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?’ 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.’ 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,’ 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.’

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.’ 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 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, 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!’ 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.

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; and, as I have heard, some useful histories have been Englished by his pen out of the French tongue.

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 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, 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.

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, 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. 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: 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 or Michael Drayton.

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.’ 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.’ 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,’ 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.’

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.’

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 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.

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,’ 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,’ 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!’

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,’ and big enough for a man to stand upright in, if he desired a shelter.

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.