No More Learning

Izaak Walton was born at the town of
Stafford, in the English county of the same
name, in August 1593. Of his education
he speaks with becoming modesty: and it
is probable that it was slight, for at the
age of nineteen years he was engaged in
• retail trade in London. His first shop was
in the Royal Burse, Cornhill, and was only
seven and a half feet long by five feet
wide. ” But he seems to have done
good business at this humble stand; for in
1624 he had a la shop in Fleet Street,
IZAAK Walton
and in 1632 he bought a lease of a house
and shop in Chancery Lane, where his occupation is described as that
of a “sempster” or “milliner. ”
It is certain that he did not live for his trade, though he lived by
it; for as early as 1619 we find a book of verse, The Love of Amos
and Laura,' dedicated to him as a person of acknowledged taste
and skill in letters. The friendships which he formed with Dr. John
Donne the metaphysical preacher and poet, with Sir Henry Wot-
ton the witty and honest ambassador, with the learned John Hales
of Eton College, and with many other persons of like ability and
distinction, prove him to have been a man of singular intelligence,
amiable character, and engaging conversation. In some of these friend-
ships, no doubt, the love of angling — to which recreation he was
attached by a pure and temperate and enduring passion — was either
the occasion of intimacy or the promoter of it. For it has often
been observed that this gentle sport inclines the hearts of those that
XXVI–976

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IZAAK WALTON
as
a
»
practice it to friendliness; and there are no closer or more lasting
companionships than such as are formed beside flowing streams by
men who study to be quiet and go a-fishing. ” And this Walton did,
as we know from his own testimony. He turned from the hooks and
eyes of his shop to cast the hook for the nimble trout or the slug-
gish chub, in the waters of the Lea, or of the New River, with such
cheerful comrades as honest Nat. and R. Roe; “but they are gone,”
he adds, “and with them most of my pleasant hours, even
shadow that passeth away and returns not. ”
In 1626 he married Rachel Floud, a great-great-niece of Arch-
bishop Cranmer. She died in 1640, leaving a child who survived her
but two years.
In 1643, about the beginning of the Civil War,— which he deplored
and reprobated with as much bitterness as was possible to a man of
his gentle disposition,- he retired from business with a modest for-
tune, and purchased a small estate near his native town, in the heart
of rural England and in the neighborhood of good fishing. Here he
lived in peace and quietness, passing much of his time as a welcome
visitor in the families of eminent clergymen; "of whom,” says the
gossipy old chronicler Anthony Wood, «he was much beloved. ”
About 1646 he married again; the bride being a lady of discreet
age, — not less than thirty-five years,- and a stepsister of Thomas
Ken, who afterwards became the beloved Bishop of Bath and Wells,
and the honored author of the Evening Hymn,' with many other
pieces of sacred poetry. This is the lady who is spoken of so pleas-
antly as “Kenna” in “The Angler's Wish,' Walton's best poem. She
died in 1662, leaving two children: a son, Izaak Walton Jr. , who
lived a useful, tranquil life and died unmarried; and a daughter who
became the wife of the Rev. Dr. William Hawkins, a prebendary in
the Church of Winchester, in whose house Walton died.
With such close and constant associations among the clergy, it
was but natural that Walton's first essay in literature should have an
ecclesiastical flavor. . It was "The Life of Dr. John Donne,' prefixed
to the sermons of that noted divine and difficult poet, — which were
published in 1640, while Walton was still keeping shop in London.
The brief biography was a very remarkable piece of work for an
untried author; and gave evidence of a hand that, however it may
have acquired its skill, was able to modulate the harmonies of English
prose, with a rare and gentle charm, to a familiar tune,— the praise
of piety and benevolence and humbleness,- and yet with such fresh
and simple turns of humor and tenderness as delight the heart while
they satisfy the judgment.
Walton speaks, in the preface to this ‘Life,' of his “artless pencil. ”
But in truth it was the ars celare artem that belonged to him. His


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writing shows that final and admirable simplicity which is always
the result of patient toil and the delicate, loving choice of words.
When, for example, he speaks of Master Donne as proceeding in a
certain search « with all moderate haste," or of his behavior (which,
when it would entice, had a strange kind of elegant irresistible art”;
or when he says of his relation to the Society of Benchers of Lin-
coln's Inn, that it was “a love-strife of desert and liberality”; or
when he describes “that last hour of his last day, as his body melted
away and vapored into spirit,” — he writes as one who understands
and respects the mysteries of language and the value of exquisite
expression
The series of biographies (all too few) in which he embalmed
the good memories of Sir Henry Wotton (1651), the Judicious Mr. Rich-
ard Hooker (1662), the Sacred Poet George Herbert (1670), and the
Devout Bishop Sanderson (1678), are adorned with some of the most
quaintly charming passages of prose to be found in English liter-
ature; and illuminated by a spirit of sincere charity and pious affec-
tion (except towards the Scotch and the Commonwealth-men), which
causes them to shine with a mild and steady lustre, like lamps hung
by grateful hands before the shrines of friendly and familiar saints.
Walton's "Lives, if he had written nothing else, would give him a
fair title to a place in a library of the world's best literature.
But his chief claim upon immortality, in the popular estimation,
rests on a work of another character. In The Complete Angler,
or the Contemplative Man’s Recreation,' Walton doubtless aimed at
nothing more than a small book of instruction in the secrets of his
beloved art; with which he mixed, as he says, “in several places,
not any scurrility, but some innocent harmless mirth, of which if
thou be a severe, sour-complexioned man, then I here disallow thee
to be a competent judge; for divines say, there are offenses given,
and offenses not given but taken. ” But in thus making a recreation
of his recreation, a fortunate fisherman's luck befell him. Like a
man who in casting the fly for trout hooks a lordly salmon (and
this happy accident occurred to a friend of mine only the other day,
but sadly enough the salmon was not landed),— even so, Walton, in
seeking to win the approbation and gratitude of a little peaceable
brotherhood of anglers in the troubled age of Oliver Cromwell, caught
and kept the thankful admiration and praise of many generations of
readers. I think it likely that no one could be more surprised at this
unlooked-for but well-deserved result than himself; or more thankful
for the success which gave to his favorite sport the singular honor of
having inspired a classic in literature.
(The Complete Angler) must have been begun not long after his
retirement from business, for it was ready to be printed in 1650. But


