How do you, Mr. Marsh?

Host. Gentlemen, your servant at command.

Painter. Can we have good entertainment and clean beds at your house?

Host. Sir! we shall do our utmost to give you satisfaction: and for beds, I may say there are not better in the Peak, with ‘sheets laid up in lavender.’ What, ho! boy, take these gentlemen’s fish pannier and angle rods. Will it please you, Sirs, to walk into the parlour?

Angler. It is well; and the sooner you can make ready for supper the better pleased we shall be; for we have walked all the way from Derby; and here is a brace of trouts: but look you, Mr. Marsh, one condition I would make, and that is, you dress them according to a fancy I have.

Host. Sir, you shall be obeyed; nevertheless we have a notable method for boiling a trout or grayling in these parts, that I never knew to displease any anglers.

Angler. But if you know not the manner recommended by Mr. Cotton, who lives at Beresford Hall, I shall not be persuaded to think them skilfully done.

Host. Sir, I am now your most humble servant, and willing to dress these trouts according to your wishes, seeing you approve the method of noble Mr. Cotton.

Painter. Then you know Mr. Charles Cotton, of Beresford Hall?

Host. That, Sir, by your leave, I should do, and know him well too; for I was a servant in the family when his right honourable father lived at the hall, of whom only this I may declare, he was loved and esteemed for his gentle qualities of nature by the late most learned Lord Chancellor^[22] of Oxford and England, and was united with him in the same bold and generous zeal for the service of the late king, of pious memory: and I was the first that taught Mr. Charles Cotton, in his happy youthful days, to fish in the River Dove, when he was a mere schoolboy, and to mew and cast and lure his falcon-gentles, and all manner of hawks. And since that time he has often had me to a day’s fishing with him, and by his native condescension makes me find myself at ease in his company, notwithstanding my humble conditions.

Angler. Indeed! then I may tell you this gentleman and myself have come all the way from Derby, and some miles beyond that, to find his fishing-house, and to spend a day or two angling in the vallies of the Dove.

Host. You are not the first gentlemen by many, that have done this; and you will not think your labour lost when you have seen the Fishing-house; for that it is a wonderful ingenious place, and most skilfully adorned, no person, who has seen it, can deny. But will you be pleased to sit down in these elbow chairs, and rest yourselves till the trouts are ready.

Painter. Willingly: for I could not walk another Derbyshire mile, if it were to purchase a king’s ransom. And now, Mr. Marsh, I pray you, look to the supper, that it be served quickly, for we are nigh famished.

Angler. And remember to give the trouts ‘three scotches with a knife.’

Host. Aye, Sir, ‘and to the bone on one side only.’ I go to see it done as you desire.——

Angler. Did you observe, brother, how this honest host, for such I doubt not he is, took up the words of Mr. Cotton? You may depend he hath read the ‘Instructions how to angle for a trout or grayling in a clear stream.’ We are like to pass a pleasant evening here at Alstonfields, and to learn more of Mr. Cotton, and of his ‘pretty moorland seat’ than we had any hope to do when we began our journey. What a neat parlour is here, and the boards all sanded over!

Painter. And see how mine host has garnish’t out his walls with little pictures; here’s the history of Judith, and Susanna, and Daniel in the lion’s den; and the furniture not amiss; the oaken cabinet, and tables polished like a mirror.

Angler. And here are books in the window; look you, Fox’s Book of Martyrs, and Bishop Taylor’s ‘Holy Living and Dying;’ and here before all other books, is the Great Bible,^[23] that King James caused to be translated out of the Hebrew and Greek tongues by those forty-seven most pious and learned divines of our holy church, thereby opening to the people of these realms those fountains of living waters, more precious than rivers of gold; for he that thirsteth after them in an honest and believing heart, shall hear THE SPIRIT AND THE BRIDE SAY, ‘Come; let him that is athirst come; and whosoever will, let him take of the water of life freely.’^[24] Happy were they to be chosen—thrice happy to unlock and deliver to all ages the mysterious treasures of God’s Holy Word. Of these I may not forget charitable Dr. Launcelot Andrewes.

