, and Mr. Cotton, his adopted son, that have often sat where

we now sit, and I have no doubt with hearts as thankful as I hope ours

to be.

_Painter._ I drink to all three.

_Angler._ And here’s a good wish for a south wind, that Mr. Thomas

Barker says, ‘blows the fly in the trout’s mouth,’[58] and good sport to

all anglers.

_Painter._ To such of them as be honest men.

_Angler._ Let me tell you, all true brothers of the angle are honest

men.

_Painter._ Agreed, agreed.—So here’s a south wind to all anglers. And

now, whilst you entertain me with PISCATOR’S discourse, so suitable to

this occasion, I will design that rock and the pool, and these

umbrageous trees, which give us their shelter from the sun.

_Angler._ I thank you, and shall esteem it as highly as the landskips of

Mr. Walton junior, that lately returned from his travels to Rome, in

company with his kinsman, pious Mr. Thomas Ken, Fellow of St. Mary

Winton College, in Winchester.

_Painter._ How! did you say with Mr. Ken? he that is chaplain to Dr.

Morley, the self-denying Bishop of Winton, who maintains the primitive

doctrine and discipline, and has restored the daily service in his

Churches?

_Angler._ The same;—and follows the Bishop’s example of an ascetic life

even in the midst of this luxurious age: and has lately writ ‘_A Manual

of Prayers and Devotions for the use of the Schollars of Winchester

School_,’[59] where he himself was trained to learning and good manners.

_Painter._ Indeed! a book that most lovingly persuades young christians

to dedicate their tender age to the service of God.

_Angler._ And I can never forget a discourse I once heard him preach to

the poor in St. John’s Church, in the Soke near Winchester, wherein he

exhorted them to the duties and privileges of holiness,—and with such a

sweet and melting eloquence—that when he told them of Christ’s whole

life of suffering for their sakes, he drew tears from many eyes.

_Painter._ But how did it come to pass that he should travel with Mr.

Walton junior?

_Angler._ Because of his affection for old Isaak, who had been his early

counsellor and guide, when he was left an orphan: for Mr. Walton had

married his sister, Mistress Ann Ken, ‘a woman of remarkable prudence,

and of the primitive piety:’ but she is now at rest, and ‘lyeth buried,

so much as could dye,’ in the blessed Virgin Mary’s Chapel in the

Cathedral in Worcester.

_Painter._ Well: he could not make a more grateful return for the

father’s love, than to take upon him the part of Mentor to the son in

his foreign travels: but come, I remember me how the Host said, Mr.

Walton had good luck in this pool, and I desire to follow his example,

and wheedle a big trout for our supper.

_Angler._ And so you shall; and because you have lost your hook, I’ll

show you how to fix another.

_Painter._ _Grazie, Pescatore mio._

_Angler._ Let me find a hook with two horse hairs twisted together: here

it is, and you may see a loop at the end. Now mark, put the loop of the

fish-line through this loop of the hook, and then bring the hook through

the loop in the fish-line, and draw them tight together—so—and here is a

fresh brandling, and now you are fitted.

_Painter._ O’ my word, ’tis neatly done; so, I have laid my rod. Come,

Sir, begin: How pleasant this is!

Where in a brook

With a hook,

Or a lake

Fish we take,

There we sit

For a bit

Till we fish entangle.

None do here

Use to swear;

Oaths do fray,

Fish away.

We sit still

And watch our quill,

Fishers must not wrangle.

But let us have the angler’s grave,—watery arguments: I am inquisitive

to hear what he will make against the Hunter.

_Angler._ Not so grave, I promise you; but full of empassioned eloquence

and no less ingenuity. Thus then he began, ‘Gentlemen, let not prejudice

prepossess you. I confess my discourse is like to prove suitable to my

recreation, calm and quiet; we seldom take the name of God into our

mouths, but it is either to praise him or pray to him; if others use it

vainly in the midst of their recreations, so vainly as if they meant to

conjure, I must tell you it is neither our fault nor our custom; we

protest against it. But, pray remember, I accuse nobody; for as I would

not make a watery discourse, so I would not put too much vinegar into

it; nor would I raise the reputation of my own art, by the diminution or

ruin of another’s. And so much for the prologue to what I mean to say.’