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IZAAK WALTON
man
the first edition did not appear until 1653. The second followed in 1655;
the third in 1661; the fourth in 1668; and the fifth, which was the
last printed during the author's lifetime, in 1676. In all of these new
editions, except the third, there were many alterations and enlarge-
ments; for Walton labored assiduously to perfect what he had written,
and the changes, even the slightest, display the care of a scrupulous
and affectionate workman in words. In the fifth edition a Second
Part was added, consisting of 'Instructions How to Angle for a Trout
or Grayling in a Clear Stream. ' This was written by Charles Cot-
ton, Esquire, of Beresford Hall, in imitation of his master's manner,
but at a considerable distance. Since that time more than a hundred
editions of the book have been published, of all shapes and sizes,
from the tiny 48ino of Pickering to the imperial octavo of Sir Har-
ris Nicolas; so that a can choose whether he will read Old
Izaak in large print from a broad-margined page on a library table,
or carry him in his pocket as Washington Irving did, and read him
under a beech-tree, in a green meadow just by a spring of pure sweet
water.
The value of 'The Complete Angler' at this day is not to be looked
for in its completeness. In its time, no doubt, it gave much new and
curious instruction to the novice in the art; for Walton was unrivaled
in his skill with bait, and Thomas Barker, the retired cook and active
humorist who helped him in his discourse upon artificial flies, was
an adept in that kind of angling. But most of these instructions, and
likewise the scientific dissertations upon fish and fish-ponds, have long
since gone out of date; and the book now belongs to the literature
of power rather than of knowledge. Its unfailing charm lies in its
descriptions of the country and of country life; in its quaint pas-
toral scenes, like the episode of the milkmaid, and the convocation
of gipsies; and in its constant, happy exhortations to contentment,
humility, and a virtuous, placid temper.
The form of the book is a dialogue, in which at first the respect-
ive merits of hunting, hawking, and angling are disputed; and then
the discourse falls chiefly into the mouth of Piscator, who expounds
the angler's contemplative sport to Venator, who has become his
willing and devoted pupil. The manner of writing is sincere, collo-
quial, unaffected, yet not undignified; it is full of digressions, which
like the footpaths on a journey are the pleasantest parts of all; it is
an easy, unconstrained, rambling manner, yet always sure-footed, as
the step of one who has walked so long beside the streams that he
move forward safely without looking at the ground, while his
eyes follow the water and the rising fish. In short, the book has that
rare and imperishable quality called style: a quality easily recognized
but hardly defined; a quality which in its essence, whatever its varying
can


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IZAAK WALTON
15605
forms may be, is always neither more nor less than the result of
such a loving mastery of the true proprieties of language as will
permit the mind and spirit of a man to shine with lucid clearness
through his words.
Thus Izaak Walton shines through The Complete Angler. ' An
honest, kindly man; a man satisfied with his modest place in the
world, and never doubting that it was a good world, or that God
made it; an amicable man, not without his prejudices and supersti-
tions, yet well pleased that every reader should enjoy his own opinion ;
a musical, cheerful man, delighting in the songs of birds and making
melody in his heart to God; a loyal, steadfast man, not given to
changing his mind, nor his ways, nor his friends; a patient, faithful,
gentle man,- that was Walton. Thus he fished tranquilly and with-
out offense through the stormy years of the Civil War, and the Rump
Parliament, and the Commonwealth, wishing that all men would beat
their swords into fish-hooks and cast their leaden bullets into sink-
ers.
Thus he died, on December 15th, 1683, being ninety years of
age and in charity with all men. Few writers are more deserving of
an earthly immortality, and none more certain of a heavenly one.
tury raudyken
FROM THE LIFE OF MR. RICHARD HOOKER)
I
RETURN to Mr. Hooker in his college, where he continued his
studies with all quietness for the space of three years; about
which time he entered into sacred orders, being then made
deacon and priest, and not long after was appointed to preach at
St. Paul's Cross.
In order to which sermon, to London he came, and immedi-
ately to the Shunamite's House; which is a house so called for
that, besides the stipend paid the preacher, there is provision made
also for his lodging and diet for two days before and one day
after his sermon. This house was then kept by John Church-
man, sometime a draper of good note in Watling-street, upon
whom poverty had at last come like an armed man, and brought
him into a necessitous condition: which, though it be a punish-
ment, is not always an argument of God's disfavor; for he was
a virtuous man: I shall not yet give the like testimony of his
wife, but leave the reader to judge by what follows. But to this


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IZAAK WALTON
(
house Mr. Hooker came so wet, so weary, and weather-beaten,
that he was never known to express more passion than against a
friend that dissuaded him from footing it to London, and for find-
ing him no easier an horse,- supposing the horse trotted when
he did not; — and at this time also, such a faintness and fear
possessed him, that he would not be persuaded two days' rest
and quietness, or any other means, could be used to make him
able to preach his Sunday's sermon; but a warm bed, and rest,
and drink proper for a cold, given him by Mrs. Churchman, and
her diligent attendance added unto it, enabled him to perform the
office of the day, which was in or about the year 1581.
And in this first public appearance to the world, he was not
so happy as to be free from exceptions against a point of doc-
trine delivered in his sermon; which was, That in God there
were two wills, an antecedent and a consequent will: his first
will, That all mankind should be saved; but his second will was,
That those only should be saved that did live answerable to that
degree of grace which he had offered or afforded them. ” This
seemed to cross a late opinion of Mr. Calvin's, and then taken
for granted by many that had not a capacity to examine it; as it
had been by him before, and hath been since by Master Henry
Mason, Dr. Jackson, Dr. Hammond, and others of great learning,
who believe that a contrary opinion intrenches upon the honor
and justice of our merciful God. How he justified this I will
not undertake to declare; but it was not excepted against -as
Mr. Hooker declares in his rational Answer to Mr. Travers by
John Elmer, then bishop of London, at this time one of his audi-
tors, and at last one of his advocates too, when Mr. Hooker was
accused for it.
But the justifying of this doctrine did not prove of so bad
consequence as the kindness of Mrs. Churchman's curing him of
his late distemper and cold; for that was so gratefully appre-
hended by Mr. Hooker that he thought himself bound in con-
science to believe all that she said: so that the good man came
to be persuaded by her, “that he was a man of a tender consti-
tution; and that it was best for him to have a wife, that might
prove a nurse to him: such a one as might both prolong his life,
and make it more comfortable; and such a one she could and
would provide for him, if he thought fit to marry. ” And he, not
considering that “the children of this world are wiser in their
C


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>
(
»
--
>
(
generation than the children of light, but like a true Nathaniel,
fearing no guile because he meant none, did give such a power
as Eleazar was trusted with, - you may read it in the book of
Genesis,—when he was sent to choose a wife for Isaac; for even
so he trusted her to choose for him, promising upon a fair sum-
mons to return to London and accept of her choice; and he did
so in that, or about the year following. Now the wife provided
for him was her daughter Joan, who brought him neither beauty
nor portion; and for her conditions, they were too like that
wife's which is by Solomon compared to a dripping house: so
that the good man had no reason to “rejoice in the wife of his
youth”; but too just cause to say with the holy Prophet, “Woe
is me that I am constrained to have my habitation in the tents
of Kedar! ”
This choice of Mr. Hooker's— if it were his choice — may be
wondered at: but let us consider that the Prophet Ezekiel says,
« There is a wheel within a wheel; a secret sacred wheel of
Providence, - most visible in marriages,- guided by His hand
that allows not the race to the swift," nor «bread to the wise,"
nor good wives to good men: and He that can bring good out of
evil — for mortals are blind to this reason — only knows why this
blessing was denied to patient Job, to meek Moses, and to our as
meek and patient Mr. Hooker. But so it was: and let the reader
cease to wonder, for affliction is a Divine diet; which though it
be not pleasing to mankind, yet Almighty God hath often, very
often, imposed it as good though bitter physic to those children
whose souls are dearest to him.
And by this marriage the good man was drawn from the tran-
quillity of his college; from that garden of piety, of pleasure, of
peace, and a sweet conversation, into the thorny wilderness of
a busy world, into those corroding cares that attend a married
priest and a country parsonage: which was Drayton-Beauchamp
in Buckinghamshire, not far from Aylesbury, and in the diocese of
Lincoln; to which he was presented by John Cheney, Esq. -- then
patron of it - the 9th of December, 1584, where he behaved him-
self so as to give no occasion of evil, but as St. Paul adviseth a
minister of God — “in much patience, in afflictions, in anguishes,
in necessities, in poverty, and no doubt in long-suffering ”; yet
troubling no man with his discontents and wants. And in this con-
dition he continued about a year, in which time his two pupils,
Edwin Sandys and George Cranmer, took a journey to see their


