LIFE OF IZAAK WALTON. iJo 



degree of eminence in his profession. He wrote and published 

 in octavo, anno 1713, A short Account of the Life of Bishop 

 Ken, with a small specimen, in order to a publication of his 

 Works at large; and, accordingly, in the year 1721, they 

 were published in four volumes, octavo. From this Account, 

 some of the above particulars respecting the family connections 

 of Walton are taken. 



I am informed that this gentleman for several years laboured 

 under the affliction of incurable blindness, and that he died on 

 the 29th day of November, 1748. 



A few months before his death, our Author made his will, 

 which appears, by the peculiarity of many expressions con- 

 tained in it, as well as by the hand, to be of his own writing. 

 As there is something characteristic in this last solemn act of 

 his life, it has been thought proper to insert an authentic copy 

 thereof in this account of him ; postponing it only to the 

 following reflections on his life and character. 



Upon a retrospect of the foregoing particulars, and a view 

 of some others mentioned in a subsequent letter,* and in his 

 will, it will appear that Walton possessed that essential 

 ingredient in human felicity, " mens sana in corpore sano : " 

 for, in his eighty-third year, he professes a resolution to begin 

 a pilgrimage of more than a hundred miles, into a country the 

 most difficult and hazardous that can be conceived for an aged 

 man to travel in. to visit his friend Cotton, -f- and, doubtless, 



* See his Letter to Charles Cotton, Esq. prefixed to the Second Part. 



f To this journey he seems to have been invited by Mr Cotton, in the 

 following beautiful stanzas, printed with other of his Poems, in 1689, 8vo. 

 and addressed to his dear and most worthy friend, Mr Isaac Walton : 



Whilst in this cold and blustering clime, 

 Where bleak winds howl and tempests roar, 



We pass away the roughest time 

 Has been of many years before. 



Whilst from the most tempestuous nooks 



The chillest blasts our peace invade, 

 And by great rains our smallest brooks 



Are almost navigablemade ; 



Whilst all the ills are so improved, 



Of this dead quarter of the year, 

 That even you, so much beloved, 



We would not now wish with us here : 



In this estate, I say, it is 



Some comfort to us to suppose, 

 That, in a better clime than this, 



You. our dear friend, have more repoe ; 



And some delight to me the while, 



Though nature now does weep in rain, 

 To think that I have seen her smile, 



And haply may I do again. 