After that, with arguments excellently contrived, he praised his own

loved element and occupation, and used every allowable artifice to show

how they are more excellent than all others. I could now open to you

many passages of his discourse, that have all the natural fragrancy of

wild flowers scattered with a careless hand; and whilst he sets forth

the beauty of the works of God, you may be lifted to praise the Maker of

them for that most wonderful attribute—His love to man. Indeed, he

applied himself with so great a zeal to the commendation of angling, and

heightened his discourse by so many harmonious digressions and

testimonies to the pleasure and high esteem thereof, that, when they

arrived at Theobald’s Park, whither the Falconer was proceeding to a

friend’s house, who mewed a hawk for him, he declared to PISCATOR, ‘I

now part with you full of good thoughts, not only of yourself, but of

your recreation.’ And yet, let me tell you, he did but a short time

before profess to pity anglers, ‘because of their heavy contemptible

dull recreation.’

_Painter._ And after the Falconer was gone, did VENATOR express any

civil disposition towards anglers?

_Angler._ Aye; for you have seen how his purpose was to hunt the Otter

at Hodsden, that was three miles further; and so he continued his walk

with Mr. Walton, who all the while pursued his discourse of fishes and

fishing.

_Painter._ Indeed! then his discourse was three miles long! All the

while, say you, till they came to Hodsden?

_Angler._ And not only so; but without any averseness in Mr. VENATOR.

_Painter._ Then, I cannot but consider him the meekest and most polite

man in the world, to listen with a cheerful willingness to so long a

commendation of an art that he had ‘heard many merry huntsmen make sport

and scoff at.’

_Angler._ Be not so confident; stay a little, and I shall make you

confess that Mr. Walton adorned his arguments with such a matchless

commixture of learning and eloquence, as made his praise of angling like

sweet music even to the huntsman’s ear; for when they were left

together, after the Falconer was gone to his friend’s house, Mr. Walton

invited his companion to enlarge his discourse on hunting, and promised

he should ‘neither want time nor his attention to hear it.’ But this the

other gently declined, because he was kindled with a desire to hear how

Mr. Walton could persuade him that angling was ‘of great antiquity, and

a perfect art, and an art not easily attained to;’ the which if he could

do, he promised to ‘attend him a day or two a-fishing, and become his

scholar.’ Whereupon Mr. Walton was charmed with the hope of the

Huntsman’s conversion; and he did, by obvious arguments, possess his

mind with the same high and happy thoughts as himself had the enjoyment

of; for he convinced him how it was an excellent and a pleasant art ‘to

deceive a trout, that is more sharpsighted than any hawk,’ and how ‘the

man that hopes to be a good angler must not only bring an inquiring,

searching, observing wit, but he must bring a large measure of hope and

patience, and a love and a propensity to the art itself.’

_Painter._ And thus Mr. Walton, by an alluring suavity, persuaded the

Huntsman that angling was near a-kin to wisdom, ‘_all her ways

pleasantness, and her paths peace_!’[60]

_Angler._ Doubtless,—and I would have you understand that Mr. Walton,

who is a known lover of truth, here declares that he has discovered, by

a practical acquaintance with his art, ‘the very sitting by the river’s

side is not only the quietest and fittest place for contemplation, but

will invite an angler to it; and settle his mind in a quiet repose, and

there make him fit for revelation.’ Then, after many more examples to

the lawfulness and high esteem of angling, he declares, that ‘whosoever

shall view the ancient ecclesiastical canons, shall find hunting to be

forbidden to Churchmen, as being a turbulent, toilsome, perplexing

recreation; and shall find angling allowed, as being a harmless

recreation that invites them to contemplation and quietness.’

