Chapter III (2)

_Host._ Well, Sir, when the message came from Mr. Walton, my master and Mr. Flatman could scarce express the happy thoughts that possessed them; only this I may say, every hour seemed to be an age till the arrival of their friends; and the servants in the house participated in the busy expectation of their coming; and Mr. Walton’s lodging chamber, and one for Mr. Brome were prepared. Then at length these friends had the happiness to embrace each other; and seeing it was in the heat of summer, Mr. Cotton brought them, after dinner, to this recess, and there entertained them with pipes, and fruits, and wine; and because it was soon after the king’s happy and glorious recovery of his throne, they sung some loyal songs, and drank the king’s health in old Canary.

_Angler._ It was worthy of honest cavaliers; and who is there would not gladly have joined in such a merry-making?

‘Oh how happy was their leisure,
‘Oh how innocent their pleasure!
‘Oh ye vallies, oh ye mountains,
‘Oh ye groves and crystal fountains!
‘How they loved _to visit ye,
‘And toast the king at liberty_.’

Think, what a happy concurrence of four poets! Methinks I now see them, seated round this stone table, beneath the shadowy sycamore-trees and elms.

_Painter._ Four poets, say you? Thou hast a creative fancy; for Mr. Walton was but a writer of prose; notwithstanding, I am ready to grant his images of rural life are as poetical as any in our language, and his COMPLEAT ANGLER a continued pastoral, abounding in natural refinement—nay, equal to those of Phineas Fletcher[50] or Michael Drayton.[51]

_Angler._ Doubt not, Sir, that Mr. Walton may claim his niche in the Temple of the Muses: and indeed, of all those who sung joyful quartettos that day within this recess, he had as clear a title as any to be crowned with the bays of Parnassus: for when you read, as I hope you will do, the ingenious poems of loyal Mr. Brome, you will find in the prefix of friendly encomiums bestowed upon it, a most joyous eclogue of Damon and Dorus, and writ by Mr. Walton that very day of the King’s Majestie’s restoration; indeed, I cannot give it a higher testimony of praise than that it is worthy of his fertile pen; and thus it begins;

_Damon._

‘Hail happy day! Dorus, sit down;
‘Now let no sigh, nor let no frown,
‘Lodge near thy heart nor on thy brow:
‘The King! the King’s return’d! and now
‘Let’s banish all sad thoughts, and sing
‘We have our laws, and have our King.’

_Dorus._

‘’Tis true, and I would sing, but oh!
‘These wars have sunk my heart so low,
‘’Twill not be raised.

_Damon._

‘What—not this day?
‘Why, ’tis _the twenty-ninth of May_:
‘Let rebels’ spirits sink; let those
‘That like the Goths and Vandals rose
‘To ruin families, and bring
‘Contempt on our Church and King,
‘And all that’s dear to us,—be sad;
‘But be not thou; let us be glad.
‘Yea, let us dance, shake hands, and sing
‘We have our laws: GOD SAVE THE KING.’[52]
_Iz. Walton._

_Painter._ I say Amen: and may we always ‘_have our laws and have our King_!’ and now let us walk higher up the stream, which may vie with the poetic Castalia as the happy resort of the Muses.

_Host._ Gentlemen, you will find the river very pleasant below, and when you are across the bridge by that rock, not many steps past the fishing-house, you will suddenly find yourselves in Derbyshire.

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

_Host._ And now that we are come to it, so please you, I’ll take my leave, for I have business at Hartington: and here is the wallet with a store of provisions for dinner; and so, Gentlemen, my humble service to you; I wish you good luck a-fishing.

_Angler._ Farewell.—Now, Brother, let us cross to the other side into Derbyshire, for so Mr. Cotton did with his friend VIATOR, and promised ‘_a good fish should fall to his share_.’

_Painter._ I pray you stay yet a moment within this prospect, for I am wholly possessed with some peaceful thoughts, that I would not drive away for any recreation you can promise me. There is a murmur of the waters over that ledge of rock, which keeps time with a musical measure, and invites us to linger on the margin.—Think how many thousand years the Dove has flowed along this rocky dale, and shall flow for ages yet to come. So God provides for the sustaining of His works;—‘_He sendeth the springs into the valleys—He watereth the hills from His chambers._’[53] And as the River is to the natural world, so is the CHURCH to GOD’S spiritual people on earth. In the first beginnings flowing from the fountain of the precious blood of His own eternal SON:—alas! a little despised stream that burst forth from Calvary; but destined by His mysterious will to flow through the world, gathering into herself and purifying all the tributary branches to swell her into an unknown dignity and grandeur.

_Angler._ And who can express the blessings she hath imparted to the nations by her administration of holy sacraments, and united worship, according to the inspired oracles, moulding her children, after the pattern of their Saviour, in innocency and love. Think of the happy multitudes who have been warned in her sacramental element, as the appointed laver of regeneration! Think how her ordinances and harmonious doctrines, her ministry and her creeds, founded by the holy apostles, have been the sufficient cure of all heartaches and corroding cares, the refuge of all unquietness, and the very bond of unity to all Catholic Christians scattered over the world!

_Painter._ And as she hath proceeded onwards from the distant apostolic ages, bearing the image of Christ, so she will continue to be the mother of all, who are baptized into His death.

