letters to dead authors-第8部分

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。　Bennet！　　How　fine；　nay；　how　noble　is　your　art　in　its　delicate　reserve；　never　insisting；　never　forcing　the　note；　never　pushing　the　sketch　into　the　caricature！　　You　worked；　without　thinking　of　it；　in　the　spirit　of　Greece；　on　a　labour　happily　limited；　and　exquisitely　organised。　〃Dear　books；〃　we　say；　with　Miss　Thackeray〃dear　books；　bright；　sparkling　with　wit　and　animation；　in　which　the　homely　heroines　charm；　the　dull　hours　fly；　and　the　very　bores　are　enchanting。〃



LETTERTo　Master　Isaak　Walton



Father　Isaac；When　I　would　be　quiet　and　go　angling　it　is　my　custom　to　carry　in　my　wallet　thy　pretty　book；　〃The　Compleat　Angler。〃　　Here；　methinks；　if　I　find　not　trout　I　shall　find　content；　and　good　company；　and　sweet　songs；　fair　milkmaids；　and　country　mirth。　　For　you　are　to　know　that　trout　be　now　scarce　and　whereas　he　was　ever　a　fearful　fish；　he　hath　of　late　become　so　wary　that　none　but　the　cunningest　anglers　may　be　even　with　him。

It　is　not　as　it　was　in　your　time；　Father；　when　a　man　might　leave　his　shop　in　Fleet　Street；　of　a　holiday；　and；　when　he　had　stretched　his　legs　up　Tottenham　Hill；　come　lightly　to　meadows　chequered　with　waterlilies　and　lady…smocks；　and　so　fall　to　his　sport。　　Nay；　now　have　the　houses　so　much　increased；　like　a　spreading　sore　（through　the　breaking　of　that　excellent　law　of　the　Conscientious　King　and　blessed　Martyr；　whereby　building　beyond　the　walls　was　forbidden）；　that　the　meadows　are　all　swallowed　up　in　streets。　　And　as　to　the　River　Lea；　wherein　you　took　many　a　good　trout；　I　read　in　the　news　sheets　that　〃its　bed　is　many　inches　thick　in　horrible　filth；　and　the　air　for　more　than　half　a　mile　on　each　side　of　it　is　polluted　with　a　horrible；　sickening　stench；〃　so　that　we　stand　in　dread　of　a　new　Plague；　called　the　Cholera。　　And　so　it　is　all　about　London　for　many　miles；　and　if　a　man；　at　heavy　charges；　betake　himself　to　the　fields；　lo　you；　folk　are　grown　so　greedy　that　none　will　suffer　a　stranger　to　fish　in　his　water。

So　poor　anglers　are　in　sore　straits。　　Unless　a　man　be　rich　and　can　pay　great　rents；　he　may　not　fish　in　England；　and　hence　spring　the　discontents　of　the　times；　for　the　angler　is　full　of　content；　if　he　do　but　take　trout；　but　if　he　be　driven　from　the　waterside；　he　falls；　perchance；　into　evil　company；　and　cries　out　to　divide　the　property　of　the　gentle　folk。　　As　many　now　do；　even　among　Parliament…men；　whom　you　loved　not；　Father　Isaak；　neither　do　I　love　them　more　than　Reason　and　Scripture　bid　each　of　us　be　kindly　to　his　neighbour。　　But；　behold；　the　causes　of　the　ill　content　are　not　yet　all　expressed；　for　even　where　a　man　hath　licence　to　fish；　he　will　hardly　take　trout　in　our　age；　unless　he　be　all　the　more　cunning。　　For　the　fish；　harried　this　way　and　that　by　so　many　of　your　disciples；　is　exceeding　shy　and　artful；　nor　will　he　bite　at　a　fly　unless　it　falleth　lightly；　just　above　his　mouth；　and　floateth　dry　over　him；　for　all　the　world　like　the　natural　ephemeris。　　And　we　may　no　longer　angle　with　worm　for　him；　nor　with　penk　or　minnow；　nor　with　the　natural　fly；　as　was　your　manner；　but　only　with　the　artificial；　for　the　more　difficulty　the　more　diversion。　　For　my　part　I　may　cry；　like　Viator　in　your　book；　〃Master；　I　can　neither　catch　with　the　first　nor　second　Angle：　　I　have　no　fortune。〃