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IZAAK WALTON
tutor: where they found him with a book in his hand, - it was
the Odes of Horace,- he being then like humble and innocent
Abel, tending his small allotment of sheep in a common field;
which he told his pupils he was forced to do then, for that his
servant was gone home to dine, and assist his wife to do some
necessary household business. But when his servant returned
and released him, then his two pupils attended him unto his
house, where their best entertainment was his quiet company,
which was presently denied them; for Richard was called to rock
the cradle: and the rest of their welcome was so like this, that
they stayed but till the next morning, which was time enough
to discover and pity their tutor's condition; and they having in
that time rejoiced in the remembrance, and then paraphrased
on many of the innocent recreations of their younger days, and
other like diversions, and thereby given him as much present
comfort as they were able, they were forced to leave him to the
company of his wife Joan, and seek themselves a quieter lodg-
ing for next night. But at their parting from him, Mr. Cranmer
said, “Good tutor, I am sorry your lot is fallen in no better
ground, as to your parsonage; and more sorry that your wife
proves not a more comfortable companion, after you have wea-
ried yourself in your restless studies. ” To whom the good man
replied, “My dear George, if saints have usually a double share
in the miseries of this life, I, that am none, ought not to repine
at what my wise Creator hath appointed for me; but labor — as
indeed I do daily — to submit mine to his will, and possess my
soul in patience and peace. "
FROM THE LIFE OF MR. GEORGE HERBERT)
1
SHALL now proceed to his marriage; in order to which it will
be convenient that I first give the reader a short view of
his person, and then an account of his wife, and of some cir-
cumstances concerning both. He was for his person of a stature
inclining toward tallness; his body was very straight, and so far
from being cumbered with too much flesh, that he was lean
to an extremity. His aspect was cheerful, and his speech and
motion did both declare him a gentleman; for they were all so
meek and obliging that they purchased love and respect from all
that knew him.


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These and his other visible virtues begot him much love from
a gentleman of a noble fortune, and a near kinsman to his
friend the Earl of Danby; namely, from Mr. Charles Danvers of
Bainton, in the County of Wilts, Esq. This Mr. Danvers, having
known him long and familiarly, did so much affect him that
he often and publicly declared a desire that Mr. Herbert would
marry any of his nine daughters,- for he had so many,- but
-
rather his daughter Jane than any other, because Jane was his
beloved daughter. And he had often said the same to Mr. Her-
bert himself; and that if he could like her for a wife, and she
him for a husband, Jane should have a double blessing: and Mr.
Danvers had so often said the like to Jane, and so much com-
mended Mr. Herbert to her, that Jane became so much a pla-
tonic as to fall in love with Mr. Herbert unseen.
This was a fair preparation for a marriage: but alas! her
father died before Mr. Herbert's retirement to Dauntsey; yet some
friends to both parties procured their meeting, at which time a
mutual affection entered into both their hearts, as a conqueror
enters into a surprised city: and love having got such possession,
governed, and made there such laws and resolutions as neither
party was able to resist; insomuch that she changed her name
into Herbert the third day after this first interview.
This haste might in others be thought a love-frenzy or worse:
but it was not, for they had wooed so like princes as to have
select proxies; such as were true friends to both parties, such as
well understood Mr. Herbert's and her temper of mind, and also
their estates, so well before this interview, that the suddenness
was justifiable by the strictest rules of prudence: and the more
because it proved so happy to both parties; for the eternal lover of
mankind made them happy in each other's mutual and equal
affections and compliance: indeed, so happy that there never
was any opposition betwixt them, unless it were a contest which
should most incline to a compliance with the other's desires.
And though this begot, and continued in them, such a mutual
love, and joy, and content, as was no way defective; yet this
mutual content, and love, and joy did receive a daily augmenta-
tion, by such daily obligingness to each other, as still added such
new affluences to the former fullness of these divine souls as was
only improvable in heaven, where they now enjoy it.


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IZAAK WALTON
FROM THE COMPLEAT ANGLER)
Plan
ISCATOR — sir, doubt not that angling is an art: is it not
an art to deceive a trout with an artificial fly? a trout
that is more sharp-sighted than any hawk you have named,
and more watchful and timorous than your high-mettled merlin is
bold; and yet I doubt not to catch a brace or two to-morrow for
a friend's breakfast. Doubt not, therefore, sir, but that angling
is an art, and an art worth your learning. The question is
rather, whether you be capable of learning it ? for angling is
somewhat like poetry, - men are to be born so: I mean, with
inclinations to it, though both may be heightened by discourse
and practice; but he 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 pro-
pensity to the art itself; but having once got and practiced it,
then doubt not but angling will prove to be so pleasant that it
will prove to be like virtue, a reward to itself.
Venator - Sir, I am now become so full of expectation, that
I
I long much to have you proceed, and in the order you pro-
pose.
Piscator — Then first, for the antiquity of angling, of which I
shall not say much, but only this: some say it is as ancient as
Deucalion's flood; others, that Belus, who was the first inventor
of godly and virtuous recreations, was the first inventor of an-
gling; and some others say — for former times have had their
disquisitions about the antiquity of it -- that Seth, one of the sons
of Adam, taught it to his sons, and that by them it was derived
to posterity; others say that he left it engraven on those pillars
which he erected, and trusted to preserve the knowledge of the
mathematics, music, and the rest of that precious knowledge
and those useful arts, which by God's appointment or allowance
and his noble industry were thereby preserved from perishing in
Noah's flood.
These, sir, have been the opinions of several men that have
possibly endeavored to make angling more ancient than is need-
ful, or may well be warranted; but for my part, I shall content
myself in telling you that angling is much more ancient than
the Incarnation of our Savior: for in the prophet Amos, mention
is made of fish-hooks; and in the book of Job, which was long
before the days of Amos,- for that book is said to be writ by