_Angler._ And notwithstanding profane seceders, turning to their own inventions, shall fall away, and vainly hope to stop her course, and sully the purity of her streams; still the promise is sure, and she shall flow on with her unceasing tide, until at last she shall pour all her collected waters into the boundless ocean of eternity.——But come, let us pursue our quiet walks; for I verily believe there is nothing in all this to forbid poor creatures of the earth taking their innocent enjoyment. Indeed, all these visible beauties of nature are but sweet expressions of the divine mind, that we should rejoice in Him who hath created them. But remember, when the wisest of men says, ‘_go thy way, eat thy bread with joy, and drink thy wine with a merry heart_,’[54] he adds, ‘_it is the gift of God_,’ whereof we shall one day give an account. And now I am ready to accompany you.

_Painter._ Come, then, for I have a great desire to make my large trout a brace, so let us to our angles.

_Angler._ Look you, Brother, here I have a second angle rod, that we may both fish in company; now say, whether it shall be a fly or a worm? You are at liberty to make a choice.

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

_Angler._ Nay, nay, let me persuade you to be a fly-fisher; assure yourself it is a delicate sport, worthy of an ingenious artist as you are; and all anglers are agreed that it is the pleasantest and most skilful way to deceive trouts.

_Painter._ I will not lose time in arguments; but remit you to honest Izaak Walton, that is henceforth my master of angling.

_Angler._ As you will: here is your tackling; and now you are fitted; so let us go over the bridge, that we may follow Mr. Cotton’s footsteps; for be sure he must know the likeliest holes in his own river. And he said to his companion, ‘_You shall now go downward to some streams between the rocks, below the little foot bridge you see there, and try your fortune. Take heed of slipping into the water as you follow me under the rock._’ That is the very spot where you now stand.

_Painter._ He must be an unhandy clown, that should slip, for there is room enough, and to spare.

_Angler._ Well, this is the spot where he advised VIATOR to throw in; to which the other replied: ‘_This is a fine stream indeed! There is one—I have him._’

‘_And a precious catch you have of him_,’ answered Mr. Cotton, ‘_pull him out! I see you have a tender hand. This is a diminutive gentleman, even throw him in again and let him grow till he be more worthy your anger._’

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

_Painter._ Bravely resolved; and I declare I mean to follow this example, if I have permission to do so.

_Angler._ You shall do as you list. Only ‘_fish me this stream by inches_,’ after Mr. Cotton’s instructions.

_Painter._ With all my heart, and I am so much in love with his river and his instructions, that I scarce know which to think the best.

_Angler._ Well then, to make you love them both the more, you are to understand VIATOR caught another and another. After that PISCATOR invited him ‘_to go down the other side, lower, where you will find finer streams and better sport, I hope, than this_;’ so let us do the same.

_Painter._ Wherever you please.

_Angler._ Now we are over the bridge and into the Peak of Derbyshire; and here it was the ingenious fishers pleased themselves and each other with a discourse on angling: and thought their recreation was innocent, as being an encourager of cheerfulness, patience, and brotherly kindness. So do you begin; but keep at your distance, lest the fishes see you, before you get a glimpse of them; for you are to remember the Dove is one of the clearest rivers in all England. Now let your quill go with the stream by the bank yonder, for hereabouts it was PISCATOR assured him, there were very good fish; ‘_both trout and grayling lie here; and at that_ GREAT STONE _on the other side, ’tis ten to one a good trout gives you the meeting_.’

_Painter._ Then I’ll offer him all the temptation I can. Ah! saw you that, Mr. Angler, my quill went under the water;—and there again!

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

_Painter._ So, I have him tight.

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

_Painter._ ’Twas my hastiness! I incautiously strained at him: but you shall find me manage the next with greater skill.

_Angler._ Trust me, you have your lesson to learn; for angling is no less an art than a pleasure, and one that requires both patience and skill.

_Painter._ That I plainly see: but I have baited my hook again: and there is another pulling at my worm. Now, if I do not vex him, call me no fisherman: aye, aye, master, you may plunge and shift as you will; but I hold you now.

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

_Painter._ Fear me not; you shall see the manner of my handling: but there! he has thrown off into the middle of the stream; how he dives and plucks about! I hope he will not demolish my tackle.

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

_Painter._ What a rage he is in! so, so—he begins to sicken. Where’s the net?—thank you—we have him. Now, Sirrah: where are you? I declare he is as big as the other I caught up yonder. And now, brother, that I may not hinder you, leave me here alone, with my angle rod; and I beseech you let me have that pleasant book, which Mr. Walton and Mr. Cotton have printed together, with a love so communicable; that while I recline on this bank, I may remember how they have often done the same thing: and it may be I will leave my angle rod for a time, ‘to fish for itself,’ and make a landskip; for look how pleasantly the Prospect Tower hangs over our heads: and I am sure that rock is a hundred feet high; and is crowned with oak and ash trees, that grow in all the crevices.

_Angler._ There are many passages of rare beauty in all this glade; and since you are so disposed, I will invite you to that rising ground, and there you shall design the fishing-house, and the Tower on the rock, so as I may have a combination of those two with the bridge, and all the river and the craggy sides. It will be a choice prospect!

_Painter._ You are right, and it shall be done to the best of my abilities; but I’ll lay my angle in the river, near to that ‘_great stone_’, so that I may have my chance of a trout whilst I’m at work.

_Angler._ And because you leave your angle for my sake, I will read some passages out of Mr. Walton’s COMPLETE ANGLER for your entertainment before I begin fishing. Here—is not this a favourable spot?

_Painter._ Aye: come, let us sit on this grass, that smells so sweetly of wild flowers; and do you make a choice out of Mr. Walton’s book.

