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And unto you, cool zephyrs, thanks! Who, as my hair, my thoughts too shed, And winnow from the chaff my head. How safe, methinks, and strong behind These trees have I encamped my mind!" Here is a picture of a piscatorial idler and his trout stream, worthy of the pencil of Izaak Walton:

"Then, do you remember our pleasant walks to Enfield, and Potter's bar, and Waltham, when we had a holiday holidays and all other fun are gone now we are rich and the little handbasket in which I used to deposit our day's fare of savory cold lamb and salad and how you would pry about at noon-tide for some decent house, where we might go in and produce our store only paying for the ale that you must call for and speculate upon the looks of the landlady, and whether she was likely to allow us a tablecloth and wish for such another honest hostess as Izaak Walton has described many a one on the pleasant banks of the Lea, when he went a fishing and sometimes they would prove obliging enough, and sometimes they would look grudgingly upon us but we had cheerful looks still for one another, and would eat our plain food savorily, scarcely grudging Piscator his Trout Hall?

As the young gipsy's little holiday came to an end, I turned with a sigh upon my way; and here, while still on the subject, may I remark on the curious fact that probably Borrow has lived and died without a single gipsy having heard of him, just as the expertest anglers know nothing of Izaak Walton.

Izaak Walton heard the Gypsies talking under the honeysuckle hedge at Waltham, and the beggar virgin singing: "Bright shines the sun, play, beggars play! Here's scraps enough to serve to-day." Glanvill told of the poor Oxford scholar who went away with the Gypsies and learnt their "traditional kind of learning," and meant soon to leave them and give the world an account of what he had learned.

Another work, pub. in 1835, is Specimens of the Early Poetry of France. Poet and translator, succeeded to an embarrassed estate, which his happy-go-lucky methods did not improve, wrote burlesques on Virgil and Lucian, and made an excellent translation of Montaigne's Essays, also a humorous Journey to Ireland. C. was the friend of Izaak Walton, and wrote a second part of The Complete Angler.

He cared, in truth, little for the perch, which continued intractable, but he enjoyed the air and the sky, the rustling grass and the murmuring waters. These excursions to the haunts of youth seemed to rebaptize him, and then his eloquence took a pastoral character, and Izaak Walton himself would have loved to hear him.

Izaak Walton was a linendraper in Fleet Street, reading much in his leisure hours, and storing his mind with facts for future use in his capacity of biographer. De Foe was by turns horse-factor, brick and tile maker, shopkeeper, author, and political agent.

Lightly as a falling feather, the fisherman let his fly come to rest on the sun-lit water, and, hardly had it sent the first, few faint ripples circling toward shore than there was a shrill song of the reel, and the rod became a bent bow. "By the bones of Sir Izaak!" cried the colonel, "I've hooked one, Shag!" "De Lord be praised! So yo' has, Colonel!" cried the negro.

Walton and Bunyan were men who should have known each other. It is a pleasant fancy, to me, that they may have met on the banks of Ouse, while John was meditating a sermon, and Izaak was "attentive of his trembling quill."

"Yes, sah, Colonel. Yes, sah!" and he made a motion toward the paper that was slipping from under his vest. "Stop it!" cried the colonel. "I came here to fish and read Izaak Walton in the shade of a big tree along some quiet brook. If you so much as bring a paper into this room I'll send you back to Virginia where you belong, Shag!" "Yes, sah, Colonel!"