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Piscator. You see you are betrayed into it, but it shall be in order to something that will make amends: and it is but an ill mile or two out of your way.

Viator. I believe all things, sir, and doubt nothing. Is this your beloved river Dove? It is clear and swift indeed, but a very little one.

Piscator. You see it here at the worst: we shall come to it anon again, after two miles riding, and so near as to lie upon the very banks.

Viator. Would we were there once: but I hope we have no more of these Alps to pass over.

Piscator. No, no, sir, only this ascent before you, which you see is not very uneasy, and then you will no more quarrel with your way.

Viator. Well, if ever I come to London, of which many a man there, if he were in my place, would make a question, I will sit down and write my travels; and, like Tom Coriate,

*

* Tom Coriate lived in the reign of King James the First, and, as Wood calls him, was the whetstone of all the wits of that age; and, indeed, the allusions to him, and to the singular oddness of his character, are numberless. He travelled almost over Europe on foot, and, in that tour, walked nine hundred miles with one pair of shoes, which he got mended at Zurich. Afterwards he visited Turkey, Persia, and the Great Mogul's dominions, travelling in so frugal a manner, that, as he tells his mother, in a letter to her, in his ten months' travels, between Aleppo and the Mogul's court, he spent but three pounds sterling, living remarkably well for about twopence sterling a-day; and of that three pounds he elsewhere says, he was cozened of no less than ten shillings sterling by certain Christians of the Armenian nation; so that, indeed, he spent but fifty shillings in his ten months' travels. In these his travels, he attained to great proficiency both in the Persian and Indostan languages: in the former, he made and pronounced an oration to the Great Mogul; and his skill in the latter he took occasion to manifest in the following very signal instance: In the service of the English ambassador, then resident, was a woman of Indostan, a laundress, whose frequent practice it was to scold, brawl, and rail, from sunrising to sunset. This formidable shrew did Coriate one day undertake to scold with, in her own language; and succeeded so well in the attempt, that, by eight of the clock in the morning, he had totally silenced her, leaving her not a word to speak. See A Voyage to East India, by Edward Terry, chaplain to Sir Thomas Row, ambassador to the Great Mogul, 12mo. 1655.

Farther, it appears that he was a zealous champion for the Christian religion against the Mahometans and Pagans, in the defence whereof, he sometimes risked his life. In Turkey, when a priest, as the custom is, was proclaiming from a mosque tower that Mahomet was a true prophet, Tom, in the fury of his zeal, and in the face of the whole city, told the priest "he lied," and "that his prophet was an impostor;" and at a city called Moltan, in the East Indies, he in public disputed with a Mahometan, who had called him Giaur, or infidel, in these words: "But I pray thee, tell me, thou Mahometan! dost thou, in sadness, call me Giaur?""That I do," quoth he." Then," quoth he, "in very sober sadness, I retort that shameful word in thy throat, and tell thee plainly, that I am a Mussulman, and thou art a Giaur." He concludes thus: "Go to, then, thou falsé believer! since, by thy injurious imputation laid on me, in that thou callest me Giaur, thou hast provoked me to speak thus. I pray thee, let this mine answer be a warning for thee not to scandalize me in the like manner any more; for the Christian religion, which 1 profess, is so dear and tender

print them at my own charge. Pray what do you call this hill we came down?

Piscator. We call it Hanson Toot.

Viator. Why, farewell, Hanson Toot! I'll no more on thee: I'll go twenty miles about first. Puh! I sweat that my shirt sticks to my back.

Piscator. Come, sir, now we are up the hill; and now how do you?

Viator. Why, very well, I humbly thank you, sir, and warm enough, I assure you. What have we here-a church?

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As I'm an honest man, a very pretty church. Have you churches in this country, sir?

unto me, that neither thou, nor any other Mahometan, shall, scot free, call me Giaur, but that I shall quit you with an answer much to the wonder of those Mahometans. Dixi."