_Painter._ This methinks is suitable; for so pious ministers may forth

into the meadows, and there sit and angle in a retirement, and unbend

their minds from too close study; and, moreover give glory to God, when

they see the rocks and waters that He hath formed, and the whole earth

spangled with flowers or other ornaments, for the service and delight of

mankind.

_Angler._ And I believe that every hour of innocent freedom from the

cold-hearted humours of the world, and every secret instinct of

reverence and affection towards God is a step forward in our path to the

unseen glories of His presence. ‘And it is only while we are still that

we are like a tranquil water reflecting Heaven.’——Thus, VENATOR became

more and more charmed into an attention, until Mr. Walton brought him to

the persuasion that angling was ‘an employment full of various pleasures

and events;’ and after that declared, how ‘learned William Perkins, Dr.

Whitaker, and Dr. Nowel, sometime Dean of the Cathedral Church of St.

Paul, in London, so noted for his meek spirit, deep learning, prudence,

and piety, were dear lovers and constant practisers of angling.’

_Painter._ I dare not deny the commendations Mr. Walton bestows on

fishing, if peaceful Dr. Nowel gave his authority to the enjoyment of

it; for he was a most excellent example of ancient simplicity and

holiness; and who can tell the deep searchings of his spirit into the

truths revealed in the sacred scripture! as witness his Church

Catechism, and the part he took in drawing up the Articles of our Faith,

which shall be the guiding star of happy England amidst the rocks, and

shelves, and quicksands, and cloudy storms of ages yet to come.

_Angler._ Alas! I have a sad forecasting of times, when the Church (and

through her side the Commonwealth of England) shall be again assailed by

wearisome censurers, the declared enemies of her polity and

ministrations,—and yet more of her endowments.

_Painter._ Be not vexed with these unquiet thoughts: God hath His flock

in His own keeping: unless through some decay of piety in our Bishops

and Ministers of religion, by their neglecting of the sacraments, the

daily church services, the Fasts and Festivals, and primitive rules of

discipline, He should again be angered against the shepherds, and let

the wolves into the fold.

_Angler._ Alas! for that day, if ever they should disparage and slur

those ministrations, which are their divine commission to the end of

time, and their bulwark!—for then would the love and reverence of men be

again changed into an averseness, and ill-speakers of church-government

provoke disunion, so as the very vail of the temple mould be rent in

twain.——But to return to the example of pious Dean Nowel, I may tell

you, this most wise man was ‘a dear lover and constant practiser of

angling as any age can produce; and his custom was to spend, besides his

fixed hours of prayer, a tenth part of his time in angling, and also of

his revenue, and usually all his fish, amongst the poor, that inhabited

near to those rivers in which it was caught, saying often, “that charity

gave life to religion;” and at his return to his house he would praise

God, he had spent that day free from worldly trouble; both harmlessly

and in a recreation that became a churchman.’ And more I have to say;

for you will not deny to Sir Henry Wotton your partial opinion and

praise.

_Painter._ That I will not, because I know he was a man of notable

qualities; and one that was a lover of excellent artificers in limning

and sculpture, and willingly afforded his ear and his purse to every

poor man that was so happy as to gain access to him.

_Angler._ Then I have but this more to say, namely, how Mr. Walton

declares, that ‘Sir Henry Wotton, whose experience, learning, wit, and

cheerfulness, made him one of the delights of mankind, was also a dear

lover and frequent practiser of the art of angling, of which he would

say, “’Twas an employment for his idle time, which was not then idly

spent: for angling was, after a tedious study, a rest to his mind, a

cheerer of his spirits, a diverter of sadness, a calmer of unquiet

thoughts, a moderator of passions, a procurer of contentedness.”’

_Painter._ Sir, you could not more certainly move me to favourable

thoughts of angling, than by persuading me to believe that Sir Henry

Wotton had a love for this pastime.