Painter. He that refused to be consecrated a bishop, because he would not be persuaded to give a helping hand in the spoil of the ecclesiastical revenues.

Angler. Nor less happy in this surpassing work was Dr. Adrian Saravia, of so sweet a nature, and dispositions so notable, that he was joined to Mr. Hooker in a bosom friendship, which was only ended by death, when that judicious champion of our church thought himself happy to die in the arms of him he loved with so confiding a love.

Painter. This gift to his people of the English Bible was indeed a ‘ΒΑΣΙΛΙΚΟΝ ΔΟΡΟΝ’ worthy of a king,^[25] and seeing these books of our host, I am more inclined to entertain good thoughts of him: but here he comes.

Angler. And the supper too. You have lost no time, Mr. Marsh.

Host. Gentlemen, I hope you may find it to be as well done as quickly, for that is what I desired; and I have spared nothing to make them to your taste, even to the ‘little handsome faggot of rosemary, thyme, and winter savory,’ that Mr. Cotton bids us ‘throw into the liquor.’

Angler. Well then, let us say grace for these mercies we have, and now fall to it. Come, this is excellent, and, as I profess myself to be an angler, I have not tasted trouts more seasonable:—Apicius himself could not have desired them more daintily dressed.

Host. Sir, I am glad you find them to your liking.

Angler. And now, what say you of your barley wine?

Host. Sir, it is well known how the Staffordshire ale is the best in England, or as good as any; and though I would not be thought a braggart, I may say that mine is second to none in the county.

Angler. Then bring us a good flagon; for I long to drink Mr. Cotton’s health in a full cup at Alstonfields:—Now brother.

Painter. With all my heart—here’s to Mr. Cotton.

Angler. Mr. Cotton, the dear friend of Mr. Izaak Walton!

Host. Sirs, I thank you for your kind thoughts towards my master, and there is not a worthier gentleman lives than Mr. Cotton; and may I be so bold to ask how you find our Staffordshire ale?

Angler. It is excellent, and no lack of malt in’t.

Host. And now, Gentlemen, here is meat, with a fresh sallet; and my good dame has prepared some confections, and tossed a sweet pancake.

Angler. This mutton is as good as your ale.

Painter. It is all excellent; thanks to you and our good hostess: ‘small cheer and great welcome make a merry feast;’ but you are liberal with both: and now we have finished our supper, what say you, brother, have you an inclination to a pipe?

Angler. I am nothing loath.

Painter. And I’m for another jug of that nappy ale, if you do not fear it.

Angler. I fear nothing in your discreet company: so, Mr. Marsh, bring us pipes, and some more of your Staffordshire ale, and let there be a toast and sugar in’t, with a little spice of nutmeg.

Painter. Aye, aye, and a race or two of ginger.

Host. Sirs, it shall be as you desire; and with all diligence.—— ——

Angler. And now, brother, what think you of our host?

Painter. In sooth, a modest, well-spoken man, with a decent composure of carriage; not like some of your would-be-witty tapsters, that have ‘a finger in all trades, and an oar in every man’s boat.’

Angler. And that is my opinion of him; and so, when he returns, if you stand not on scruples, let us invite him to sit with us awhile; for I would ask him some questions about Mr. Cotton and his fishing-house.——

Host. Gentlemen, here is a tankard of spiced ale, with pipes, and the best tobacco I have.

Angler. I doubt not the quality of your tobacco, but I always carry my own; and now, Mr. Marsh, if you will give us the pleasure of your conversation awhile, and smoke a pipe from my box, you shall be heartily welcome.

Host. Sirs, I humbly thank you; but I pray you to excuse me: I would not be thought to grow presumptuous because you are pleased to be familiar.

Painter. Nay, Mr. Marsh, stay not on a punctilio; we would have your company, if it be only to drink Mr. Cotton’s good health; and here’s my Virginia, so fill your pipe.

Angler. One cup to the noble master of Beresford: pr’ythee be seated, Mr. Marsh.