He died of the flux, occasioned by drinking sack at Surat, in 1617, having published his European travels in a quarto volume, which he called his Crudities; and to this circumstance the passage in the text is a manifest allusion. See Athen. Oxon. vol. i. col. 422; Purchase's Pilgrim, parti. book 4, chap. 17; Coriate's Letter from the Court of the Great Mogul, quarto, 1616; and, above all, Terry's Voyage, before cited, the author whereof was, as he himself asserts, his chamber-fellow, or tent-mate, in East India.

Piscator. You see we have: but had you seen none, why should you make that doubt, sir?

Viator. Why, if you will not be angry, I'll tell you, -- I thought myself a stage or two beyond Christendom.

Piscator. Come! come! we'll reconcile you to our country before we part with you, if shewing you good sport with angling will do it.

Viator. My respect to you, and that together, may do much, sir; otherwise, to be plain with you, I do not find myself much inclined that way.

Piscator. Well, sir, your raillery upon our mountains has brought us almost home; and look you where the same river of Dove has again met us to bid you welcome, and to invite you to a dish of Trouts to-morrow.

Viator. Is this the same we saw at the foot of Penmen Maure? It is a much finer river here.

Piscator. It will appear yet much finer to-morrow.

But look you, sir, here appears the house, that is now like to be your inn, for want of a better.

Viator. It appears on a sudden, but not before 'twas look'd for; it stands prettily, and here's wood about it too, but so young, as appears to be of your own planting.

Piscutor. It is so; will it please you to alight, sir? And now permit me, after all your pains and dangers, to take you in my arms, and to assure you, that you are infinitely welcome. Viator. I thank you, sir, and am glad, with all my heart, I am here; for, in downright truth, I am exceeding weary.

Piscator. You will sleep so much the better; you shall presently have a light supper, and to bed.-Come, sirs, lay the cloth, and bring what you have presently, and let the gentleman's bed be made ready in the meantime in my father Walton's chamber. And now, sir, here is my service to you; and, once more, welcome!

Viator. I marry, sir, this glass of good sack has refreshed And I'll make as bold with your meat; for the trot has got me a good stomach.

me.

Piscator. Come, sir, fall to then; you see my little supper is always ready when I come home, and I'll make no stranger of you.

Viator. That your meal is so soon ready, is a sign your servants know your certain hours, sir; I confess I did not expect it so soon: but now it is here, you shall see I will make myself no stranger.

Piscator. Much good do your heart! and I thank you for that friendly word: and now, sir, my service to you in a cup of More-Lands ale; for you are now in the More-Lands, but within a spit and a stride of the Peak. Fill my friend his glass.

Viator. Believe me, you have good ale in the More-Lands, far better than that at Ashborn.

Piscator. That it may soon be! for Ashborn has (which is a kind of riddle) always in it, the best malt and the worst ale in England.* Come, take away, and bring us some pipes and a bottle of ale, and go to your own suppers. Are you for this

diet, sir?

Viator. Yes, sir, I am for one pipe of tobacco; and I perceive yours is very good by the smell.

Piscator. The best I can get in London, I assure you.† But, sir, now you have thus far complied with my designs, as to take

This seems to be something contradictory to what is formerly stated. A friend informs me that at this time Ashborn ale is quite famous in the northern and inland counties. J. R.

It should seem by what Walton says, chap. x. that he was a smoker: and the reader sees, by the passage in the text, that Piscator, by whom we are to understand Cotton himself, is so curious as to have his tobacco from London.

Smoking, or, as the phrase was, taking tobacco, was, in Queen Elizabeth's and her successor's time, esteemed the greatest of all foppery. Ben Jonson, who mortally hated it, has numberless sarcasms against smoking and smokers; all which are nothing, compared to those contained in that work of our King James the First, A Counter-blast to Tobacco. Nor was the ordinary conversation of this monarch less fraught with reasons and invectives against the use of that weed, as will appear from the following saying of his, extracted from A Collection of Witty Apothegms, delivered by him and others, at several times, and on sundry occasions, published in duodecimo, 1671.