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15611
-
Moses, - mention is made also of fish-hooks, which must imply
anglers in those times.
But, my worthy friend, as I would rather prove myself a
gentleman by being learned and humble, valiant and inoffensive,
virtuous and communicable, than by any fond ostentation of
riches; or, wanting those virtues myself, boast that these were
in my ancestors (and yet I grant that where a noble and ancient
descent and such merit meet in any man, it is a double dignifi-
cation of that person); -- so if this antiquity of angling, which
for my part I have not forced, shall, like an ancient family, be
either an honor or an ornament to this virtuous art which I
profess to love and practice, I shall be the gladder that I made
an accidental mention of the antiquity of it, of which I shall say
no more, but proceed to that just commendation which I think it
deserves.
And for that, I shall tell you that in ancient times a debate
hath arisen, and it remains yet unresolved: whether the happi-
ness of man in this world doth consist more in contemplation or
action ?
Concerning which, some have endeavored to maintain their
opinion of the first, by saying that the nearer we mortals come
to God by way of imitation, the more happy we are.
And they
say that God enjoys himself only by a contemplation of his own
infiniteness, eternity, power, and goodness, and the like. And
upon this ground, many cloisteral men of great learning and
devotion prefer contemplation before action. And many of the
fathers seem to approve this opinion, as may appear in their
commentaries upon the words of our Savior to Martha (Luke
X. 41, 42).
And on the contrary, there want not men of equal authority
and credit, that prefer action to be the more excellent: as namely,
experiments in physic, and the application of it, both for the ease
and prolongation of man's life; by which each man is enabled to
act and do good to others, either to serve his country or do good
to particular persons. And they say also that action is doctrinal,
and teaches both art and virtue, and is a maintainer of human
society; and for these, and other like reasons, to be preferred
before contemplation.
Concerning which two opinions, I shall forbear to add a third
by declaring my own; and rest myself contented in telling you,
my very worthy friend, that both these meet together, and do


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IZAAK WALTON
most properly belong to the most honest, ingenious, quiet, and
harmless art of angling.
And first I shall tell you what some have observed, and I
have found it to be a real truth, - that the very sitting by the
river's side is not only the quietest and fittest place for con-
templation, but will invite an angler to it; and this seems to be
maintained by the learned Peter Du Moulin, who in his discourse
of the fulfilling of prophecies, observes that when God intended
to reveal any future events or high notions to. his prophets, he
then carried them either to the deserts or the sea-shore, that
having so separated them from amidst the press of people and
business, and the cares of the world, he might settle their mind
in a quiet repose, and there make them fit for revelation.
And this seems also to be intimated by the Children of Israel
(Psalm cxxxvii. ), who having in a sad condition banished all
mirth and music from their pensive hearts, and having hung
up their then mute harps upon the willow-trees growing by the
rivers of Babylon, sat down upon these banks, bemoaning the
ruins of Sion, and contemplating their own sad condition.
And an ingenious Spaniard says that rivers and the inhabit-
ants of the watery element were made for wise men to contem-
plate, and fools to pass by without consideration. ”
And though
I will not rank myself in the number of the first, yet give me
leave to free myself from the last, by offering to you a short
contemplation, first of rivers and then of fish: concerning which
I doubt not but to give you many observations that will appear
very considerable; I am sure they have appeared so to me, and
,
made many an hour to pass away more pleasantly, as I have sat
quietly on a flowery bank by a calm river.
PISCATOR — And now you shall see me try my skill to catch a
trout; and at my next walking, either this evening or to-morrow
morning, I will give you direction how you yourself shall fish
for him.
Venator - Trust me, master, I see now it is a harder matter
to catch a trout than a chub; for I have put on patience and
followed you these two hours, and not seen a fish stir, neither at
your minnow nor your worm.
Piscator — Well, scholar, you must endure worse luck some
time, or you will never make a good angler.
But what say you


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IZAAK WALTON
15613
now? There is a trout now, and a good one too, if I can but
hold him, and two or three turns more will tire him. Now you
see he lies still, and the sleight is to land him. Reach me that
landing-net: - so, sir, now he is mine own.
;
What say you now?
is not this worth all my labor and your patience ?
Venator - On my word, master, this is a gallant trout: what
shall we do with him ? .
Piscator - Marry, e'en eat him to supper: we'll go to my
hostess, from whence we came; she told me as I was going
out of door, that my brother Peter, a good angler and a cheerful
companion, had sent word that he would lodge there to-night,
and bring a friend with him. My hostess has two beds, and I
know you and I may have the best; we'll rejoice with my brother
Peter and his friend, tell tales or sing ballads, or make a catch,
or find some harmless sport to content us and pass away a little
time, without offense to God or man.
Venator A match, good master: let's go to that house; for
the linen looks white and smells of lavender, and I long to lie in
a pair of sheets that smells so. Let's be going, good master, for
I am hungry again with fishing.
Piscator — Nay, stay a little, good scholar. I caught my
last trout with a worm; now I will put on a minnow, and try a
quarter of an hour about yonder trees for another: and so walk
towards our lodging. Look you, scholar, thereabout we shall
have a bite presently or not at all. Have with you, sir! o' my
word I have hold of him. Oh! it is a great logger-headed chub; ;
come hang him upon that willow twig, and let's be going. But
turn out of the way a little, good scholar, towards yonder high
honeysuckle hedge; there we'll sit and sing whilst this shower
falls so gently upon the teeming earth, and gives yet a sweeter
smell to the lovely flowers that adorn these verdant meadows.
Look! under that broad beech-tree I sat down, when I was
last this way a-fishing. And the birds in the adjoining grove
seemed to have a friendly contention with an echo, whose dead
voice seemed to live in a hollow tree, near to the brow of that
primrose hill. There I sat viewing the silver streams glide
silently towards their centre, the tempestuous sea; yet sometimes
opposed by rugged roots and pebble-stones, which broke their
waves and turned them into foam. And sometimes I beguiled
time by viewing the harmless lambs; some leaping securely in
the cool shade, whilst others sported themselves in the cheerful
sun; and saw others. craving comfort from the swollen udders of


## p. 15614 (#568) ##########################################

15614
IZAAK WALTON
their bleating dams. As I thus sat, these and other sights had
so fully possessed my soul with content, that I thought, as the
poet hath happily expressed it,
“I was for that time lifted above earth,
And possessed joys not promised in my birth. ”
As I left this place and entered into the next field, a second
pleasure entertained me: 'twas a handsome milkmaid, that had
not yet attained so much age and wisdom as to load her mind
with any fears of many things that will never be, as too many
men too often do; but she cast away all care, and sang like a
nightingale: her voice was good, and the ditty fitted for it: it
was that smooth song which was made by Kit Marlowe, now at
least fifty years ago; and the milkmaid's mother sang an answer
to it, which was made by Sir Walter Raleigh in his younger days.
They were old-fashioned poetry, but choicely good; I think
much better than the strong lines that are now in fashion in
this critical age. Look yonder! on my word, yonder they both
be a-milking again. I will give her the chub, and persuade them
to sing those two songs to us.
God speed you, good woman! I have been a-fishing, and am
going to Bleak Hall to my bed; and having caught more fish
than will sup myself and friend, I will bestow this upon you and
your daughter, for I use to sell none.
Milk-Woman — Marry, God requite you, sir, and we'll eat it
cheerfully: and if you come this way a-fishing two months hence,
a grace of God, I'll give you a syllabub of new verjuice in a
new-made haycock for it, and my Maudlin shall sing you one of
her best ballads; for she and I both love all anglers, they be
such honest, civil, quiet men: in the mean time will you drink
a draught of red cow's milk? you shall have it freely.
Piscator — No, I thank you: but I pray, do us a courtesy that
shall stand you and your daughter in nothing, and yet we will
think ourselves still something in your debt; it is but to sing us
a song that was sung by your daughter when I last passed over
this meadow, about eight or nine days since.
Milk-Woman -- What song was it, I pray? Was it Come,
shepherds, deck your heads, or As at noon Dulcina rested,'
or Phillida flouts me,' or Chevy Chace,' or Johnny Arm-
strong,' or (Troy Town”?
Piscator — No, it is none of those; it is a song that your
daughter sang the first part, and you sang the answer to it.
(


