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sing, he was regarded with as much surprise as a Fellow of the Royal Society would be now if unable to sign his name. Supper being ended, and music books, according to custom, being brought to table, the mistress of the house presented me with a part, earnestly requesting me to sing. But when, after many excuses, I protested unfeignedly that I could not, every one began to wonder; yea, some whispered to others, demanding how I had been brought up." This refers to a period a little before Walton, but the custom was not much changed until after the outbreak of the civil war. A lawyer, a physician, or a divine, is not now looked upon with surprise if he cannot sing a part sure, and at the first sight;" but he would have been regarded as imperfectly educated in the early part of the seventeenth century.

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We find also in Walton, as might be expected, those elevated notions of friendship which belong only to men of refined and poetical minds. He uses peculiarly expressive terms, and employs a style almost feminine in its softness, when describing the close intimacies of some of the famous worthies who lived in his time. He thus shows the strength of his own sympathies, while bringing before the reader, the troubles, the joys, and the confidences of other men. He speaks of a "sacred friendship;" of "this blessed, this spiritual amity," which existed between Hooker and his two pupils, Edwin Sandys and George Cranmer.

In another place he delights to tell of "the beginning of as spiritual a friendship as human nature is capable of, a friendship free from all self ends." A man with such notions might be despised by the herd of scoffers, who sneered at all high feelings; but he would become

the prized associate of men, whose knowledge of human life had taught them how rare genuine friendship is.

Probably some of Walton's faults as a biographer, arose from this very depth of feeling. "Love is blind,” the proverb tells us; and friendship cannot be expected to be very keen-eyed. All Walton's friends are described as living on the very border land of perfection ; and some of them are made to appear angelic. Even if errors are noted, they are so surrounded with a halo of virtues, that the latter shine more brightly by the contrast. But this over-colouring of excellencies would rather add to his reputation amongst the eminent relatives and acquaintance of those he eulogized. He who praises the dead is sure to please many, and will be attacked by none, save the severely critical.

To this kindliness of disposition, and capacity for friendship, Walton added a high degree of that common sense, which insures respect and wins confidence, though

it may not procure admiration, or suffice to place a man amongst philosophers. This is evident from the reliance which men of high intellectual powers had in the discretion of Walton. At one time the Archbishop ́ of Canterbury advises him to write a Life of Hooker; and when Walton hesitates, the Archbishop's recommendations warm into entreaties. On another occasion he requests Walton to collect materials for a Life of Donne. Then we find other learned and able men urging him, even at the close of his life, to complete the Memoir of Bishop Sanderson. Such a degree of confidence, from such men, deserves especial note. It may be objected, that Walton's well known preferences for High Church and King notions, would gain him the favour of those who valued a man more for his politics than for his

ability. It is, however, certain, that Walton never appears in the character of a violent partizan. Decided he was, but rarely bitter. The contrast is indeed remarkable, in this respect, between him and many other men of his time. His strongest expressions are but gentle hints, when compared with the fierce revilings of some celebrated writers. The opinions of Walton were, in fact, too much influenced by the kindliness of his heart to have made him a fanatic or a persecutor. He lived in an age when political animosity had arisen to its culminating point in England; when the Puritan tradesmen of London closed their shops, and kept a solemn fast, so long as Laud seemed about to escape the scaffold; when Puritan soldiers tore the Prayer-book from the hands of the officiating Minister, and told him to "pray by the Spirit;" and when gentlemen were expelled the House of Commons for calling the first day of the week Sunday, instead of Sabbath. It was an age when Cavaliers justified pillory, torture, and cutting off ears, to punish a speaker or writer of the opposite party. It is a strong proof of Walton's common sense, and calm judgment, that his strong, his almost reverential attachment to the Royalist party, did not lead him to adopt the language of bitter contempt, so usual with the most eminent of his contemporaries. He does, once or twice, use strong language against the Puritans, but soon breaks off to eulogize a friend, or write some pithy moral sentence. We must therefore ascribe the confidence so often placed in him, rather to respect for the simple honesty of his judgment than a reliance on the vehemence of his partizanship.

The good sense of Walton operated in another way, to make him acceptable to educated men. He was able to appreciate the talents of others, who were far above him

in intellectual power. There is a common-sense which may justly be called common, inasmuch as it sees nothing above the level of ordinary life. Those who possess it resemble certain animals, which have no power of looking upwards; they can comprehend whatever is placed on their own level, but have no sympathy with aught above them; and are more likely to despise, than to prize men of genius. The mind of Walton was of a higher character. It was not great; but it loved greatness. Nor was this the adulation of a servile spirit, or the unreasoning crouching of a superstitious worshipper. It was the honest sympathy of a man aware of his own weaknesses, struggling to overcome them, and delighted when he sees other minds victorious in the great contest. Walton's respect for talent and genius appears in all his writings; one man he admires for skill in casuistry, another for diplomatic tact; at one time he expresses his reverence for classical literature, and at another intimates his admiration for Bacon. This love of excellence in others, and this power to appreciate it, joined to the frankness and honesty of his character, would go far to make him an acceptable companion of such men as Wotton, Donne, and Sanderson.

Nor did the education of Walton disqualify him for such companionships. The absence of all literary taste is the great gulf which separates the man of trade from the man of knowledge. Gold cannot make a lasting bridge over this chasm; money, and its many influences, may sometimes effect a temporary contact, but it cannot create common sympathies between the mere man of the counter and the enthusiastic devotee of art, science, or literature. But there was no such difficulty in the case of Izaak Walton. His education had not made him a scholar, and it is probable that he could not

But his

have construed with ease a Latin sentence. knowledge of English literature was respectable; he had read translations of the best classical authors, and mastered the contents of some extensive works on Natural History. He had also a taste for the Arts, and made a small collection of pictures and engravings, which he bequeathed to his son Izaak. To all this information he added some acquaintance with the history of his own and foreign countries; some knowledge of the English poets, and no small amount of reading in Divinity. A man furnished with such knowledge, and endowed with the social qualities already mentioned, would be a welcome companion, and might easily become a trusted friend.

The meditative tone of Walton's mind imparted another grace to his character. It is this which gives one peculiar charm to his Angler," and increases the attractiveness of his Lives." If it sometimes degenerates into prosiness, it more frequently fascinates by its quiet, poetic, and quaint touches. This tendency often carries him to the frontier land of philosophical questions and abstract speculations; but from this region he soon retires, as if frightened at his presumption, and betakes himself to some lowlier spot, where quiet thoughts find a fitting home. His love of angling was in harmony with this meditative spirit. The rippling flow of rivers, winding through lonely and flowery dells, the murmur of distant waterfalls, the softly varying lights and shadows of the landscape, and the subdued gleam of the sunbeams through the deep summer foliage;—all this was in exact unison with that quiet, but not dull, current of thought, which gives so pleasing a vitality to Walton's pages. His own express words show the influence of his favourite amusement upon his mind. "I have found