_Angler._ Well, then, you may remember, that on a time, in a cheerful morning in the month of May, VENATOR, a huntsman, walked out towards Hodsden, (that is a country village not many miles from London,) where he had appointed a friend or two to meet him, that they might bestow a day on hunting the otter. Then, by the way, he fell into the company of a Gentleman Falconer, and as these were come together to Tottenham Cross, in Hertfordshire, Mr. Walton overtook them: so, after his own civil manner he accosted the strangers, and asked of their journey and occasions, saying, ‘You are well overtaken, gentlemen, a good morning to you both. I have stretched my legs up Tottenham Hill to overtake you, hoping your business may occasion you towards Ware, whither I am going this fine fresh May morning.’ Now, Mr. Walton possesses that benignity of spirit, and such a winning method of discourse, that you may easily believe ‘he made the way seem shorter’ by his good company.

_Painter._ He should be a pattern of cheerful gravity, or he has, I know not what, artifice to make himself appear so, since his writings betoken so many endowments of native gentleness.

_Angler._ But that it is no artifice I may take upon me to declare, and to say the truth, an inbred sweetness and compliance are notable, both in his look and words; insomuch that AUCEPS, the falconer, on his first acquaintance, took the liberty to say: ‘Methinks, Sir, we may promise good discourse from you that both look and speak so cheerfully.’

_Painter._ Then after those polite salutations they were all inclinable to travel pleasantly towards Ware?

_Angler._ And as they walked and conversed, they praised their several recreations: and first, Mr. AUCEPS, the falconer, exercised their attention concerning the element he used to trade in, which was the air; and he would fain make it clear, that this was ‘an element that exceeds both the earth and water; and, though I sometimes deal in both,’ (this is what Mr. AUCEPS said) ‘yet the air is most properly mine; I and my hawks use that most, and it yields us most recreation; it stops not the soaring of my noble, generous falcon; in it she ascends to such a height as the dull eyes of beasts and fish are not able to reach to; their bodies are too gross for such high elevations: in the air my troops of hawks soar up on high, and when they are lost in the sight of men, then they attend upon and converse with the gods; therefore I think my eagle is so justly styled _Jove’s servant in ordinary_: and that very falcon, that I am now going to see, deserves no meaner a title, for she usually in her flight endangers herself, like the son of Dædalus, to have her wings scorched by the sun’s heat, she flies so near it: but her mettle makes her careless of danger; for she then heeds nothing, but makes her nimble pinions cut the fluid air, and so makes her highway over the steepest mountains and deepest rivers, and in her glorious career looks with contempt upon those high steeples and magnificent palaces which we adore and wonder at; from which height I can make her to descend by a word from my mouth (which she both knows and obeys) to accept of meat from my hand, to own me for her master, to go home with me, and be willing the next day to afford me the like recreation.’ Now, is not that a cheerful description? and, that I may not be thought immoderate, I will omit many passages; but I beseech you listen to the praises that Mr. Falconer makes of ‘those little nimble musicians of the air, that warble forth their curious ditties, with which nature hath furnished them to the shame of art. As first the lark, when she means to rejoice; to cheer herself and those that hear her; she then quits the earth, and sings as she ascends higher into the air, and having ended her heavenly employment, grows then mute and sad, to think she must descend to the dull earth, which she would not touch, but for necessity.’

_Painter._ Aye! ‘grows then mute and sad to think she must descend to the dull earth!’ How natural that is! Mr. Walton’s words are more musical than the song of the lark—and his strains higher than her aerial flight, for they bring you nearer to thoughts of heaven.

_Angler._ Then he proceeds: ‘How do the blackbird and throssel with their melodious voices bid welcome to the cheerful Spring, and in their fixed mouths warble forth such ditties as no art or instrument can reach to! Nay, the smaller birds also do the like, in their particular seasons, as, namely, the leverock, the titlark, the little linnet, and the honest robin, that loves mankind both alive and dead.’

_Painter._ Beautiful! ‘the honest robin that loves mankind both alive and dead;’ that has an allusion to the ballad of the Babes in the Wood, a sad and simple history that so mightily touches the affections of children.

‘These pretty babes, with hand in hand,
Went wandering up and downe,
But never more could see the man
Approaching from the towne.

‘Their prettye lippes with blackberries
Were all besmear’d and dyed,
And when they saw the darksome night
They sat them downe and cryed.

‘Thus wandered these two little babes
Till death did end their grief,
In one another’s arms they dyed
As babes wanting reliefe.

‘No burial this pretty pair
Of any man receives,
Till Robin red-breast painfully
Did cover them with leaves.’[55]

Stop, dear brother; for I would not have you to mar those passages you have now cited out of Mr. Walton by some that are worse.

_Angler._ Listen to one more, and I have done. ‘But the nightingale, another of my airy creatures, breathes such sweet loud music out of her little instrumental throat, that it might make mankind to think miracles are not ceased. He that at midnight, when the very labourer sleeps securely, should hear, as I have very often, the clear airs, the sweet descants, the natural rising and falling, the doubling and redoubling of her voice, might well be lifted above earth, and say, Lord, what music hast thou provided for the saints in heaven, when thou affordest bad men such music on earth!’

_Painter._ I now remember that description: it is beyond my praise;—it is all music together, and I declare to you, I know not which I am most in love with—the song of the nightingale, or the meek penman who hath set that song to such music.

_Angler._ I told you the writings of Mr. Walton have a power to unlock the affections; and I am so bold as to assure you, that many men I could name, who mocked at fishers and fishing, before they had perused the COMPLETE ANGLER, have been moved to practise his art by the persuasive arguments they have found in it.