So　we　fare　in　England；　but　somewhat　better　north　of　the　Tweed；　where　trout　are　less　wary；　but　for　the　most　part　small；　except　in　the　extreme　rough　north；　among　horrid　hills　and　lakes。　　Thither；　Master；　as　methinks　you　may　remember；　went　Richard　Franck；　that　called　himself　Philanthropus；　and　was；　as　it　were；　the　Columbus　of　anglers；　discovering　for　them　a　new　Hyperborean　world。　　But　Franck；　doubtless；　is　now　an　angler　in　the　Lake　of　Darkness；　with　Nero　and　other　tyrants；　for　he　followed　after　Cromwell；　the　man　of　blood；　in　the　old　riding　days。　　How　wickedly　doth　Franck　boast　of　that　leader　of　the　giddy　multitude；　〃when　they　raged；　and　became　restless　to　find　out　misery　for　themselves　and　others；　and　the　rabble　would　herd　themselves　together；〃　as　you　said；　〃and　endeavour　to　govern　and　act　in　spite　of　authority。〃　　So　you　wrote；　and　what　said　Franck；　that　recreant　angler？　　Doth　he　not　praise　〃Ireton；　Vane；　Nevill；　and　Martin；　and　the　most　renowned；　valorous；　and　victorious　conqueror；　Oliver　Cromwell〃？　　Natheless；　with　all　his　sins　on　his　head；　this　Franck　discovered　Scotland　for　anglers；　and　my　heart　turns　to　him　when　he　praises　〃the　glittering　and　resolute　streams　of　Tweed。〃

In　those　wilds　of　Assynt　and　Loch　Rannoch；　Father；　we；　thy　followers；　may　yet　take　trout；　and　forget　the　evils　of　the　times。　But；　to　be　done　with　Franck；　how　harshly　he　speaks　of　thee　and　thy　book。　　〃For　you　may　dedicate　your　opinion　to　what　scribbling　putationer　you　please；　the　Compleat　Angler　if　you　will；　who　tells　you　of　a　tedious　fly　story；　extravagantly　collected　from　antiquated　authors；　such　as　Gesner　and　Dubravius。〃　　Again　he　speaks　of　〃Isaac　Walton；　whose　authority　to　me　seems　alike　authentick；　as　is　the　general　opinion　of　the　vulgar　prophet；〃　&c。

Certain　I　am　that　Franck；　if　a　better　angler　than　thou；　was　a　worse　man；　who；　writing　his　〃Dialogues　Piscatorial〃　or　〃Northern　Memoirs〃　five　years　after　the　world　welcomed　thy　〃Compleat　Angler；〃　was　jealous　of　thy　favour　with　the　people；　and；　may　be；　hated　thee　for　thy　loyalty　and　sound　faith。　　But；　Master；　like　a　peaceful　man　avoiding　contention；　thou　didst　never　answer　this　blustering　Franck；　but　wentest　quietly　about　thy　quiet　Lea；　and　left　him　his　roaring　Brora　and　windy　Assynt。　　How　could　this　noisy　man　know　theeand　know　thee　he　did；　having　argued　with　thee　in　Staffordand　not　love　Isaak　Walton？　　A　pedant　angler；　I　call　him；　a　plaguy　angler；　so　let　him　huff　away；　and　turn　we　to　thee　and　to　thy　sweet　charm　in　fishing　for　men。

How　often；　studying　in　thy　book；　have　I　hummed　to　myself　that　of　Horace　…


Laudis　amore　tumes？　　Sunt　certa　piacula　quae　te　Ter　pure　lecto　poterunt　recreare　libello。


So　healing　a　book　for　the　frenzy　of　fame　is　thy　discourse　on　meadows；　and　pure　streams；　and　the　country　life。　　How　peaceful；　men　say；　and　blessed　must　have　been　the　life　of　this　old　man；　how　lapped　in　content；　and　hedged　about　by　his　own　humility　from　the　world！　They　forget；　who　speak　thus；　that　thy　years；　which　were　many；　were　also　evil；　or　would　have　seemed　evil　to　divers　that　had　tasted　of　thy　fortunes。　　Thou　wert　poor；　but　that；　to　thee；　was　no　sorrow；　for　greed　of　money　was　thy　detestation。　　Thou　wert　of　lowly　rank；　in　an　age　when　gentle　blood　was　alone　held　in　regard；　yet　thy　virtues　made　thee　hosts　of　friends；　and　chiefly　among　religious　men；　bishops；　and　doctors　of　the　Church。　　Thy　private　life　was　not　unacquainted　with　sorrow；　thy　first　wife　and　all　her　fair　children　were　taken　from　thee　like　flowers　in　spring；　though；　in　thine　age；　new　love　and　new　offspring　comforted　thee　like　〃the　primrose　of　the　later　year。〃　　Thy　private　griefs　might　have　made　thee　bitter；　or　melancholy；　so　might　the　sorrows　of　the　State　and　of　the　Church；　which　were　deprived　of　their　heads　by　cruel　men；　despoiled　of　their　wealth；　the　pious　driven；　like　thee；　from　their　homes；　fear　everywhere；　everywhere　robbery　and　confusion：　　all　this　ruin　might　have　angered　another　temper。　　But　thou；　Father；　didst　bear　all　with　so　much　sweetness　as　perhaps　neither　natural　temperament；　nor　a　firm　faith；　nor　the　love　of　angling　could　alone　have　displayed。　　For　we　see　many　anglers　（as　witness　Richard　Franck　aforesaid）　who　are　angry　men；　and　myself；　when　I　get　my　hooks　entangled　at　every　cast　in　a　tree；　have　come　nigh　to　swear　prophane。