## p. 15615 (#569) ##########################################

IZAAK WALTON
15615
Milk - Woman — Oh, I know it now. I learned the first part in
my golden age, when I was about the age of my poor daughter;
and the latter part, which indeed fits me best now, but two or
three years ago, when the cares of the world began to take hold
of me: but you shall, God willing, hear them both, and sung as
well as we can, for we both love anglers.
PISCATOR — And now, scholar, i think it will be time to repair
to our angle-rods, which we left in the water to fish for them-
selves: and you shall choose which shall be yours; and it is an
even lay one of them catches.
And let me tell you, this kind of fishing with a dead rod,
and laying night-hooks, are like putting money to use: for they
both work for the owners, when they do nothing but sleep, or eat,
or rejoice; as you know we have done this last hour, and sat as
quietly and as free from cares under this sycamore, as Virgil's
Tityrus and his Melibus did under their broad beech-tree. No
life, my honest scholar, no life so happy and so pleasant as the
life of a well-governed angler; for when the lawyer is swallowed
up with business, and the statesman is preventing or contriving
plots, then we sit on cowslip banks, hear the birds sing, and pos-
sess ourselves in as much quietness as these silent silver streams,
which we see glide so quietly by us. Indeed, my good
scholar, we may say of angling as Dr.
Boteler said of strawber-
ries, “Doubtless God could have made a better berry, but doubtless
God never did;” and so, if I might be judge, “God never did
make a more calm, quiet, innocent recreation than angling. "
I'll tell you, scholar, when I sat last on this primrose bank,
and looked down these meadows, I thought of them as Charles
the Emperor did of the city of Florence, “that they were too
pleasant to be looked on but only on holidays. ” As I then sat
on this very grass, I turned my present thoughts into verse: 'twas
a wish, which I'll repeat to you.
now
>>>
THE ANGLER'S WISH
I in these flowery meads would be:
These crystal streams should solace me;
To whose harmonious bubbling noise
I with my angle would rejoice,
Sit here, and see the turtle-dove
Court his chaste mate to acts of love;


## p. 15616 (#570) ##########################################

15616
IZAAK WALTON
Or on that bank, feel the west wind
Breathe health and plenty; please my mind,
To see sweet dewdrops kiss these flowers,
And then washed off by April showers:
Here, hear my Kenna sing a song;
There, see a blackbird feed her young,
Or a leverock build her nest;
Here, give my weary spirits rest,
And raise my low-pitched thoughts above
Earth, or what poor mortals love:
Thus free from lawsuits and the noise
Of princes' courts, I would rejoice:
Or with my Bryan and a book,
Loiter long days near Shawford brook;
There sit by him, and eat my meat;
There see the sun both rise and set;
There bid good-inorning to next day;
There meditate my time away:
And angle on, and beg to have
A quiet passage to a welcome grave.
When I had ended this composure, I left this place, and saw
a brother of the angle sit under that honeysuckle hedge, one
that will prove worth your acquaintance: I sat down by him, and
presently we met with an accidental piece of merriment, which I
will relate to you; for it rains still.
On the other side of this very hedge sat a gang of gipsies,
and near to them sat a gang of beggars. The gipsies were then
to divide all the money that had been got that week, either by
stealing linen or poultry, or by fortune-telling, or legerdemain,
or indeed by any other sleights or secrets belonging to their
mysterious government. And the sum that was got that week
proved to be but twenty and some odd shillings. The odd money
was agreed to be distributed amongst the poor of their own cor-
poration; and for the remaining twenty shillings, that was to be
divided unto four gentlemen gipsies, according to their several
degrees in their commonwealth.
And the first or chiefest gipsy was, by consent, to have a
third part of the 205. , which all men know is 6s. 8d.
The second was to have a fourth part of the 205. , which all
men know to be 55.
The third was to have a fifth part of the 205. , which all men
know to be 43.


## p. 15617 (#571) ##########################################

IZAAK WALTON
15617
The fourth and last gipsy was to have a sixth part of the
205. , which all men know to be 35. 4d.
As for example, -
3 times 6s. 8d. is 205.
And so is 4 times 55.
And so is 5 times 45.
And so is 6 times 35. 4d.
208.
208.
20.
And yet he that divided the money was so very a gipsy, that
though he gave to every one these said sums, yet he kept is, of
it for himself.
As for example, -
s. d.
6 8
50
4 o
3 4
make but
19 o
But now you shall know that when the four gipsies saw that
he had got is. by dividing the money, though not one of them
knew any reason to demand more, yet, like lords and courtiers,
every gipsy envied him that was the gainer, and wrangled with
him, and every one said the remaining shilling belonged to
him: and so they fell to so high a contest about it, as none that
knows the faithfulness of one gipsy to another will easily believe:
only we that have lived these last twenty years are certain that
money has been able to do much mischief. However, the gipsies
were too wise to go to law, and did therefore choose their choice
friends Rook and Shark, and our late English Gusman, to be
their arbitrators and umpires; and so they left this honeysuckle
hedge, and went to tell fortunes, and cheat, and get more money
and lodging in the next village.
When these were gone, we heard a high contention amongst
the beggars, whether it was easiest to rip a cloak or to unrip a
cloak. One beggar affirmed it was all one. But that was denied
by asking her if doing and undoing were all one. Then another
said 'twas easiest to unrip a cloak, for that was to let it alone.
But she was answered by asking her how she unripped it if
she let it alone; and she confessed herself mistaken. These
and twenty such-like questions were proposed, and answered with
as much beggarly logic and earnestness as was ever heard to
XXVI–977