Host. Gentlemen, since you desire me this honour, I shall obey as I ought, and heartily thank you.——Sirs, I make bold to drink your health, wishing you all possible pleasure hereabouts on the banks of the Dove, and good success with your angle rods.

Painter. It promises so many natural beauties, that I expect to find it as pleasant a river as I have seen.

Angler. Say the pleasantest of all, good brother.

Painter. First let me see the fishing-house; and then, perhaps, I may be brought to join in your opinion. Shall we be permitted to visit that spot?

Host. Doubt it not, Sir: you that have read Mr. Cotton’s second part of the Complete Angler, may readily believe how he inclines to Gentlemen fishers, seeing he has therein clearly depicted his own likeness; for I may declare to you my master has an alluring suavity and a singular freedom of spirit. Therefore he will never refuse a liberty to civil strangers, to see his fishing-house: indeed, I have known him to send his servants to the river, with meat and ale for their refreshment; or sometimes, if they be anglers, invite them to the house. And it was after this manner the first accidental rudiments of that friendship sprung up betwixt himself and brave Colonel Richard Lovelace. I remember he found that gentleman to be endowed with such a ripeness of wit, and zeal for the king’s cause, that he persuaded him to a long forgetfulness of his intended journey to London, and then was so unwilling to lose his conversation and company, that he made an occasion to go to Ashbourne, that he might conduct him so far on horseback by Hanson Toot and Bentley.^[26]

Angler. I have heard say that Colonel Lovelace was afterwards, in his distress, a constant partaker of Mr. Cotton’s open and generous disposition.

Host. Alas! Sir, his disposition is over generous for his fortunes; and it is famous in all the Peak, that Mr. Cotton is now detained from Beresford against his desires, lest his enemies should incommode him.

Angler. Say not so: I would not have it true, that a gentleman of so high a candour and of such worth should be an exile from his estates.

Host. Were it other than true, I should indeed be happy: he has none but friends in all this country, unless it be some remnant of those injurious and rank weeds that sprung up through the Commonweal under the late tyranny. He is of a clear courage, like his noble father; and both manifested a constant loyalty for the king, during the frenzy of those rugged times.

Painter. It may be this brought against him a part of his present cares.

Host. Alas, it did that; for it is a known truth how the estate was encumber’d on his Majesty’s behalf: and indeed my master showed himself to be a loving subject in those sad distractions, when there was a danger so much as to be thought of the royal party. And another great charge was to enrich his house and grounds with all manner of curious ornamental art, in so much that they be noted in these parts for a garden of devices. And some of our chiefest nobility think themselves happy in Mr. Cotton’s friendship; as Lord Jermayne, and the most noble Earl of Devonshire,^[27] who lives in his stately mansion at Chatsworth, and permits a familiarity with him; nay, I have seen them practise with foils in our great Hall, and notwithstanding the Earl has the longer arm and is esteemed a very dextrous fencer, he cannot, with all his parries, defend himself against Mr. Cotton’s counterpoint and skilful disengagements.

Painter. I pray you, what age is Mr. Charles Cotton?

Host. Sir, Mr. Cotton was born forty-seven years, gone the 28th of last month: but he is yet in the morning and flower of his life; and to look at him you might believe him to be less than forty, by reason of his youthful carriage and comeliness; and when he converses with his inferiors, such as myself and others, who have the happiness to call him our master, the sweetness of his discourse and his discreet familiarity expels every fear. And then, Sir! if you could see him, (as I have often,) in his suit of slashed velvet, or rich taffeta, you would be sure he was bred at court; indeed, he is notable for his comportment and alluring person. Nevertheless, I have sometimes seen him transported beyond his usual behaviour: and I cannot help me from smiling at a story of himself, I have heard him relate to his friends.

Angler. I beseech you let us have it.