_Painter._ That I can believe, and for my part I am almost brought to wish myself a Falconer by these testimonies which AUCEPS hath adduced to the praise of his ‘noble, generous hawks, and those little nimble musicians of the air.’

_Angler._ Stay a while, till I bring before you what the merry huntsman had to say for his recreation; and after that the commendations Mr. Walton bestows on the greater excellency of his own happy art of angling. But now I perceive you have made an outline of this landskip, so let us go down to the lower streams of the river, where I have something better to show you.

_Painter._ I am not willing to doubt any thing you say: but what can you find more full of beauty than these landskips hereabouts?

_Angler._ Of that I shall give you leave to judge when I have brought you to a spot will enchant you; and there you may be sure to catch a good fish.

_Painter._ Well then, let us be doing; and now I think it is time to repair to my angle, that I left in the water to fish for itself.

_Angler._ There it is, and so take it up.

_Painter._ How now!—my worm and hook both gone!—Look you!—and it may be I have lost a good trout, whilst I was charmed with those song-birds, that sung so sweetly out of Mr. Walton’s aviary.

_Angler._ Never mind,—you shall presently ‘_try a fall_’ with another; and pray take notice, that trout was not lost, for quiet Mr. Walton says, ‘no man can lose what he never had.’ Ah! ha! saw you that fish?—he rose just above yonder great stone on the other side. If I have any luck, I shall land him presently.

_Painter._ You have cast your fly in the very spot; and there!—look——there he is again.

_Angler._ I have him fast.

_Painter._ See—what a summersault he made!

_Angler._ He should be a trout from his nimbleness, and a plumper too.

_Painter._ I beseech you handle him like an artist—here is the net and all ready—haul him in.

_Angler._ Not so fast—not so fast, brother—let him have his time.

_Painter._ There again! saw you that leap he gave? By my word you have the right knack.

_Angler._ Now you observe he has a running line—and now I may bring him up again—so, so—he has done his worst—now fetch the net; but if you love me, manage him with a prudent hand; so, you performed it handsomely; and a fine fish he is: come, let us go down to PIKE POOL. I know not how it may fare with you;—but methinks it should be near to dinnertime.

_Painter._ In plain truth I am well disposed to play my part at that.

_Angler._ Away then by this bank, where the stream becomes broader. See how it hurries by that bed of rock with a loud murmuring.

_Painter._ How now! there is a rock in the river like a church steeple, and forty feet high!

_Angler._ That is the PIKE POOL you have heard of.

_Painter._ Say you so? what a spot of solitude is here!

_Angler._ Now tell me is not this a charming nook for a recluse angler? But here we must make our passage once more into Staffordshire, by these cobble stones, that we may come to the margin of the POOL; for you see we are stopped on this side by the rocks.

_Painter._ I am willing to follow you.

_Angler._ Look well to your footing, and give me the wallet; for I fear you will let that drop into the water, and now your hand—so—

_Painter._ We are well over; and of all places I have seen, this is surpassing in beauty. Surely it is a rocky dell, that is worthy of a poet’s praise: now if Petrarch had sung of his Laura by these rocks, they would be thought as fine as Vaucluse; and this stream as bright and nimble as the Sorga itself, which I was once happy enough to visit as I passed by Avignon towards Italy: and was permitted the leisure to sketch some imperfect limnings of the strangely shaped and rugged rocks, from which the mysterious fount of the river gushes into daylight. It is true I may not boast to have caught my brace of trouts in its limpid streams; but I tasted some skilfully drest by the civil hostess of the village inn that is called after the name of the Poet. Oh Sir, if you had there been the companion of my prolonged wanderings, with what delight should we have perused together those unimitable poems of Petrarch! And do you recollect, how he says,

‘L’acque parlan d’amore, e l’aura e i rami
‘E gli augeletti, e i pesci, e i fiori, e l’erba,
‘Tutti insieme pregando ch’io sempr’ami.’

_Angler._ I remember the lines. And be it known to you, Petrarcha was himself a brother of the angle.

_Painter._ Nay, Sir, your authority for this? I grant you, the impassioned poet might grave the name of his Laura on the hard rocks, or picture to his imagination her beautiful image reflected in the deep clear caverns of the river;

‘Or in forma di Ninfa or d’altra Diva
‘Che dal più chiaro fondo di Sorga esca
‘E pongasi a sedere in su la riva:’

but I cannot be persuaded to believe that so hopeless a lover could be a happy angler. He that was the most learned of his age, and Poet Laureat crowned with the triple garland at Rome, an angler!

_Angler._ Happy or unhappy—learned or unlearned—I may tell you he was a fisher;—and be these lines my witness, which you may find in his latin works;

‘Retia nunc sunt arma mihi, et labyrinthius error
‘Vimineâ contextus acu; qui pervius undis
‘Piscibus est carcer, nullâ remeabilis arte:
‘Pro gladiis curvos hamos, fallacibus escis
‘Implicitos, tremulasque sudes, parvumque tridentem
‘PISCATOR modò factus ego, quò terga natantum
‘Sistere jam didici, duroque affigere saxo.
‘Primitias en flumineæ transmittimus artis
‘Et versus quot Clausa domos habet arctaque Vallis,
‘Quæ tibi pisciculos et rustica carmina pascit.’[56]

_Painter._ Marry, Sir, after those harmonious verses that you have so fixedly treasured up in your memory it is undeniable you may have the honour to claim Petrarcha for one of your fraternity.