## p. 15618 (#572) ##########################################

15618
IZAAK WALTON
(
proceed from the mouth of the most pertinacious schismatic;
and sometimes all the beggars, whose number was neither more
nor less than the poet's nine Muses, talked together about this
ripping and unripping, and so loud that not one heard what
the other said: but at last one beggar craved audience, and told
them that old Father Clause, whom Ben Jonson, in his “Beggar's
Bush,' created king of their corporation, was to lodge at an
alehouse called “Catch-her-by-the-way," not far from Waltham
Cross, and in the high-road towards London: and he therefore
desired them to spend no more time about that and such-like
questions, but refer all to Father Clause at night, for he was an
upright judge; and in the meantime draw cuts, what song should
be next sung and who should sing it. They all agreed to the
motion; and the lot fell to her that was the youngest and veri-
est virgin of the company. And she sang Frank Davison's song,
which he made forty years ago; and all the others of the com-
pany joined to sing the burthen with her.
PISCATOR — Well, scholar, having now taught you to paint your
rod, and we having still a mile to Tottenham High Cross, I will,
as we walk towards it, in the cool shade of this sweet honey-
suckle hedge, mention to you some of the thoughts and joys that
have possessed my soul since we two met together. And these
thoughts shall be told you, that you also may join with me in
thankfulness to the Giver of every good and perfect gift, for our
happiness. And that our present happiness may appear to be
the greater, and we the more thankful for it, I will beg you to
consider with me how many do, even at this very time, lie under
the torment of the stone, the gout, and toothache; and this we
are free from. And every misery that I miss is a new mercy,
and therefore let us be thankful. There have been, since we
met, others that have met disasters of broken limbs; some
have been blasted, others thunderstrucken: and we have been
freed from these, and all those many other miseries that threaten
human nature; let us therefore rejoice and be thankful. Nay,
which is a far greater mercy, we are free from the unsupporta-
ble burthen of an accusing tormenting conscience, a misery that
none can bear; and therefore let us praise Him for his prevent-
ing grace, and say, Every misery that I miss is a new mercy.
Nay, let me tell you there be many that have forty times our
estates, that would give the greatest part of it to be healthful


## p. 15619 (#573) ##########################################

IZAAK WALTON
15619
and cheerful like us: who, with the expense of a little money,
have eat and drank, and laught, and angled, and sung, and slept
securely; and rose next day, and cast away care, and sung, and
laught, and angled again: which are blessings rich men cannot
purchase with all their money. Let me tell you, scholar, I have
a rich neighbor that is always so busy that he has no leisure to
laugh; the whole business of his life is to get money, and more
money, that he may still get more and more money: he is still
drudging on, and says that Solomon says, “The diligent hand
maketh rich ;” and it is true indeed: but he considers not that
it is not in the power of riches to make a man happy; for it was
wisely said by a man of great observation, that “There be as
many miseries beyond riches as on this side them:" and yet God
deliver us from pinching poverty; and grant that having a com-
petency, we may be content and thankful. Let not us repine,
or so much as think the gifts of God unequally dealt, if we see
another abound with riches; when, as God knows, the cares that
are the keys that keep those riches hang often so heavily at the
rich man's girdle, that they clog him with weary days and rest-
less nights, even when others sleep quietly. We see but the
outside of the rich man's happiness: few consider him to be like
the silkworm, that when she seems to play, is at the very same
time spinning her own bowels, and consuming herself; and this
many rich men do, loading themselves with corroding cares to
keep what they have probably unconscionably got. Let us there-
fore be thankful for health and a competence, and above all, for
a quiet conscience.
Let me tell you, scholar, that Diogenes walked on a day,
with his friend, to see a country fair; where he saw ribbons and
looking-glasses, and nut-crackers, and fiddles, and hobby-horses,
and many other gimcracks: and having observed them, and all
the other finnimbruns that make a complete country fair, he said
to his friend, Lord, how many things are there in this world
of which Diogenes hath no need! ” And truly it is so, or might
be so, with very many who vex and toil themselves to get what
they have no need of. Can any man charge God that he hath
not given him enough to make his life happy? No, doubtless;
for nature is content with a little. And yet you shall hardly
meet with a
that complains not of some want: though
he indeed wants nothing but his will, it may be, nothing but
his will of his poor neighbor, for not worshiping or not flattering
(G
man


## p. 15620 (#574) ##########################################

15620
IZAAK WALTON
him: and thus when we might be happy and quiet, we create
trouble to ourselves. I have heard of a man that was angry with
himself because he was no taller; and of a woman that broke
her looking-glass because it would not show her face to be as
young and handsome as her next neighbor's was. And I knew
another to whom God had given health and plenty, but a wife
that nature had made peevish, and her husband's riches had
made purse-proud: and must, because she was rich, and for no
other virtue, sit in the highest pew in the church; which being
denied her, she engaged her husband into a contention for it,
and at last into a lawsuit with a dogged neighbor, who was
as rich as he, and had a wife as peevish and purse-proud as the
other; and this lawsuit begot higher oppositions, and actionable
words, and more vexations and lawsuits: for you must remember
that both were rich, and must therefore have their will. Well,
this willful, purse-proud lawsuit lasted during the life of the
first husband; after which his wife vext and chid, and chid and
vext till she also chid and vext herself into the grave: and so
the wealth of these poor rich people was curst into a punish-
ment, because they wanted meek and thankful hearts; for those
only can make us happy.
I knew a man that had health and
riches, and several houses all beautiful and ready furnished, and
would often trouble himself and family to be removing from
one house to another; and being asked by a friend why he
removed so often from one house to another, replied, "It was to
find content in some one of them. ” But his friend, knowing his
temper, told him, if he would find content in any of his houses,
he must leave himself behind him; for content will never dwell
but in a meek and quiet soul. And this may appear, if we read
and consider what our Savior says in St. Matthew's Gospel; for
he there says: "Blessed be the merciful, for they shall obtain
“
mercy. Blessed be the pure in heart, for they shall see God.
Blessed be the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of
heaven. ” And “Blessed be the meek, for they shall possess the
earth. ” Not that the meek shall not also obtain
see God, and be comforted, and at last come to the kingdom of
heaven; but in the mean time he, and he only, possesses the earth
as he goes towards that kingdom of heaven, by being humble and
cheerful, and content with what his good God has allotted him.
He has no turbulent, repining, vexatious thoughts that he deserves
better; nor is vext when he sees others possest of more honor or
»
mercy, and


## p. 15621 (#575) ##########################################

IZAAK WALTON
15621
more riches than his wise God has allotted for his share: but he
possesses what he has with a meek and contented quietness,-
such a quietness as makes his very dreams pleasing, both to God
and himself.
My honest scholar, all this is told to incline you to thankful-
ness; and to incline you the more, let me tell you that though
the prophet David was guilty of murder and adultery, and many
other of the most deadly sins, yet he was said to be a
after God's own heart, because he abounded more with thankful-
ness than any other that is mentioned in holy Scripture, as may
appear in his book of Psalms; where there is such a commixture
of his confessing of his sins and unworthiness, and such thank-
fulness for God's pardon and mercies, as did make him to be
accounted, even by God himself, to be a man after his own
heart. And let us, in that, labor to be as like him as we can:
let not the blessings we receive daily from God make us not to
value or not praise him because they be common; let us not for-
get to praise him for the innocent mirth and pleasure we have
met with since we met together. What would a blind man give
to see the pleasant rivers, and meadows, and flowers, and fount-
ains, that we have met with since we met together? I have
been told that if a man that was born blind could obtain to have
his sight for but only one hour during his whole life, and should
at the first opening of his eyes, fix his sight upon the sun when
it was in its full glory, either at the rising or setting of it, he
would be so transported and amazed, and so admire the glory
of it, that he would not willingly turn his eyes from that first
ravishing object, to behold all the other various beauties this
world could present to him. And this, and many other like bless-
ings, we enjoy daily. And for most of them, because they be so
common, most men forget to pay their praises; but let not us,
because it is a sacrifice so pleasing to Him that made that sun
and us, and still protects us, and gives us flowers and showers,
and stomachs and meat, and content, and leisure to go a-fishing.
Well, scholar, I have almost tired myself, and I fear more
than almost tired you: but I now see Tottenham High Cross,
and our short walk thither shall put a period to my too long dis-
course, in which my meaning was and is, to plant that in your
mind, with which I labor to possess my own soul; that is, a
meek and thankful heart. And to that end, I have showed you
that riches, without them, do not make any man happy. But let