Host. Well, Sir! you are to know Mr. Cotton will sometimes have a slight hindrance in his speech; and so on a time he found a stout beggar that sat under the great yew tree, near to the door of the Hall; whereupon he asked him, with an hesitation, ‘What—d-dost—d-do—here—f-friend?’—Now it chanced the beggar had the same infirmity of speech with noble Mr. Cotton, but greater; so he began to stammer in his answering, and make wry words and looks; upon this, Mr. Cotton, thinking he mocked at him, seized the man on a sudden, and declared he was a sturdy rogue, and he would teach him his manners, and have him put in the flocks. Thereupon the other, in his fright, could not but stut the more, seeing how obnoxious he was to so fine a gentleman; till at length Mr. Cotton, finding it to be a real entanglement in the fellow’s speech, was all at once mollified, and did humbly ask pardon for his first severity; and after that fell a laughing, and with pleasant persuasions called him into his house, and feasted him there, till the beggar thought himself as g-great as a L-Lord.

Painter. Ah! ha! ha! a mighty pleasant story.

Angler. I dare to think the beggar was not the only guest at the Hall that has tasted of Mr. Cotton’s good cheer.

Host. Sir, you are right; and I well remember, when my master resolved to build the fishing-house, and that Prospect Tower, that you shall see to-morrow, he engaged a master architect from the town of Nottingham, to see that the stone-work was skilfully managed. This was Mr. Lancelot Rolston,^[28] a man of solid abilities, and instructed in many arts; and because he was of a fertile wit, and withal a brother of the angle, Mr. Cotton held him to be, as he always proved himself, a brave gentleman and a scholar, and after a time, entered into a familiarity with him, which hath continued to this day:—but Sirs,—I humbly ask your pardon;—I would not be thought to venture myself on your civility, nor take too much of the conversation.

Painter. Trust me, we think ourselves happy in these testimonies of Mr. Cotton; but see, the ale tarries with you; so fill your cup, and let us hear further of Mr. Rolston.

Host. Well then, Sir, as I told you, that architect was often persuaded by Mr. Cotton to come to him at Beresford; and I cannot doubt was largely rewarded; and this was only reasonable, seeing he was a famous man in these parts, and above all a delicate limner. And so it happened on a time, when he came all the way from Nottingham to give order for the works, that Mr. Cotton greatly desired his company one day more at Beresford, that he might finish some landskip pictures in the fishing-house. This the other could not do with convenience to himself, at that time; therefore he asked leave to be gone after dinner. But Mr. Cotton did so entertain his guest with good wine, and better conversation, that the architect forgot, or would not care for his journey, until the night was come. Then Mr. Cotton told him how there was no moonlight, and he might chance to break his neck between this and Ashbourne, whither his occasions called him, and endeavoured to persuade him it would be more prudent to take his bed at the Hall, and promised he might depart early the next morning. But the other declared he was able to find his way by Hanson Toot and Bentley Brook, though he were hoodwinked.

Well, Sirs, Mr. Cotton seeing him bent on his dark journey, secretly desired his servants should bring one of his own horses from the stable; and when the architect mounted into his saddle with alacrity, not seeing how he had another man’s jennet, Mr. Cotton wished him a good journey at the gate with a secret mirthful composure. And so the other got to Ashbourne and slept at the Talbot Inn; and on the morrow, when the hostler brought him the nag, how was he then astonished to find he had not his own beast; and declared the man was not awake to give him such a sorry jade. Then the other humbly disabused him, and said, he knew the horse these many a year, for it was noble Mr. Cotton’s at Beresford Hall.

Angler. Bravely done: and what followed?

Host. Then the architect began unwillingly to perceive how my master had served him this facetious turn; and because the exchange was not to his advantage, he considered it was best for him to come again to Beresford; and so he did, as Mr. Cotton hoped he would: then they laughed together at the innocent fraud thus put upon him, and Mr. Rolston, being in a happy mood, set his thoughts to work, and painted all that day, and the day after, in the fishing-house, and contrived some natural imitations of the rocks and other prospects thereabouts.

Angler. Excellent!

Painter. I doubt not the limnings are traced with a dextrous freedom.