"That tobacco was the lively image and pattern of hell; for that it had, by allusion, in it all the parts and vices of the world whereby hell may be gained, to wit. First, it was a smoke - so are the vanities of this world. Secondly, It delighteth them who take it-so do the pleasures of the world delight the men of the world. Thirdly, It maketh men drunken, and light in the head-so do the vanities of the world-men are drunken therewith. Fourthly, He that taketh tobacco saith he cannot leave it, it doth bewitch him even so the pleasures of the world make men loath to leave them, they are for the most part so enchanted with them. And, farther, besides all this, It is like hell in the very substance of it, for it is a stinking loathsome thing, and so is hell. And, farther, his majesty professed that, were he to invite the devil to dinner, he should have three dishes: 1. A pig; 2. A pole of ling and mustard; and 3. A pipe of tobacco for digesture.'

In a poem, printed anno 1619, written by Samuel Rowley, I meet with the following humorous lines, uttered by two good fellows, lovers of drinking and tobacco, and, since that time, printed on a London tobacconist's paper:

I am as dry as ever was March dust;
I have one groat, and I will spend it just;
O honest fellow if that thou say'st so,
Lo! here's my groat, and my tobacco too

I conclude this note on smoking, which, by this time, may have made the reader laugh, with the mention of a fact that may go near to make him weep, which the people of Herefordshire have by tradition. In that county, to signify the last, or concluding, pipe that any one means to smoke at a sitting, they use the term, a Kemble pipe, alluding to a man of the name of Kemble, who, in the cruel persecution under that merciless bigot Queen Mary, being condemned for heresy, in his walk of some miles from the prison to the stake, amidst a crowd of weeping friends, with the tranquillity and fortitude of a primitive martyr, smoked a pipe of tobacco!

a troublesome journey into an ill country, only to satisfy me; how long may I hope to enjoy you?

Viator. Why, truly, sir, as long as I conveniently can; and longer, I think, you would not have me.

Piscator. Not to your inconvenience, by any means, sir: but I see you are weary, and therefore I will presently wait on you to your chamber, where, take counsel of your pillow, and to-morrow resolve me. Here, take the lights; and pray, follow them, sir. Here you are like to lie; and now I have shewed you your lodging, I beseech you, command any thing you want, and so I wish you good rest.

Viator. Good night, sir.

CHAPTER III.

CONFERENCE, CONTAINING A DESCRIPTION OF MR COTTON'S FISHING HOUSE, WITH HIS APOLOGY FOR WRITING A SUPPLEMENT TO WALTON'S BOOK.

Piscator, junior. Good morrow, sir: what! up and dressed so early?

Viator. Yes, sir, I have been dressed this half hour; for I rested so well, and have so great a mind either to take, or to see a Trout taken in your fine river, that I could no longer lie a-bed.

Piscator. I am glad to see you so brisk this morning, and so eager of sport though I must tell you, this day proves so calm, and the sun rises so bright, as promises no great success to the angler; but, however, we'll try, and, one way or other, we shall, sure, do something. What will you have to your breakfast, or what will you drink this morning?

Viator. For breakfast I never eat any, and for drink I am very indifferent; but if you please to call for a glass of ale, I'm for you: and let it be quickly, if you please, for I long to see the little fishing house you spoke of, and to be at my lesson.

Piscator. Well, sir, you see the ale is come without calling; for though I do not know yours, my people know my diet, which is always one glass as soon as I am dressed, and no more, till dinner and so my servants have served you.

Viator. My thanks! And now, if you please, let us look out this fine morning.

Piscator. With all my heart. Boy, take the key of my fishing house, and carry down those two angle-rods in the hall window thither, with my fish pannier, pouch, and landing net; and stay you there till we come. Come, sir, we 'll walk after, He evide. thu

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