* * * * *
_From Piscator to Christian_.
SIR,—I do indeed remember thee; and I trust thou art amended of these
gripings which caused thee to groan and moan, even by the pleasant
streams from the hills of the Delectable Mountains. And as for my
“burden” ’twas pleasant to me to bear it; for, like not the least of the
Apostles, I am a fisher, and I carried trout. But I take no shame in
that I am an angler; for angling is somewhat like poetry; men are to be
born so, and I would not be otherwise than my Maker designed to have me.
Of the antiquity of angling I could say much; but I misdoubt me that thou
dost not heed the learning of ancient times, but art a contemner of good
learning and virtuous recreations. Yet it may a little move thee that in
the Book of Job mention is made of fish-hooks, and without reproof; for
let me tell you that in the Scriptures angling is always taken in the
best sense.
Touching my flight from the City of Destruction, I love that place no
more than thou dost; yet I fear not its evil communications, nor would I
so hastily desert it as to leave my wife and children behind therein.
Nor have I any experience of conflict with the Evil One; wherefore I
thank Him that hath set me in pleasant fields, by clear waters, where
come no wicked whispers (be they from Apollyon or from our own hearts);
but there is calmness of spirit, and a world of blessings attending upon
it. And hence can no man see the towers of Doubting Castle, for the
green trees and the hedges white with May. This life is not wholly vile,
as some of thy friends declare (Thou, who makest thy pilgrims dance to
the lute, knowest better); and, for myself, I own that I love such mirth
as does not make men ashamed to look upon each other next morning. Let
him that bears a heavy heart for his ill-deeds turn him to better, but
not mourn as though the sun were taken out of the sky. What says the
song?—nay, ’tis as good balm for the soul as many a hymn:
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad one tires in a mile-a!
He that made the world made man to take delight in it; even as thou
saw’st me joyful with the shepherds—ay, with godly Mr. Richard Hooker,
“he being then tending his small allotment of sheep in a common field,”
as I recount in a brief life of a good man. As to what awaits me on the
other side of that River, I do expect it with a peaceful heart, and in
humble hope that a man may reach the City with a cheerful countenance, no
less than through groans and sighs and fears. For we have not a tyrant
over us, but a Father, that loveth a cheerful liver no less than a
cheerful giver. Nevertheless, I thank thee for thy kind thought of one
that is not of thy company, nor no Nonconformist, but a peaceful
Protestant. And, lest thou be troubled with apparitions of hobgoblins
and evil spirits, read that comfortable sermon of Mr. Hooker’s to weak
believers, on the _Certainty of Adherence_, though they want the inward
testimony of it.
But now falls there a sweet shower, “a singing shower” saith old George
Chapman, and methinks I shall have sport; for I do note that the mayfly
is up; and, seeing all these beautiful creatures playing in the air and
water, I feel my own heart play within me; and I must out and dape under
yonder sycamore tree. Wherefore, prithee, pardon me a longer discourse
as at this time.—Thy friend,