Host. Aye, truly; and some ornaments of his workmanship are there, which I hope to make you welcome to, more worthy than the landskips: for it chanced in the last summer, when Mr. Izaak Walton passed some peaceful days at Beresford, this artist rode thither from Nottingham; and nothing would content my master, but he must have Mr. Walton’s portraiture, painted from the life in colours on the pannel of the beaufet, opposite to the mantel in the fishing-house. But Mr. Rolston declared, with many protestations, he was not skilful painter enough for such endeavours. Thereupon a friendly contest arose between all three; for Mr. Walton liked not the motion, and was so modest as to insist that the fishing-house should be better graced with the picture of Mr. Cotton himself, who was the happy inventor of it. Nevertheless my master would, for this time, have his pleasure, and did entreat Mr. Walton to sit with an angler’s professed patience, and suffer Mr. Rolston to paint his likeness; and moreover, he promised he would read them a book and converse the while. And then he opened the beaufet, and said gaily; Now, Sir, can you resist the temptation of ‘The Shepheards’ Oracles, delivered in certain Eglogues, by Francis Quarles?’ Whereupon Mr. Walton replied, There you touch me nearly, and I promise to sit and listen quietly, if you will be pleased to read aloud Canonicus’, the Shepheard’s, reproofs against the scismatical Anarchus. That will I, (then my master said,) but first I crave leave to entertain Mr. Rolston with your friend John Marriott’s address to the Reader; and he will not think it the less ingenious when I make bold to declare that some other pen than the Printer’s (then he looked with a meaning at Mr. Walton) hath touched the description of Francis Quarles, as he ‘walked down towards the brook, furnished with all proper angle rods, lines, and flyes.’

Angler. I remember, he fell in with some Arcadian shepheardesses, keeping the festival of their great god Pan. Would I could repeat it, for it is a sparkling allegory, especially suitable to all fishermen.

Host. Sir, I have the book itself, locked up in this cabinet.

Angler. Indeed! then, I beseech you, let us look into it, that my brother may judge whether or no Mr. Walton had a hand in the composition of that address to the Reader.

Host. Sir, here it is.

Angler. The ‘Shepheards’ Oracles:’^[29] and look, brother, at this significant frontispiece, engraved by W. M.; there is the tree of the Church, that a mixed close-cropped rabble of schismatics are picking and digging at, if by any means they may uproot it from the earth. And there is that man of a tub who has pierced through and through the books of the Liturgy and the Canons: and the Jesuit, with his Roman knife, stripping the bark. But our late pious king, with his sword and sceptre, makes a rout of them, whilst the careful Bishop holds the loved tree in his embrace, and nurtures the roots with the waters of sound doctrine.

Painter. And from above the sword of the Spirit invincibly spread out to protect His church, as if to say, ‘I will contend with him that contends with thee, and I will save thy children.’^[30] But for the Printer’s address?

Angler. Listen. — — — After some notice of the lamented death of Francis Quarles, the reader is ‘requested to fancy that the author was walking a gentle pace on a summer’s morning towards a brook, not far distant from his peaceful habitation, fitted with angle, lines, and flyes, proper for the fruitful month of May, intending all diligence to beguile the timorous trout; when he observed a more than common concourse of shepheards, all bending their unwearied steps towards a pleasant meadow within his present prospect, and had his eyes made more happy to behold two fair shepheardesses strewing the foot paths with lillies and lady-smocks, so newly gathered by their fair hands that they yet smelt more sweet than the morning, and immediately he met (attended with Clora and Clorinda, I think were their names, and many other wood nymphs,) the fair and virtuous Parthenia, who after a courteous salutation, told him that the neighbour-shepheards of that part of Arcadia had dedicated that day to be kept holy to the honour of their great god Pan; she told him also that Orpheus would be there, and bring his harp, Pan his pipe, and Titerus his oaten-reed to make music at the feast; she therefore persuaded him not to lose, but to change that day’s pleasure.’ And (not to detain you with the whole) you are to believe this first acquaintance of the Author with the single-hearted shepheards grew into a friendship; and he would often ‘rest himself among them and their flocks feeding about them, in the calm evening, as he returned from his river recreations, and heard that discourse which (with the Shepheards’ names) is presented in these Eglogues.’