_Angler._ I am glad to hear you say so; and now, after this long

digression, I intend only to tell you, that those irresistible arguments

wherewith Mr. Walton adorned his discourse, brought the Huntsman and

himself to Hodsden, that was the end of their journey. And then Mr.

Walton said, ‘I am glad your patience hath held out so long, for my

discourse hath brought us within sight of the Thatched House.’

To this the other replied: ‘Sir, you have angled me on with much

pleasure to the Thatched House, and I now find your words true; that

good company makes the way seem short; for, trust me, Sir, I thought we

had wanted three miles of this house, till you showed it to me. But now

we are at it, we’ll turn into it, and refresh ourselves with a cup of

drink and a little rest.’

‘Most gladly, Sir,’ replied PISCATOR, ‘and we’ll drink a civil cup to

all the Otter-hunters that we are to meet to-morrow.’ Then VENATOR

answered him, ‘That we will, Sir, and to all the lovers of angling too;

of which number I am now willing to be one myself; for by the help of

your discourse and company I have put on new thoughts, both of the art

of angling and of all that profess it: and if you will but meet me

to-morrow at the time and place appointed, and bestow one day with me

and my friends on hunting the Otter, I will dedicate the next two days

to wait on you, and we two will for that time do nothing but angle, and

talk of fish and fishing.’ Then PISCATOR cheerfully took him at his

word, and said: ‘’Tis a match, Sir; I’ll not fail you, (God willing,) to

be at Amwell Hill to-morrow morning before sun rising.’

_Painter._ A more sweet and loving discourse I have not heard. I declare

to you I am moved by a sensible charm to listen to these ingenuous

strangers, as they enliven each other by an accidental dialogue on

angling.

_Angler._ And who would not desire that he might spend a fine fresh

morning once a year at least in Mr. Walton’s company, and hear him

allege his plausible arguments to teach men to be peaceful anglers? And

if I might persuade you to read all he says in praise of his art, you

would find such a harmony and so many suitable colours in the

composition of his book, that you might declare it to be a picture

designed with all the graces of Titian, and the sweetness of Correggio.

_Painter._ Well, brother, this I will declare, that I am like the

gentleman Falconer, and begin to love both Mr. Walton and his art; nay,

I have listened with a secret pleasure to his conversation, and hope to

hear what entertainment his friend the huntsman provided for him, when

they two met at Amwell to hunt the Otter.

_Angler._ That you shall hear by and by, but first let me see your

sketch of _Pike Pool_.

_Painter._ There it is, and the best I can make it.

_Angler._ It is indeed a skilful picture: all of a just and natural

proportion: and now, because you have had so much civility and patience,

I will make you some requital, and go a-fishing with you for an hour;

but look, you have a nibble; for your quill is out of sight.

_Painter._ And so it is! now I hope to find a good trout to my hook—how

shall I play with him?

_Angler._ Take up your rod, and try if it be a little one or a big one.

_Painter._ It is but ‘a diminutive gentleman.’

_Angler._ Then throw him in again, and put on another worm:—there, you

have a second!

_Painter._ Now! I warrant this is a mettlesome fish.

_Angler._ Then answer him conformably.

_Painter._ Ah!—I am but an _ignoramus_, with all my pride; nevertheless

I hope I shall not lose him, for he will be worth his weight in gold,

only because I took him in this very spot; and if I catch him, I’ll draw

his likeness in colours at my leisure.—He goes away at a dash—I fear my

tackling will not hold out.

_Angler._ I am a hostage for the line, if you will practice him

pliantly—but do not jerk him.

_Painter._ I beseech you take the rod and show me.

_Angler._ Well then—you must cherish him a bit—thus—and now straighten

him by degrees drawing in your line.

_Painter._ See how he doubles back.

_Angler._ Ay: but I have him in hand—so—now do you take the rod again,

and puzzle him, and give me the net—it is well done—this way with him—I

have the Hector, and I declare to you it is the largest fish we have

taken to-day.