_Angler._ And what was more natural than he should seek an inward consolation for his diseased thoughts in so quiet and sweet a recreation; and on the banks of his loved river indulge his thoughts with those ‘Visions’ of the departed Laura, which Master Edmund Spenser[57] hath rendered from the Italian into harmonious English verse:

‘Within this wood, out of a rocke did rise
‘A spring of water, mildly rumbling downe,
‘Whereto approached not in anie wise
‘The homely shepheard, nor the ruder clowne;
‘But many Muses, and the Nymphes withall,
‘That sweetly in accord did tune their voyce
‘To the soft sounding of the waters fall;
‘That my glad hart thereat did much rejoyce.
‘But while herein I tooke my chiefe delight,
‘I saw (alas) the gaping earth devoure
‘The spring, the place, and all cleane out of sight;
‘Which yet aggrieves my hart even to this houre,
‘And wounds my soule with rufull memorie,
‘To see such pleasures gon so suddenly.’

But now look around, and tell me, you that have seen famed VAUCLUSE, if this dell be not more woody and umbrageous than the banks of the Sorga; and look at the doublings and wrenches of the stream, which make it the most singular place that can be imagined for natural beauties; and let me tell you, they have been designed by Mr. Isaac Walton, junior, the son of our master of angling.

_Painter._ How! has Mr. Walton a son, and a limner too?

_Angler._ You may take Mr. Cotton’s word for that.

_Painter._ Then I shall be inclined to love him for more reasons than one.

_Angler._ Well, then, you must know, PISCATOR and VIATOR having fished the ‘stream by inches,’ came lower down, and then suddenly VIATOR exclaimed, ‘_But what have we got here? a rock springing up in the middle of the river! This is one of the oddest sights that ever I saw._’ To this PISCATOR replied, ‘_Why, Sir, from that Pike that you see standing up there, distant from the rock,—that is called Pike Pool, and young Mr. Isaac Walton was so pleased with it, as to draw it in landskip, in black and white, in a blank book I have at home, as he has done several prospects of my house also, which I keep for a memorial of his favour_.’

_Painter._ A book full of landskips did you say! in black and white, and all done by the hand of Mr. Izaak Walton, junior? that were indeed a treasure to possess! But come;—let us repose ourselves along these shady banks that Mr. Walton, and his son, and Mr. Cotton all loved, and that deserve to be loved by every honest angler. See these wild flowers, which spring around, and make a soft cushion for us; here is the wild thyme, the Nottingham catchfly, and coltsfoot, and violets——

_Angler._ And what is no less germaine to the present argument,—a handsome repast!—So let us fall to’t.—Here is an excellent cake, and some hang’d martinmas beef; with a measure or two of mine Host’s good ale. Are you prepared?

_Painter._ I may warrant you, and no wise dainty after our long walk.

_Angler._ O that we could now possess our dear accomplish’d Civilian, that hath more learning than both you and I together!

_Painter._ Aye; if he were here reclining with us by the side of PIKE POOL, our entertainment would be complete: and let us not despair to inveigle him hither next month of May.

_Angler._ Well, I have known stranger things come to pass; and now, if you please, we’ll drink his health in a loving cup of barley wine.

_Painter._ A worthy toast! fill to the brim!

_Angler._ To the brim.

_Both._ Here is a health to our polite Mr.

_Angler._ A true lover of honest Izaak; and to hear him descant on the gentle craft, you might declare him to be a practised disciple.

_Painter._ Then what say you to his books of emblems and engraved pictures of angling? and do not forget that ebony cabinet in his chambers in Lincoln’s Inn, furnished with all ancient treatises of your art, and other merry sports and pastimes of England.

_Angler._ Aye; and I love him the more for his love of my masters: and though he hath never wetted a line, nor soiled his hosen in pursuit of the finny tribes, yet in imagination he hath done both one and the other: and is no less versed in the philosophy of angling than learned in Lord Coke’s Institutes, and the Law of Nations.

_Angler._ I wish him all health; and may he ever possess Sir Christopher Hatton’s moderate desires, and be able to sing,

‘I weigh not fortune’s frowne nor smile,
‘I joye not much in worldly joyes;
‘I seek not state, I reake not style,
‘I am not fond of fancie’s toyes!
‘I rest so pleased with what I have,
‘I wish no more,—no more I crave.’

_Painter._ So say I. And now remember your promise, and give me the huntsman’s arguments in praise of his pastime of hunting, when he was in the company of Mr. Walton and the Falconer, all the while they walked to Hodsden.

_Angler._ Most willingly; and you are to know, when Mr. Falconer broke off his discourse, and entreated VENATOR to say his best in praise of the chase, that honest candid huntsman began with a commendation of the earth, being that element upon which he drives his ‘pleasant wholesome hungry trade;’ and then declared, that ‘hunting is a game for princes and noble persons; it hath been highly prized in all ages; it was one of the qualifications that Xenophon bestowed on his Cyrus, that he was a hunter of wild beasts. Hunting trains up the younger nobility to the use of manly exercises in their riper age. What more manly exercise than hunting the wild boar, the stag, the buck, the fox, or the hare? How doth it preserve health, and increase strength and activity?’

_Painter._ Well said, Mr. Huntsman; pr’ythee proceed.