## p. 15622 (#576) ##########################################

15622
IZAAK WALTON
As for money,
me tell you that riches with them remove many fears and cares:
and therefore my advice is that you endeavor to be honestly rich
or contentedly poor; but be sure that your riches be justly got,
or you spoil all. For it is well said by Caussin, “He that loses
his conscience has nothing left that is worth keeping. ” There-
fore be sure you look to that. And in the next place, look to
your health: and if you have it, praise God, and value it next
to a good conscience; for health is the second blessing that we
mortals are capable of,-a blessing that money cannot buy,- and
therefore value it, and be thankful for it.
which
may be said to be the third blessing, neglect it not: but note
that there is no necessity of being rich; for I told you there be
as many miseries beyond riches as on this side them: and if
you have a competence, enjoy it with a meek, cheerful, thankful
heart. I will tell you, scholar, I have heard a grave divine say
that God has two dwellings,-one in heaven, and the other in a
meek and thankful heart. Which Almighty God grant to me
and to my honest scholar. And so you are welcome to Totten-
ham High Cross.
Venator — Well, master, I thank you for all your good direc-
tions; but for none more than this last, of thankfulness, which I
hope I shall never forget. And pray let's now rest ourselves in
this sweet shady arbor, which Nature herself has woven with her
own fine finger; 'tis such a contexture of woodbines, sweetbriar,
jessamine, and myrtle, and so interwoven, as will secure us both
from the sun's violent heat and from the approaching shower.
And being sat down, I will requite a part of your courtesies
with a bottle of sack, milk, oranges, and sugar, which, all put
together, make a drink like nectar; indeed, too good for any but
us anglers. And so, master, here is a full glass to you of that
liquor: and when you have pledged me, I will repeat the verses
which I promised you; it is a copy printed among some of Sir
Henry Wotton's, and doubtless made either by him or by a lover
of angling. Come, master, now drink a glass to me, and then I
will pledge you, and fall to my repetition: it is a description of
such country recreations as I have enjoyed since I had the hap-
piness to fall into your company.


## p. 15623 (#577) ##########################################

15623
ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD
(1844-)
LIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD was born in Andover, Massa-
chusetts, August 31st, 1844; the daughter of Professor Aus-
tin Phelps of the Andover Theological Seminary, and his
wife Elizabeth Stuart, the author of (Sunnyside,' — one of the pioneer
stories of New England life after the naturalistic manner.
Miss Phelps's education, a classical and scholarly one, was under
the supervision of her father, supplemented by studies in theology
and miscellaneous reading. The influence of the Civil War tended
to excite and develop the literary faculty.
She began to write at an early age; and
before she was twenty was the author of the
much-discussed (The Gates Ajar,' a specu-
lative treatise in the form of a story, depict-
ing the problematic experiences of the soul
after death. Besides the fact that the sub-
ject was interesting, and the book intimate
and in a peculiar manner an appeal to the
imagination, the time was well chosen for
its production; and an undoubted piquancy
was added that such a revolt from cast-iron
tradition should have emanated from the
stronghold of orthodoxy. But the subject, MRS. E. S. P. WARD
though interesting, was not novel. The suc-
cess of The Gates Ajar' was therefore due to the author's striking
characteristics, and the novelty and originality of her way of express-
ing her ideas.
(The Gates Ajar,' and its successors : Beyond the Gates) and “The
Gates Between,' cleverly described as «the annexation of heaven,"
portray the celestial world as a sublimated earth; human nature
and its peculiarities occupying a prominent foreground, and Divine
personages appearing only in the distance. In this Utopia, innocent
likings of individuals become laws: the sportsman is made happy
by the presence of his horses and dogs, and the good little girls
nurse their dolls. If, however, a profound theme is treated as a
scheme of color, and the composition is not disturbed in the treat-
ment, the gravity of the subject does not exclude it from works of
art. These books are consistent, and take a certain possession of the



## p. 15624 (#578) ##########################################

15624
ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD
reader, bereaved or speculative. The humor is largely that of section
and environment, with a fidelity to the admixture of sentiment and
common-sense which is characteristic of New England; the style, a
marked one, displays not so much subtlety of expression as the use
of unusual terms laden with esoteric meaning.
The success of “The Gates Ajar' was phenomenal: the sale in
England alone reached one hundred thousand copies, and translations
appeared in five Continental languages; at one step Miss Phelps had
arrived at fame. Other works followed in rapid succession,- two
volumes of poems, several of short stories, one of essays, and ten
novels.
The tone of thought and the way of writing are so peculiarly
Miss Phelps's own that no one who has read one of her books has
the right to feel impatient with another. Her characteristics are
marked in the slightest sketch: a high susceptibility to tragic situa-
tion, an impassioned human sympathy, and a noble familiarity with
the sorrows of the lowly.
In consequence, she is so much the novelist of emotion that she
may be said to write with her soul instead of her pen. In her short
stories (as “The Madonna of the Tubs) and “The Supply at St. Aga-
tha') she touches the high-water mark of religious melodrama. A
single thought seizes and possesses her till she has dramatized it and
proclaimed it. Her mind, as ready to take impressions as the sensi-
tive plate of a camera, has been quickened by a life of ministry.
And as there is more of misery than joy in the world which she best
knows, and as she is too sincere an artist to paint other than what
she knows, she presents a series of shipwrecks, figurative and literal,
for which only her ability compels our patience.
Now and then she has written a novel of purely human passion,
like “The Story of Avis'; but with Miss Phelps, human passion is
generally making desperate efforts to assert its rights in a conflict
with altruism or fidelity, and life is too serious to waste time and
paper on any subject less vital than temperance, the wrongs and
rights of women, the common-law system and its iniquities, or the
evils of modern dress. Her belief in «the cause, whatever it may
be, and in herself as its exponent, carries her audience with the
force of conviction, and makes it patient with her prolonged analyses
of psychological conditions.
When the tension becomes so strained that disaster is threatened,
the author takes a swift leap downward into the every-day world,
and all concerned draw a long breath. The palpitating heroine
generally has a safety-valve in a practical Down-Easter like Mrs.
Butterwell in Doctor Zay'; whose sayings, slightly profane, are not
lacking in humor or common-sense.
»