_Painter._ Oh, brother, I am quite in love with this pastime of

angling—it is the pleasantest thing in the world—and I profess myself

from henceforth a willing disciple of Mr. Walton.

_Angler._ Indeed! I am charmed to hear you make this honest declaration;

and I may tell you, for your encouragement, that you are like to prove a

handy craftsman, so let us go lower down to the fresh streams.

_Painter._ I have almost had enough: and I cannot hope to be pleased

with any place after this woody dell. I have never seen the like for a

retirement.

_Angler._ Well, as you please: but what is yonder above our heads, which

is overshadowed by the ash trees? methinks it looks like a hole in the

rock.

_Painter._ I believe it is, and if you are so inclined, let us scramble

up and look into it: perchance we shall make a discovery.

_Angler._ With all my heart; lead on: but have a care, for it is a

scraggy place, and you may hap to come down again heels over head.

_Painter._ Look to yourself; a Carolus to a groat that I’m there first.

_Angler._ Say you so? then pr’ythee let your footing keep pace with your

words, for I am after you.

_Painter._ Heigho!—stop there,—I have slipped up; beseech you—give me a

hand.

_Angler._ Ha, ha! Signor, whose somersault was that? try again:—but see,

I am up first,—and what a concealed cavern is here, ‘covered over with

rude grown briers,’[61] and big enough for a man to stand upright in, if

he desired a shelter.[62]

_Painter._ Ay, and we have seen the times that such a cave had been

worth a king’s crown, when he that was near to losing one, was compelled

to hide himself from his pursuers.

_Angler._ Let us pray God that the nation may rest from her

troubles;—that we may sit ‘_every man under his vine and under his

fig-tree_;’ and angle when he will, in peace beneath the shade of

sycamine trees, free from all contentions and jars.

_Painter._ This, I hope, may be our happy lot; and now we have six

braces and a half of trouts; so if you please, let us back to

Alstonfields; for we have two miles to walk, and the sun is going down.

_Angler._ I am quite willing to be at home, for I begin to tire; here is

the way.

_Painter._ So—we are come again to the steep hill by Narrow Dale: I wish

we were past it.

_Angler._ There are some houses;—and a woman standing at her

cottage-door—shall we follow the example of good Dean Nowel, and make

her happy with the contribution of some of our fishes?

_Painter._ I had the same thought.

_Angler._ Here, good woman; will it please you accept this couple of

trouts, and I dare believe you’ll know how to cook them.

_Cottager._ I humbly thank you, gentlemen, and it is not the first time

I have dressed trouts: for noble Mr. Cotton bestows a great part of his

fish upon us. He hath a charitable heart towards his poor neighbours:

and for gentlemen anglers, he loves to see them take their sport in his

river.

_Angler._ That I am sure of—we wish you a good evening.

_Cottager._ Your servant, kind gentlefolk; and I thank you too.

_Angler._ So—we are arrived once more at the King’s Head, and there is

mine host at his door looking about for us. Well, Mr. Marsh!

_Host._ Sirs, you are welcome; and I hope you have found good sport in

our river Dove.

_Angler._ Exceeding good; see,—here are some brace of trouts for supper:

and now we’ll rest ourselves on this bench till they be ready.

_Host._ I’ll bring them in a trice, for ‘_the kettle is set upon a quick

fire of wood, and the liquor’s boiling up_.’

_Angler._ That’s well! and, Host, ‘_whilst your fish is boiling, beat up

the butter for your sauce_.’

_Host._ It shall be done, Sir! and ‘_I’ll strew it plentifully with

shaved horseradish and a little pounded ginger_.’

_Angler._ He remembers every word how Mr. Cotton taught VIATOR to dress

a trout or grayling, which questionless is of all other the best way.

_Painter._ That I believe. — — —

And here comes mine Host again with the trouts:—they are served as

quickly as we could desire—so do you say grace, brother.—Amen.

_Host._ Sir, they are good sized fish, and exceeding well conditioned.