_Angler._ ‘And for the dogs that we use, who can commend their excellency to that height which they deserve? How perfect is the hound at smelling, who never leaves or forsakes his first scent, but follows it through so many changes and varieties of other scents, even over and in the water, and into the earth! What music doth a pack of dogs then make to any man, whose heart and ears are so happy as to be set to the tune of such instruments! How will a right greyhound fix his eye on the best buck in the herd, single him out, and follow him, and him only, through a whole herd of rascal game, and still know, and then kill him! For my hounds, I know the language of them, and they know the language and meaning of one another as perfectly as we know the voices of those with whom we discourse daily.’

_Painter._ Aye, I warrant you, PISCATOR had need of all his eloquence to overcome these winning arguments in favour of the noble sport of hunting. And what more did VENATOR say?

_Angler._ At length he gently excused himself from enlarging his discourse, and said, ‘I will not be so uncivil to Mr. PISCATOR, as not to allow him time for the commendation of angling, which he calls an art, but doubtless it is an easy one; and, Mr. AUCEPS, I doubt we shall hear a watery discourse of it; but I hope it will not be a long one.’

_Painter._ And how did PISCATOR reply to this pleasant jesting?

_Angler._ He received it as a well-bred angler would do, and thus replied: ‘Gentlemen, let not prejudice prepossess you.’ Do you observe how enured Mr. Walton is to meekness and patience? And you shall see, by and by, that he was able to bring forward a store of arguments and examples to prove the greater excellence of his art of angling.——But first, I am for another cup of ale. And here’s a health to Mr. Walton and his son, and Mr. Cotton, his adopted son, that have often sat where we now sit, and I have no doubt with hearts as thankful as I hope ours to be.

_Painter._ I drink to all three.

_Angler._ And here’s a good wish for a south wind, that Mr. Thomas Barker says, ‘blows the fly in the trout’s mouth,’[58] and good sport to all anglers.

_Painter._ To such of them as be honest men.

_Angler._ Let me tell you, all true brothers of the angle are honest men.

_Painter._ Agreed, agreed.—So here’s a south wind to all anglers. And now, whilst you entertain me with PISCATOR’S discourse, so suitable to this occasion, I will design that rock and the pool, and these umbrageous trees, which give us their shelter from the sun.

_Angler._ I thank you, and shall esteem it as highly as the landskips of Mr. Walton junior, that lately returned from his travels to Rome, in company with his kinsman, pious Mr. Thomas Ken, Fellow of St. Mary Winton College, in Winchester.

_Painter._ How! did you say with Mr. Ken? he that is chaplain to Dr. Morley, the self-denying Bishop of Winton, who maintains the primitive doctrine and discipline, and has restored the daily service in his Churches?

_Angler._ The same;—and follows the Bishop’s example of an ascetic life even in the midst of this luxurious age: and has lately writ ‘_A Manual of Prayers and Devotions for the use of the Schollars of Winchester School_,’[59] where he himself was trained to learning and good manners.

_Painter._ Indeed! a book that most lovingly persuades young christians to dedicate their tender age to the service of God.

_Angler._ And I can never forget a discourse I once heard him preach to the poor in St. John’s Church, in the Soke near Winchester, wherein he exhorted them to the duties and privileges of holiness,—and with such a sweet and melting eloquence—that when he told them of Christ’s whole life of suffering for their sakes, he drew tears from many eyes.

_Painter._ But how did it come to pass that he should travel with Mr. Walton junior?

_Angler._ Because of his affection for old Isaak, who had been his early counsellor and guide, when he was left an orphan: for Mr. Walton had married his sister, Mistress Ann Ken, ‘a woman of remarkable prudence, and of the primitive piety:’ but she is now at rest, and ‘lyeth buried, so much as could dye,’ in the blessed Virgin Mary’s Chapel in the Cathedral in Worcester.

_Painter._ Well: he could not make a more grateful return for the father’s love, than to take upon him the part of Mentor to the son in his foreign travels: but come, I remember me how the Host said, Mr. Walton had good luck in this pool, and I desire to follow his example, and wheedle a big trout for our supper.

_Angler._ And so you shall; and because you have lost your hook, I’ll show you how to fix another.

_Painter._ _Grazie, Pescatore mio._

_Angler._ Let me find a hook with two horse hairs twisted together: here it is, and you may see a loop at the end. Now mark, put the loop of the fish-line through this loop of the hook, and then bring the hook through the loop in the fish-line, and draw them tight together—so—and here is a fresh brandling, and now you are fitted.

_Painter._ O’ my word, ’tis neatly done; so, I have laid my rod. Come, Sir, begin: How pleasant this is!

Where in a brook
With a hook,
Or a lake
Fish we take,
There we sit
For a bit
Till we fish entangle.
None do here
Use to swear;
Oaths do fray,
Fish away.
We sit still
And watch our quill,
Fishers must not wrangle.

But let us have the angler’s grave,—watery arguments: I am inquisitive to hear what he will make against the Hunter.

_Angler._ Not so grave, I promise you; but full of empassioned eloquence and no less ingenuity. Thus then he began, ‘Gentlemen, let not prejudice prepossess you. I confess my discourse is like to prove suitable to my recreation, calm and quiet; we seldom take the name of God into our mouths, but it is either to praise him or pray to him; if others use it vainly in the midst of their recreations, so vainly as if they meant to conjure, I must tell you it is neither our fault nor our custom; we protest against it. But, pray remember, I accuse nobody; for as I would not make a watery discourse, so I would not put too much vinegar into it; nor would I raise the reputation of my own art, by the diminution or ruin of another’s. And so much for the prologue to what I mean to say.’ After that, with arguments excellently contrived, he praised his own loved element and occupation, and used every allowable artifice to show how they are more excellent than all others. I could now open to you many passages of his discourse, that have all the natural fragrancy of wild flowers scattered with a careless hand; and whilst he sets forth the beauty of the works of God, you may be lifted to praise the Maker of them for that most wonderful attribute—His love to man. Indeed, he applied himself with so great a zeal to the commendation of angling, and heightened his discourse by so many harmonious digressions and testimonies to the pleasure and high esteem thereof, that, when they arrived at Theobald’s Park, whither the Falconer was proceeding to a friend’s house, who mewed a hawk for him, he declared to PISCATOR, ‘I now part with you full of good thoughts, not only of yourself, but of your recreation.’ And yet, let me tell you, he did but a short time before profess to pity anglers, ‘because of their heavy contemptible dull recreation.’

