STANZES IRREGULIERS, TO MR IZAAK WALTON.

Farewell, thou busy world, and may

We never meet again;

Here I can eat, and sleep, and pray,
And do more good in one short day
Than he who his whole age out-wears

Upon the most conspicuous theatres,
Where nought but vanity and vice appears.

Good God! how sweet are all things here!
How beautiful the fields appear!
How cleanly do we feed and lie!
Lord! what good hours do we keep!
How quietly we sleep!

What peace, what unanimity!
How innocent from the lewd fashion,
Is all our business, all our recreation!

Oh, how happy here's our leisure!
Oh, how innocent our pleasure!
O ye valleys! O ye mountains!
Oye groves, and crystal fountains!
How I love, at liberty,

By turns to come and visit ye!

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 denght

Is it, alone,

To read and meditate and write,

By none offended, and offending none
To walk, ride, sit, or sleep at one's own ease,
And, pleasing a man's self, none other to displease.

O my beloved nymph, fair Dove,
Princess of rivers, how I love

Upon thy flowery banks to lie,

And view thy silver stream,
When gilded by a summer's beam!
And in it all thy wanton fry,
Playing at liberty,

And with my angle, upon them
The all of treachery

I ever learn'd, industriously to try!

Such streams Rome's yellow Tiber cannot show,
The Iberian Tagus, or Ligurian Po,

The Maese, the Danube, and the Rhine
Are puddle water all compared with thine;
And Loire's pure streams yet too polluted are
With thine, much purer, to compare;
The rapid Garonne and the winding Seine
Are both too mean,

Beloved Dove, with thee
To vie priority;

Nay, Tame and Isis, when conjoin'd, submit,
And lay their trophies at thy silver feet.

O my beloved rocks, that rise

To awe the earth and brave the skies,
From some aspiring mountain's crown,
How dearly do I love,

Giddy with pleasure, to look down;

And, from the vales, to view the noble heights above!

my beloved caves! from dog-star's heat,

And all anxieties, my safe retreat;

What safety, privacy, what true delight,

In the artificial night

Your gloomy entrails make,
Have I taken, do I take!

How oft, when grief has made me fly,

To hide me from society,

E'en of my dearest friends, have I,

In your recesses' friendly shade,

All my sorrows open laid,

And my most secret woes intrusted to your privacy!

Lord! would men let me alone,

What an over-happy one

Should I think myself to be ;

Might I in this desert place,

(Which most men in discourse disgrace,)

Live but undisturb'd and free!

Here, in this despised recess,

Would I, maugre winter's cold,

And the summer's worst excess,

Try to live out to sixty full years old ; *
And, all the while,

Without an envious eye

On any thriving under fortune's smile,
Contented live, and then contented die.

C. C.

This he did not; for he was born 1630, and died in 1687. See the Account

of his Life prefixed

THE

COMPLETE ANGLER.

PART SECOND.

CHAPTER I.

A CONFERENCE BETWEEN A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN, A PROFICIENT IN FLY FISHING, AND A TRAVELLER.

PISCATOR JUNIOR, AND VIATOR.

Piscator. You are happily overtaken, sir: may a man be so bold as to inquire how far you travel this way?

Viator. Yes, sure, sir, very freely; though it be a question I cannot very well resolve you, as not knowing myself how far it is to Ashborn, where I intend to-night to take up my inn.

Piscator. Why then, sir, seeing I perceive you to be a stranger in these parts, I shall take upon me to inform you, that from the town you last came through, called Brelsford, it is five miles; and you are not yet above half a mile on this side.

Viator. So much! I was told it was but ten miles from Derby, and methinks I have rode almost so far already.

Piscator. Oh, sir, find no fault with large measure of good land, which Derbyshire abounds in, as much as most counties of England.

Viator. It may be so; and good land, I confess, affords a pleasant prospect: but, by your good leave, sir, large measure of foul way is not altogether so acceptable.

Piscator. True, sir; but the foul way serves to justify the fertility of the soil, according to the proverb, "There is good land where there is foul way:" and is of good use to inform you of the riches of the country you are come into, and of its continual travel and traffic to the country town you came from;

+ Brailsford.

+ Thirteen miles is the true distance. —J. R.

which is also very observable by the foulness of its road, and the loaden horses you meet every where upon the way.