Also　we　see　religious　men　that　are　sour　and　fanatical；　no　rare　thing　in　the　party　that　professes　godliness。　　But　neither　private　sorrow　nor　public　grief　could　abate　thy　natural　kindliness；　nor　shake　a　religion　which　was　not　untried；　but　had；　indeed；　passed　through　the　furnace　like　fine　gold。　　For　if　we　find　not　Faith　at　all　times　easy；　because　of　the　oppositions　of　Science；　and　the　searching　curiosity　of　men's　minds；　neither　was　Faith　a　matter　of　course　in　thy　day。　For　the　learned　and　pious　were　greatly　tossed　about；　like　worthy　Mr。　Chillingworth；　by　doubts　wavering　between　the　Church　of　Rome　and　the　Reformed　Church　of　England。　　The　humbler　folk；　also；　were　invited；　now　here；　now　there；　by　the　clamours　of　fanatical　Nonconformists；　who　gave　themselves　out　to　be　somebody；　while　Atheism　itself　was　not　without　many　to　witness　to　it。　　Therefore；　such　a　religion　as　thine　was　not；　so　to　say；　a　mere　innocence　of　evil　in　the　things　of　our　Belief；　but　a　reasonable　and　grounded　faith；　strong　in　despite　of　oppositions。　　Happy　was　the　man　in　whom　temper；　and　religion；　and　the　love　of　the　sweet　country　and　an　angler's　pastime　so　conveniently　combined；　happy　the　long　life　which　held　in　its　hand　that　threefold　clue　through　the　labyrinth　of　human　fortunes！　　Around　thee　Church　and　State　might　fall　in　ruins；　and　might　be　rebuilded；　and　thy　tears　would　not　be　bitter；　nor　thy　triumph　cruel。

Thus；　by　God's　blessing；　it　befell　thee


Nec　turpem　senectam　Degere；　nec　cithara　carentem。


I　would；　Father；　that　I　could　get　at　the　verity　about　thy　poems。　Those　recommendatory　verses　with　which　thou　didst　grace　the　Lives　of　Dr。　Donne　and　others　of　thy　friends；　redound　more　to　the　praise　of　thy　kind　heart　than　thy　fancy。　　But　what　or　whose　was　the　pastoral　poem　of　〃Thealma　and　Clearchus；〃　which　thou　didst　set　about　printing　in　1678；　and　gavest　to　the　world　in　1683？　　Thou　gavest　John　Chalkhill　for　the　author's　name；　and　a　John　Chalkhill　of　thy　kindred　died　at　Winchester；　being　eighty　years　of　his　age；　in　1679。　　Now　thou　speakest　of　John　Chalkhill　as　〃a　friend　of　Edmund　Spenser's；〃　and　how　could　this　be？

Are　they　right　who　hold　that　John　Chalkhill　was　but　a　name　of　a　friend；　borrowed　by　thee　out　of　modesty；　and　used　as　a　cloak　to　cover　poetry　of　thine　own　inditing？　　When　Mr。　Flatman　writes　of　Chalkhill；　'tis　in　words　well　fitted　to　thine　own　merit：


Happy　old　man；　whose　worth　all　mankind　knows　Except　himself；　who　charitably　shows　The　ready　road　to　virtue　and　to　praise；　The　road　to　many　long　and　happy　days。


However　it　be；　in　that　road；　by　quiet　streams　and　through　green　pastures；　thou　didst　walk　all　thine　almost　century　of　years；　and　we；　who　stray　into　thy　path　out　of　the　highway　of　life；　we　seem　to　hold　thy　hand；　and　listen　to　thy　cheerful