DIES PISCATORI^. 585 



that come breathing from mountains and moorlands ; from 

 clouds that sail above, and storms blustering and growling in 

 the wind ; from all the mighty magnificence, the solitude and 

 antiquity of Nature upon him — Ebenezer Elliott only can un- 

 fold. The weight of the poor man's life^-the cares of pov- 

 erty — the striving of huge cities, visit him as he sits by the 

 beautiful stream — beautiful as a dream of eternity, and trans- 

 lucent as the everlasting canopy of heaven above him ; — ^they 

 come, but he casts them off for the time, with the power of 

 one who feels himself, strong in the kindred spirit of all things 

 around ; strong in the knowledge that he is a man ; an im- 

 mortal — a child and pupil in the world-school of the Almighty. 

 For that day he is more than a king — he has the heart of hu- 

 manity, and faith and spirit of a saint. It is not the rod and 

 line that floats before him — it is not the flowing water, or the 

 captured prey that he perceives in those moments of admis- 

 sion to the heart of nature, so much as the law of the testi- 

 mony of love and goodness written on everything around 

 him with the pencil of Divine beauty. He is no longer the 

 wearied and oppressed — the trodden and despised — walking 

 in threadbare garments amid men, who scarcely deign to look 

 upon him as a brother man — but he is reassured and recog- 

 nised to himself in his own soul, as one of those puzzling, 

 aspiring, and mysterious existences for whom all this splen- 

 did world was built, and for whom eternity opens its expect- 

 ing gates. These are magnificent speculations for a poor, 

 angling carpenter or weaver ; but Ebenezer Elliott can tell 

 us that they are his legitimate thoughts, when he can break, 

 for an instant the bonds of his toiling age, and escape to the 

 open fields. Let us leave him dipping his line in the waters 

 of refreshing thought." 



Thus writes William Howitt. But there is the foot-bridge, 

 and here are my little friends, the Sand-pipers. How- often 