_Angler._ The biggest is my brother’s, that he took in the Pike Pool,

after you were gone home; and he has declared it to be his purpose, from

this day, to call himself a scholar of Mr. Walton, and endeavour to

learn the secrets of our craft.

_Host._ Indeed, Sir! I am heartily glad of this—for I have heard Mr.

Walton and Mr. Cotton say, when men are quietly employed a-fishing, it

teaches them to lay aside uneasy thoughts and cares, being a pastime

that is full of hope; and this gentleman gives promise to be a skilful

artist with his angle.

_Angler._ True—and I’ll drink his health in a glass of Staffordshire

ale—so make us a loving cup, with toasted bread and sugar, the same as

yesterday.

_Host._ Sir! it shall be done as you desire.—And quickly.—

_Angler._ That is well—come brother, here’s to you and your honest

Master, Mr. Izaak Walton, and I will not forget Mr. Charles Cotton, for

you must now look upon him as an adopted brother.

_Painter._ Trust me, I want no persuasions to love Mr. Cotton, who hath

provided such delights by the river Dove, and made them all ‘sacred to

anglers;’ my mind is full of the train of those pleasures. And now

resolve me this question: Why may we not divert ourselves another day or

two on the margin of this fine river?

_Angler._ Are you in earnest?

_Painter._ Indeed am I; and if you are so inclined, I’ll be wholly

disposed of by you.

_Angler._ Why, that’s brave! I accept your challenge; and seeing you

have abandoned yourself to my conduct, I will persuade you to walk back

to the town of Ashbourne through the whole valley of Dove Dale.

_Painter._ That is agreed. Oh! I am full of joyful thoughts of rare

angling; and perchance we may yet find some beautiful landskips;

nevertheless, methinks, we have seen the choicest parts of the river: is

it not so?

_Angler._ Of that I shall ask leave to say nothing; do you but wait till

to-morrow and when you are come to the lower streams towards Ashbourne,

I will remit the question to your own free judgment.

_Painter._ Well, I have suddenly a thought come into my mind.

_Angler._ What is that? I hope it is to give us a song, for I know you

have not been denied a voice or an ear; so tune up your music, and after

that I’ll make some attempts myself, and sing an innocent song.

_Painter._ Anon—anon—but now tell me, why should not we two happy

anglers, that have found our walking legs up and down the slopes of

these glades, stretch them again to-morrow morning, and go to the higher

parts of the Dove, and see how this river ‘_springs from a contemptible

fountain_,’ that Mr. Cotton says, ‘_he can cover with his hat_.’

_Angler._ On the word of an angler, you are the strangest man that ever

I saw! Let me tell you, the path there and back is near upon twenty

miles,

‘Up hill and down dell,

‘By rock and by fell.’

_Painter._ What care I for twenty miles, so I may but drink a cup from

that fountain of the Dove to the health of my master, Mr. Izaak Walton?

Oh! the gallant fisher’s life,

It is the best of any;

’Tis full of pleasure, void of strife,

And ’tis beloved by many.

_Both._ Other joys

Are but toys,

Only this

Lawful is;

For our skill

Breeds no ill,

But content and pleasure.

_Angler._ In a morning up we rise,

Ere Aurora’s peeping;

Drink a cup to wash our eyes,

Leave the sluggard sleeping.

_Both._ Then we go,

To and fro,

With our knacks

At our backs,

_To the Dove,

That we love_,

If we have the leisure.

_Angler._ Excellent, excellent—‘_you have conquered me_;’ and to speak

the truth, I but tried if you were in earnest; for once on a time I

walked by myself to the Dove Head, and I may tell you all the way is as

full of fair sweet prospects as any can desire that love angling and the

wild hadder of the moors; so let us be gone to-morrow before the sun

rising.

_Painter._ I care not how early; and now every one to bed with a

prayerful heart, that he may secretly fetch down his consolation from

Heaven, and make every thing contribute to his gradual ascent thither.

_Angler._ Good night, all.

[Illustration]