Chapter III (3)

_Angler._ Indeed! I am charmed to hear you make this honest declaration; and I may tell you, for your encouragement, that you are like to prove a handy craftsman, so let us go lower down to the fresh streams.

_Painter._ I have almost had enough: and I cannot hope to be pleased with any place after this woody dell. I have never seen the like for a retirement.

_Angler._ Well, as you please: but what is yonder above our heads, which is overshadowed by the ash trees? methinks it looks like a hole in the rock.

_Painter._ I believe it is, and if you are so inclined, let us scramble up and look into it: perchance we shall make a discovery.

_Angler._ With all my heart; lead on: but have a care, for it is a scraggy place, and you may hap to come down again heels over head.

_Painter._ Look to yourself; a Carolus to a groat that I’m there first.

_Angler._ Say you so? then pr’ythee let your footing keep pace with your words, for I am after you.

_Painter._ Heigho!—stop there,—I have slipped up; beseech you—give me a hand.

_Angler._ Ha, ha! Signor, whose somersault was that? try again:—but see, I am up first,—and what a concealed cavern is here, ‘covered over with rude grown briers,’[61] and big enough for a man to stand upright in, if he desired a shelter.[62]

_Painter._ Ay, and we have seen the times that such a cave had been worth a king’s crown, when he that was near to losing one, was compelled to hide himself from his pursuers.

_Angler._ Let us pray God that the nation may rest from her troubles;—that we may sit ‘_every man under his vine and under his fig-tree_;’ and angle when he will, in peace beneath the shade of sycamine trees, free from all contentions and jars.

_Painter._ This, I hope, may be our happy lot; and now we have six braces and a half of trouts; so if you please, let us back to Alstonfields; for we have two miles to walk, and the sun is going down.

_Angler._ I am quite willing to be at home, for I begin to tire; here is the way.

_Painter._ So—we are come again to the steep hill by Narrow Dale: I wish we were past it.

_Angler._ There are some houses;—and a woman standing at her cottage-door—shall we follow the example of good Dean Nowel, and make her happy with the contribution of some of our fishes?

_Painter._ I had the same thought.

_Angler._ Here, good woman; will it please you accept this couple of trouts, and I dare believe you’ll know how to cook them.

_Cottager._ I humbly thank you, gentlemen, and it is not the first time I have dressed trouts: for noble Mr. Cotton bestows a great part of his fish upon us. He hath a charitable heart towards his poor neighbours: and for gentlemen anglers, he loves to see them take their sport in his river.

_Angler._ That I am sure of—we wish you a good evening.

_Cottager._ Your servant, kind gentlefolk; and I thank you too.

_Angler._ So—we are arrived once more at the King’s Head, and there is mine host at his door looking about for us. Well, Mr. Marsh!

_Host._ Sirs, you are welcome; and I hope you have found good sport in our river Dove.

_Angler._ Exceeding good; see,—here are some brace of trouts for supper: and now we’ll rest ourselves on this bench till they be ready.

_Host._ I’ll bring them in a trice, for ‘_the kettle is set upon a quick fire of wood, and the liquor’s boiling up_.’

_Angler._ That’s well! and, Host, ‘_whilst your fish is boiling, beat up the butter for your sauce_.’

_Host._ It shall be done, Sir! and ‘_I’ll strew it plentifully with shaved horseradish and a little pounded ginger_.’

_Angler._ He remembers every word how Mr. Cotton taught VIATOR to dress a trout or grayling, which questionless is of all other the best way.

_Painter._ That I believe. — — —

And here comes mine Host again with the trouts:—they are served as quickly as we could desire—so do you say grace, brother.—Amen.

_Host._ Sir, they are good sized fish, and exceeding well conditioned.

_Angler._ The biggest is my brother’s, that he took in the Pike Pool, after you were gone home; and he has declared it to be his purpose, from this day, to call himself a scholar of Mr. Walton, and endeavour to learn the secrets of our craft.

_Host._ Indeed, Sir! I am heartily glad of this—for I have heard Mr. Walton and Mr. Cotton say, when men are quietly employed a-fishing, it teaches them to lay aside uneasy thoughts and cares, being a pastime that is full of hope; and this gentleman gives promise to be a skilful artist with his angle.

_Angler._ True—and I’ll drink his health in a glass of Staffordshire ale—so make us a loving cup, with toasted bread and sugar, the same as yesterday.

_Host._ Sir! it shall be done as you desire.—And quickly.—

_Angler._ That is well—come brother, here’s to you and your honest Master, Mr. Izaak Walton, and I will not forget Mr. Charles Cotton, for you must now look upon him as an adopted brother.

_Painter._ Trust me, I want no persuasions to love Mr. Cotton, who hath provided such delights by the river Dove, and made them all ‘sacred to anglers;’ my mind is full of the train of those pleasures. And now resolve me this question: Why may we not divert ourselves another day or two on the margin of this fine river?

_Angler._ Are you in earnest?

_Painter._ Indeed am I; and if you are so inclined, I’ll be wholly disposed of by you.

_Angler._ Why, that’s brave! I accept your challenge; and seeing you have abandoned yourself to my conduct, I will persuade you to walk back to the town of Ashbourne through the whole valley of Dove Dale.

_Painter._ That is agreed. Oh! I am full of joyful thoughts of rare angling; and perchance we may yet find some beautiful landskips; nevertheless, methinks, we have seen the choicest parts of the river: is it not so?

_Angler._ Of that I shall ask leave to say nothing; do you but wait till to-morrow and when you are come to the lower streams towards Ashbourne, I will remit the question to your own free judgment.

_Painter._ Well, I have suddenly a thought come into my mind.

_Angler._ What is that? I hope it is to give us a song, for I know you have not been denied a voice or an ear; so tune up your music, and after that I’ll make some attempts myself, and sing an innocent song.

_Painter._ Anon—anon—but now tell me, why should not we two happy anglers, that have found our walking legs up and down the slopes of these glades, stretch them again to-morrow morning, and go to the higher parts of the Dove, and see how this river ‘_springs from a contemptible fountain_,’ that Mr. Cotton says, ‘_he can cover with his hat_.’

_Angler._ On the word of an angler, you are the strangest man that ever I saw! Let me tell you, the path there and back is near upon twenty miles,

‘Up hill and down dell,
‘By rock and by fell.’

_Painter._ What care I for twenty miles, so I may but drink a cup from that fountain of the Dove to the health of my master, Mr. Izaak Walton?

Oh! the gallant fisher’s life,
It is the best of any;
’Tis full of pleasure, void of strife,
And ’tis beloved by many.

_Both._ Other joys
Are but toys,
Only this
Lawful is;
For our skill
Breeds no ill,
But content and pleasure.

_Angler._ In a morning up we rise,
Ere Aurora’s peeping;
Drink a cup to wash our eyes,
Leave the sluggard sleeping.

_Both._ Then we go,
To and fro,
With our knacks
At our backs,
_To the Dove,
That we love_,
If we have the leisure.

_Angler._ Excellent, excellent—‘_you have conquered me_;’ and to speak the truth, I but tried if you were in earnest; for once on a time I walked by myself to the Dove Head, and I may tell you all the way is as full of fair sweet prospects as any can desire that love angling and the wild hadder of the moors; so let us be gone to-morrow before the sun rising.

_Painter._ I care not how early; and now every one to bed with a prayerful heart, that he may secretly fetch down his consolation from Heaven, and make every thing contribute to his gradual ascent thither.

_Angler._ Good night, all.