_Painter._ And after the Falconer was gone, did VENATOR express any civil disposition towards anglers?

_Angler._ Aye; for you have seen how his purpose was to hunt the Otter at Hodsden, that was three miles further; and so he continued his walk with Mr. Walton, who all the while pursued his discourse of fishes and fishing.

_Painter._ Indeed! then his discourse was three miles long! All the while, say you, till they came to Hodsden?

_Angler._ And not only so; but without any averseness in Mr. VENATOR.

_Painter._ Then, I cannot but consider him the meekest and most polite man in the world, to listen with a cheerful willingness to so long a commendation of an art that he had ‘heard many merry huntsmen make sport and scoff at.’

_Angler._ Be not so confident; stay a little, and I shall make you confess that Mr. Walton adorned his arguments with such a matchless commixture of learning and eloquence, as made his praise of angling like sweet music even to the huntsman’s ear; for when they were left together, after the Falconer was gone to his friend’s house, Mr. Walton invited his companion to enlarge his discourse on hunting, and promised he should ‘neither want time nor his attention to hear it.’ But this the other gently declined, because he was kindled with a desire to hear how Mr. Walton could persuade him that angling was ‘of great antiquity, and a perfect art, and an art not easily attained to;’ the which if he could do, he promised to ‘attend him a day or two a-fishing, and become his scholar.’ Whereupon Mr. Walton was charmed with the hope of the Huntsman’s conversion; and he did, by obvious arguments, possess his mind with the same high and happy thoughts as himself had the enjoyment of; for he convinced him how it was an excellent and a pleasant art ‘to deceive a trout, that is more sharpsighted than any hawk,’ and how ‘the man that hopes to be a good angler must not only bring an inquiring, searching, observing wit, but he must bring a large measure of hope and patience, and a love and a propensity to the art itself.’

_Painter._ And thus Mr. Walton, by an alluring suavity, persuaded the Huntsman that angling was near a-kin to wisdom, ‘_all her ways pleasantness, and her paths peace_!’[60]

_Angler._ Doubtless,—and I would have you understand that Mr. Walton, who is a known lover of truth, here declares that he has discovered, by a practical acquaintance with his art, ‘the very sitting by the river’s side is not only the quietest and fittest place for contemplation, but will invite an angler to it; and settle his mind in a quiet repose, and there make him fit for revelation.’ Then, after many more examples to the lawfulness and high esteem of angling, he declares, that ‘whosoever shall view the ancient ecclesiastical canons, shall find hunting to be forbidden to Churchmen, as being a turbulent, toilsome, perplexing recreation; and shall find angling allowed, as being a harmless recreation that invites them to contemplation and quietness.’

_Painter._ This methinks is suitable; for so pious ministers may forth into the meadows, and there sit and angle in a retirement, and unbend their minds from too close study; and, moreover give glory to God, when they see the rocks and waters that He hath formed, and the whole earth spangled with flowers or other ornaments, for the service and delight of mankind.

_Angler._ And I believe that every hour of innocent freedom from the cold-hearted humours of the world, and every secret instinct of reverence and affection towards God is a step forward in our path to the unseen glories of His presence. ‘And it is only while we are still that we are like a tranquil water reflecting Heaven.’——Thus, VENATOR became more and more charmed into an attention, until Mr. Walton brought him to the persuasion that angling was ‘an employment full of various pleasures and events;’ and after that declared, how ‘learned William Perkins, Dr. Whitaker, and Dr. Nowel, sometime Dean of the Cathedral Church of St. Paul, in London, so noted for his meek spirit, deep learning, prudence, and piety, were dear lovers and constant practisers of angling.’

_Painter._ I dare not deny the commendations Mr. Walton bestows on fishing, if peaceful Dr. Nowel gave his authority to the enjoyment of it; for he was a most excellent example of ancient simplicity and holiness; and who can tell the deep searchings of his spirit into the truths revealed in the sacred scripture! as witness his Church Catechism, and the part he took in drawing up the Articles of our Faith, which shall be the guiding star of happy England amidst the rocks, and shelves, and quicksands, and cloudy storms of ages yet to come.

_Angler._ Alas! I have a sad forecasting of times, when the Church (and through her side the Commonwealth of England) shall be again assailed by wearisome censurers, the declared enemies of her polity and ministrations,—and yet more of her endowments.

_Painter._ Be not vexed with these unquiet thoughts: God hath His flock in His own keeping: unless through some decay of piety in our Bishops and Ministers of religion, by their neglecting of the sacraments, the daily church services, the Fasts and Festivals, and primitive rules of discipline, He should again be angered against the shepherds, and let the wolves into the fold.