Host. Thus Mr. Walton was enticed to patience; for my master knows his humour, and is never so happy as when he can give him pleasure.

Painter. And, if I may judge by these images of rural life, Mr. Walton himself had some participation in the address.

Angler. And doubtless he knew that he might claim Francis Quarles for a worthy brother of the angle.

Painter. What would I not have given to witness the freedom of those three contented gentlemen in the fishing-house!

Host. Sirs, I would that you, who are so great lovers of angling, had there seen the sweet compliance and resignation of Mr. Walton: his particular smiling gravity seasons all his actions, and by little and little the limner became so enamoured of his countenance that he stamped his very image against the pannel of the cabinet; yet all the while he professed he could not manage it with truth to the original. I well remember what a joy Mr. Cotton expressed by his words and countenance, when the portrait was finished, because he should never be in want of a lively image of his ‘dear adopted father.’

Angler. And I may prophecy that the portraiture of our excellent master will be cherished for ages yet to come by all anglers, who may gather from his lineaments the blessedness of a peaceful spirit.

Host. After this was finished, Mr. Walton declared he would have a reward for his conformableness, and be permitted to take his recreation by the river: and so it was agreed that he and Mr. Cotton should have a bout of fishing.

Angler. Pr’ythee leave not a word untold of his methods of angling.

Host. Well, then, Sir! Mr. Cotton gave order to his serving-boy to bring the rods and fishing-harness from the Hall: and to work they went. Then my master, seeing how Mr. Walton silently busied himself in fixing a worm on the arming of his hook, challenged him to fish with the fly; whereat the other with his own smile (that shews he hath no other season than a continual spring within) answered him; ‘Nay, Sir, I hope to catch more pounds of fish with my brandlings before supper time, than you shall do with all your choicest flies.’ To this Mr. Cotton replied: ‘Say you so? Let that be a match between us; hither boy! bring my landing net and pannier, and let us down the stream below the swifts.’ Then he desired I would attend carefully on Mr. Walton; and said, ‘Farewell Mr. Piscator, and look how you put your angle to good use, for now you are not on the banks of your Lea, but must fish in clear Derbyshire streams:’ to which the other returned him a pleasant nod of the head; and all the while he had prepared his tackling, without any noise, and dropped his line with a sober mischievous look into the Pike Pool: then seeing his quill to dip suddenly, he answered with a gaiety, ‘Anon, Sir! look you there;—for I am certain I have a nabble.’

Host. And true it was, for he hook’d a trout, and, you may believe me, a big one.

Painter. I suspect he had an old acquaintance with that pool.

Host. And he handled his fish with a singular discretion, and then I landed him by his desire in the net. No sooner did Mr. Cotton see this, than he was suddenly resolved to be away, and said: ‘Marry, Sir! that is an ill omen for my match. Come, boy! the wind sets from this bank, keep aloof from the stream:’ and with that he went towards a choice part lower down, where an angler, that is an artist, may scarce miss his entertainment.

Angler. You waited then on Mr. Walton? I am ready to envy you such a pleasure, and the advantage of learning some of his devices in angling.

Host. Believe me, Sir, you would also love to hear him discourse; for he proportions all he says with a most pleasing contexture of grave and cheerful things, and delights in contemplating the beauty and order of the works of God; and he naturally turns the thoughts of his companions to the Great Architect, that contrived the wonderful structure of them; persuading them to the belief that the most true, and only secure, happiness is in virtue.

Painter. That is a cheerful industrious Christian, who doth not lay up religion like a suit, to be kept for holidays; but sucks divinity out of every flower, and in a secret way turns it into honey.

Host. And all the while he discourses, you may see him handle his rod with a master’s skill: and he has some commixture of oil and gums, or other experimental artifices, that most anglers have no knowledge of, to tempt the trouts to his hook.

Angler. I have not a doubt it is that receipt of his friend, Richard Roe, as given by Mr. John Davors, in his Secrets of Angling; and I can avouch that it is an excellent good one.