Viator. Well, sir! I will be content to think as well of your country as you would desire. And I shall have a great deal of reason both to think and to speak very well of you, if I may obtain the happiness of your company to the forementioned place, provided your affairs lead you that way, and that they will permit you to slack your pace, out of complacency to a traveller utterly a stranger in these parts, and who am still to wander farther out of my own knowledge.

Piscator. Sir, you invite me to my own advantage. And I am ready to attend you, my way lying through that town; but my business, that is, my home, some miles beyond it: however, I shall have time enough to lodge you in your quarters, and afterward to perform my own journey. In the mean time, may I be so bold as to inquire the end of your journey.

Viator. 'Tis into Lancashire, sir; and about some business of concern to a near relation of mine; for I assure you, I do not use to take so long journeys as from Essex upon the single account of pleasure.

Piscator. From thence, sir! I do not then wonder you should appear dissatisfied with the length of the miles, and the foulness of the way: though I am sorry you should begin to quarrel with them so soon; for believe me, sir, you will find the miles much longer, and the way much worse, before you come to your journey's end.

Viator. Why, truly, sir! for that I am prepared to expect the worst; but methinks the way is mended since I had the good fortune to fall into your good company.

Piscator. You are not obliged to my company for that, but because you are already past the worst, and the greatest part of your way to your lodging.

Viator. I am very glad to hear it, both for the ease of myself and my horse; but especially, because I may then expect a freer enjoyment of your conversation: though the shortness of the way will, I fear, make me lose it the sooner.

Piscator. That, sir, is not worth your care: and I am sure you deserve much better for being content with so ill company. But we have already talked away two miles of your journey; for, from the brook before us, that runs at the foot of this sandy. hill, you have but three miles to Ashborn.

Viator. I meet, every where in this country, with these little brooks; and they look as if they were full of fish: have they not Trouts in them?

Piscator. That is a question which is to be excused in a stranger, as you are otherwise, give me leave to tell you, it would seem a kind of affront to our country, to make a doubt

what we pretend to be famous for, next, if not before, our malt, wool, lead, and coal; for you are to understand, that we think we have as many fine rivers, rivulets, and brooks, as any country whatever; and they are all full of Trouts, and some of them the best (it is said) by many degrees, in England.

Viator. I was first, sir, in love with you; and now shall be so enamoured of your country, by this account you give me of it, as to wish myself a Derbyshire man, or, at least, that I might live in it for you must know I am a pretender to the angle, and, doubtless, a Trout affords the most pleasure to the angler of any sort of fish whatever; and the best Trouts must needs make the best sport; but this brook, and some others I have met with upon this way, are too full of wood for that recreation.

Piscator. This, sir! why this, and several others like it, which you have passed, and some that you are like to pass, have scarce any name amongst us; but we can shew you as fine rivers, and as clear from wood, or any other encumbrance to hinder an angler, as any you ever saw; and for clear beautiful streams, Hantshire itself, by Mr Izaak Walton's good leave, can shew none such, nor, I think, any country in Europe.

Viator. You go far, sir, in the praise of your country rivers, and, I perceive, have read Mr Walton's Complete Angler, by your naming of Hantshire; and, I pray, what is your opinion of that book?

Piscator. My opinion of Mr Walton's book is the same with every man's that understands any thing of the art of angling, — that it is an excellent good one, and that the forementioned gentleman understands as much of fish and fishing as any man living. But I must tell you, farther, that I have the happiness to know his person, and to be intimately acquainted with him; and, in him, to know the worthiest man, and to enjoy the best and the truest friend any man ever had: nay, I shall yet acquaint you farther, that he gives me leave to call him father, and I hope is not yet ashamed to own me for his adopted son.

Viator. In earnest, sir, I am ravished to meet with a friend of Mr Izaak Walton's, and one that does him so much right in so good and true a character: for I must boast to you, that I have the good fortune to know him too, and came acquainted with him much after the same manner as I do with you that he was my master, who first taught me to love angling, and then to become an angler-and, to be plain with you, I am the very man deciphered in his book under the name of "Venator;" for I was wholly addicted to the chase, till he taught me as good, a more quiet, innocent, and less dangerous diversion.

Piscator. Sir, I think myself happy in your acquaintance; and, before we part, shall entreat leave to embrace you. You have said enough to recommend you to my best opinion; for my