_Angler._ Alas! for that day, if ever they should disparage and slur those ministrations, which are their divine commission to the end of time, and their bulwark!—for then would the love and reverence of men be again changed into an averseness, and ill-speakers of church-government provoke disunion, so as the very vail of the temple mould be rent in twain.——But to return to the example of pious Dean Nowel, I may tell you, this most wise man was ‘a dear lover and constant practiser of angling as any age can produce; and his custom was to spend, besides his fixed hours of prayer, a tenth part of his time in angling, and also of his revenue, and usually all his fish, amongst the poor, that inhabited near to those rivers in which it was caught, saying often, “that charity gave life to religion;” and at his return to his house he would praise God, he had spent that day free from worldly trouble; both harmlessly and in a recreation that became a churchman.’ And more I have to say; for you will not deny to Sir Henry Wotton your partial opinion and praise.

_Painter._ That I will not, because I know he was a man of notable qualities; and one that was a lover of excellent artificers in limning and sculpture, and willingly afforded his ear and his purse to every poor man that was so happy as to gain access to him.

_Angler._ Then I have but this more to say, namely, how Mr. Walton declares, that ‘Sir Henry Wotton, whose experience, learning, wit, and cheerfulness, made him one of the delights of mankind, was also a dear lover and frequent practiser of the art of angling, of which he would say, “’Twas an employment for his idle time, which was not then idly spent: for angling was, after a tedious study, a rest to his mind, a cheerer of his spirits, a diverter of sadness, a calmer of unquiet thoughts, a moderator of passions, a procurer of contentedness.”’

_Painter._ Sir, you could not more certainly move me to favourable thoughts of angling, than by persuading me to believe that Sir Henry Wotton had a love for this pastime.

_Angler._ I am glad to hear you say so; and now, after this long digression, I intend only to tell you, that those irresistible arguments wherewith Mr. Walton adorned his discourse, brought the Huntsman and himself to Hodsden, that was the end of their journey. And then Mr. Walton said, ‘I am glad your patience hath held out so long, for my discourse hath brought us within sight of the Thatched House.’

To this the other replied: ‘Sir, you have angled me on with much pleasure to the Thatched House, and I now find your words true; that good company makes the way seem short; for, trust me, Sir, I thought we had wanted three miles of this house, till you showed it to me. But now we are at it, we’ll turn into it, and refresh ourselves with a cup of drink and a little rest.’

‘Most gladly, Sir,’ replied PISCATOR, ‘and we’ll drink a civil cup to all the Otter-hunters that we are to meet to-morrow.’ Then VENATOR answered him, ‘That we will, Sir, and to all the lovers of angling too; of which number I am now willing to be one myself; for by the help of your discourse and company I have put on new thoughts, both of the art of angling and of all that profess it: and if you will but meet me to-morrow at the time and place appointed, and bestow one day with me and my friends on hunting the Otter, I will dedicate the next two days to wait on you, and we two will for that time do nothing but angle, and talk of fish and fishing.’ Then PISCATOR cheerfully took him at his word, and said: ‘’Tis a match, Sir; I’ll not fail you, (God willing,) to be at Amwell Hill to-morrow morning before sun rising.’

_Painter._ A more sweet and loving discourse I have not heard. I declare to you I am moved by a sensible charm to listen to these ingenuous strangers, as they enliven each other by an accidental dialogue on angling.

_Angler._ And who would not desire that he might spend a fine fresh morning once a year at least in Mr. Walton’s company, and hear him allege his plausible arguments to teach men to be peaceful anglers? And if I might persuade you to read all he says in praise of his art, you would find such a harmony and so many suitable colours in the composition of his book, that you might declare it to be a picture designed with all the graces of Titian, and the sweetness of Correggio.

_Painter._ Well, brother, this I will declare, that I am like the gentleman Falconer, and begin to love both Mr. Walton and his art; nay, I have listened with a secret pleasure to his conversation, and hope to hear what entertainment his friend the huntsman provided for him, when they two met at Amwell to hunt the Otter.

_Angler._ That you shall hear by and by, but first let me see your sketch of _Pike Pool_.

_Painter._ There it is, and the best I can make it.

_Angler._ It is indeed a skilful picture: all of a just and natural proportion: and now, because you have had so much civility and patience, I will make you some requital, and go a-fishing with you for an hour; but look, you have a nibble; for your quill is out of sight.

_Painter._ And so it is! now I hope to find a good trout to my hook—how shall I play with him?

_Angler._ Take up your rod, and try if it be a little one or a big one.

_Painter._ It is but ‘a diminutive gentleman.’

_Angler._ Then throw him in again, and put on another worm:—there, you have a second!

_Painter._ Now! I warrant this is a mettlesome fish.

_Angler._ Then answer him conformably.

_Painter._ Ah!—I am but an _ignoramus_, with all my pride; nevertheless I hope I shall not lose him, for he will be worth his weight in gold, only because I took him in this very spot; and if I catch him, I’ll draw his likeness in colours at my leisure.—He goes away at a dash—I fear my tackling will not hold out.

_Angler._ I am a hostage for the line, if you will practice him pliantly—but do not jerk him.

_Painter._ I beseech you take the rod and show me.

_Angler._ Well then—you must cherish him a bit—thus—and now straighten him by degrees drawing in your line.

_Painter._ See how he doubles back.

_Angler._ Ay: but I have him in hand—so—now do you take the rod again, and puzzle him, and give me the net—it is well done—this way with him—I have the Hector, and I declare to you it is the largest fish we have taken to-day.

_Painter._ Oh, brother, I am quite in love with this pastime of angling—it is the pleasantest thing in the world—and I profess myself from henceforth a willing disciple of Mr. Walton.