## p. 15625 (#579) ##########################################

ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD
15625
)
No better example of her power in possessing her reader is to be
found than in the novel A Singular Life,' - a direct appeal to the
spiritual nature, whose end is the significance of the Christian life
as portrayed in the New Testament. In this story she has recited
her creed with the abandon of a nature that is like nothing so much
as an alabaster vase in which a light is burning. There is no blind
man's holiday, in which the sympathetic reader may steal a few
moments of careless and irresponsible amusement. The encompassed
hero fights his hard fight among the drunkards and murderers of
the New England seaport town, with the booming ocean for a back-
ground; but we do not cease to suffer with him till he is hidden from
our sight "wrapped in his purple pall. ”
If her genius is emotional, it is also essentially feminine. When
she strikes she strikes hard, if not directly, with italics. With femi-
nine adroitness she makes a slave of nature, whose ardent votary she
is; and knowing to a throb when the blooming of the lilies or the
light on the sea will wave or blaze as background for partings or
meetings, she does not disdain to use them. «« The hall was dark,
but the light of the lily was upon her;” “When she lifted her
face, rose curlews hung over her, palpitating with joy. ” She makes
the outer world, with its patient inner meaning, the orchestral accom-
paniment to her favorite airs.
In 1889 Miss Phelps was married to Mr. Herbert D. Ward. To-
gether they have written two novels: Come Forth,' and 'The Master
of the Magicians. '
The quality of Mrs. Ward's genius is as unusual as her theories of
life are out of the common. But to adapt the saying of one master
of contemporary fiction concerning another, “Sentimentality is the
dominant note of her music, but her art has made her sentiment-
ality interesting. ”
(
»
IN THE GRAY GOTH
From "Men, Women, and Ghosts. Copyright 1869, by Fields, Osgood & Co.
I
F THE wick of the big oil lamp had been cut straight, I don't
believe it would ever have happened.
But as I was going to say, when I started to talk about
'41,- to tell the truth, Johnny, I'm always a long while coming
to it, I believe. I'm getting to be an old man,-a little of a
coward, maybe; and sometimes, when I sit alone here nights and
think it over, it's just like the toothache, Johnny. As I was


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15626
ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD
-
saying, if she had cut that wick straight, I do believe it wouldn't
have happened,- though it isn't that I mean to lay the blame
on her now.
I'd been out at work all day about the place, slicking things
up for to-morrow; there was a gap in the barnyard fence to
mend, - I left that till the last thing, I remember; I remember
everything, some way or other, that happened that day,- and
there was a new roof to put on the pig-pen, and the grapevine
needed an extra layer of straw, and the latch was loose on the
south barn-door; then I had to go round and take a last look at
the sheep, and toss down an extra forkful for the cows, and go
into the stall to have a talk with Ben, and unbutton the coop-
door to see if the hens looked warm, – just to tuck 'em up, as
you might say. I always felt sort of homesick -- though I
wouldn't have owned up to it, not even to Nancy — saying good-
by to the creeturs the night before I went in. There, now! it
beats all, to think you don't know what I'm talking about, and
you
a lumberman's son! "Going in” is going up into the
woods, you know, to cut and haul for the winter, -up, some-
times, a hundred miles deep,- in in the fall and out in the
spring; whole gangs of us shut up there sometimes for six
months, then down with the freshets on the logs, and all sum-
mer to work the farm,- a merry sort of life when you get used
to it, Johnny: but it was a great while ago, and it seems to me
as if it must have been very cold. — Isn't there a little draft
coming in at the pantry door?
So when I'd said good-by to the creeturs,– I remember just
as plain how Ben put his great neck on my shoulder and whin-
nied like a baby; that horse knew when the season came round
and I was going in, just as well as I did, -I tinkered up the
barnyard fence, and locked the doors, and went in to supper.
I gave my finger a knock with the hammer, which may have
had something to do with it; for a man doesn't feel very good-
natured when he's been green enough to do a thing like that,
and he doesn't like to say it aches either. But if there is any-
thing I can't bear, it is lamp smoke; it always did put me out,
and I expect it always will. Nancy knew what a fuss I made
about it, and she was always very careful not to hector me with
it. I ought to have remembered that, but I didn't. She had
lighted the company lamp on purpose, too, because it was my
last night. I liked it better than the tallow candle.


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ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD
15627
was
So I came in, stamping off the snow, and they were all in
there about the fire,- the twins, and Mary Ann, and the rest;
baby was sick, and Nancy was walking back and forth with him,
with little Nancy pulling at her gown. You were the baby then,
I believe, Johnny; but there always was a baby, and I don't
rightly remember.
The room so black with smoke that
they all looked as if they were swimming round and round in
it. I guess coming in from the cold, and the pain in my finger
and all, it made me a bit sick. At any rate, I threw open the
window and blew out the light, as mad as a hornet.
“Nancy,” said I, “this room would strangle a dog, and you
might have known it, if you'd had two eyes to see what you were
about. There now! I've tipped the lamp over, and you just get
a cloth and wipe up the oil. ”
Dear me! ” said she, lighting a candle, and she spoke up very
soft too. “Please, Aaron, don't let the cold in on baby. I'm
sorry it was smoking, but I never knew a thing about it: he's
been fretting and taking on so the last hour, I didn't notice any.
(C
way. ”
“That's just what you ought to have done,” says I, madder
than ever. « You know how I hate the stuff, and you ought to
have cared more about me than to choke me up with it this
way the last night before going in. ”
Nancy was a patient, gentle-spoken sort of woman, and would
bear a good deal from a fellow; but she used to fire up some-
times, and that was more than she could stand. « You don't
deserve to be cared about, for speaking like that! ” says she, with
her cheeks as red as peat-coals.
That was right before the children. Mary Ann's eyes were
as big as saucers, and little Nancy was crying at the top of her
lungs, with the baby tuning in, so we knew it was time to stop.
But stopping wasn't ending; and folks can look things that they
don't say.
-
We sat down to supper as glum as pump-handles: there
were some fritters — I never knew anybody beat your mother at
fritters — smoking hot off the stove, and some maple molasses in
one of the best chiny tea-cups; I knew well enough it was just
on purpose for my last night, but I never had a word to say;
and Nancy crumbed up the children's bread with a jerk. Her
cheeks didn't grow any whiter,- it seemed as if they would


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ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD
-
blaze right up; I couldn't help looking at them, for all I pre-
tended not to, for she looked just like a picture.
That supper was a very dreary sort of supper, with the baby
crying, and Nancy getting up between the mouthfuls to walk up
and down the room with him; he was a heavy little chap for a
ten-month-old, and I think she must have been tuckered out with
him all day. I didn't think about it then: a man doesn't notice
such things when he's angry, - it isn't in him; I can't say but
she would if I'd been in her place. I just eat up the fritters and
the maple molasses, - seems to me I told her she ought not to
use the best chiny cup, but I'm not just sure,- and then I took
my pipe and sat down in the corner.
I watched her putting the children to bed; they made her a
great deal of bother, squirming off of her lap and running round
barefoot. Sometimes I used to hold them and talk to them
and help her a bit, when I felt good-natured; but I just sat and
smoked, and let them alone. I was all worked up about that
lamp-wick; and I thought, you see, if she hadn't had any feelings
for me there was no need of my having any for her: if she
had cut the wick, I'd have taken the babies; she hadn't cut the
wick, and I wouldn't take the babies: she might see it if she
wanted to, and think what she pleased. I had been badly treated,
and I meant to show it.