Host. Sir, I know not if this or any other were his charm to tempt the fishes to his bait; but having quickly landed his second trout, he said, ‘We shall have no more present bites in Pike Pool, seeing we have disturbed the water; so come, Mr. Marsh, if you please, let us not lose our time hereabouts, but try some other parts, that we may win our match from the skilful fly-fisher.’ After that he took a walk higher up the stream to the fishing-house, and shewed his trouts to Mr. Rolston, who was still there to give some last touches to the portraiture. Then he so persuasively entreated the limner to paint him a trout in colours, on one of the pannels, that the other could not find it in his thoughts to refuse his request. But Mr. Walton did not beguile his time in the fishing-house; for he remembered how he was to kill more fishes than Mr. Cotton, and so he continued his industrious angling until my master returned again, a little before sunset, and brought with him many brace of trouts. And then Mr. Cotton said gaily, ‘My service to you, good gentleman, most patient angler, what have your brandlings done for you?—hast caught any fish?—it is time to give over.’ To this Mr. Walton replied, ‘Hold, Sir, but half a minute, and I’ll tell you:’ for at that very time he had hooked his last trout, and was playing him; and indeed he managed him with such a craftiness and would not give him a quiet moment to himself, but forced him with a most gentle violence up and down the stream, till he was brought to the last extremity; in so much that Mr. Cotton could not but applaud his skill, when he saw the fish at his length languishing on the bank. And after that, Mr. Rolston was called from the fishing-house to be a judge of the contest; and all the trouts were counted out on the grass; but Mr. Walton’s fishes were more than the other’s by some pounds in weight; and so it was declared his bottom fishing had won the match for him; and upon that they all returned with merry hearts to the Hall. And now, Gentlemen, it may be expected I should ask your pardon, seeing I have occupied your attention with this long discourse.

Angler. We are greatly beholden to you for so pleasant a history.

Painter. And I am glad our walk to-morrow will be along the banks of the river, and that I am to see those choice limnings in the fishing-house.

Angler. And now let’s to bed. Come, brother, you and I will read a chapter out of Mr. Marsh’s great Bible; and that will make our sleep the sweeter, and not hinder our sport to-morrow.

Painter. It is well thought, so do you choose for us.

Angler. Where all are so exceeding good, I shall not be long before I suit you. Here is the 23d Psalm of King David, where he testifies to the loving mercy of God, and how his soul reposed in confidence, that He would be near to comfort him, and sweeten all his trials. Shall I read from that?

Painter. By all means: for I am of the opinion of St. Basil, that if all the other books of Scripture could perish, that of the Psalms would be a sufficient holy amulet to put to flight the enemy of mankind; and I remember how that Psalm begins—‘The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want: He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters.’

Angler.——[Reads.]

Painter. How surprising high are the strains of this joyful hymn, wherein David pours out the breathings of his faith, which established him the man after God’s own heart. No language or thought can surpass those high celestial eulogiums, which have been the prayers of the church from age to age.

Angler. Yet was King David loved of his ‘Shepherd’ before he loved Him in return; as holy Austin writes, ‘God crowns with acceptance not our works, but the gifts of His own grace.’

Painter. And although David thought it his highest privilege, ‘to dwell in the house of the Lord;’ yet doubtless he looked further than the sanctuary of Jerusalem to the courts of the heavenly Zion, and to the eternal abiding of spirits, glorified in the divine presence. For surely the beatific sights and voices, vouchsafed in after days to the beloved and holy John, were not unknown to ‘the sweet singer of Israel.’ He understood how the fold and pasturage of his Shepherd did, after a spiritual sort, foreshadow the final gathering of ‘Christ’s sheep, that are now dispersed abroad in the midst of this naughty world,’^[32] into the folds of glory. And now, brother, let us betake ourselves to rest, with King David, praising God for all the health and other blessings we enjoy, which are but as one drop out of that boundless ocean of joy and treasure He will hereafter bestow for a life of holiness. Good night.

All. Good night.