_ Siography; 
Vol. V. No. 49 
MANCHESTER, MASS., SATURDAY, DECEMBER 7, 1907. 
24 Pages Three Cents 
HOURS WITH LESS KNOWN WRITERS 
BY D. F. LAMSON. 
To mention the name of Izaak Wal- 
ton, the ‘“Father of Angling,’’ is to 
call up at once a vision of  purling 
streams, of shaded pools, of quiet glades, 
of browsing flocks and herds, of green 
hedgerows, of peaceful English Jand- 
scapes. His life which began in 1593 
flowed on in calm pursuits and uninter- 
rupted leisure, as placidly as his loved 
Staffordshire rivulets, until he died in 
1683 in the ninetieth year of his age. 
His portrait, painted from life, is that of 
a face singularly calm, thoughtful and 
benevolent, suggestive of a mild and 
gentle disposition. His own praise of 
Contentment is of the nature of auto- 
without intending it, he 
draws a picture of himself, as aman who 
possesses the earth ‘““by being humble 
and cheerful, and content with what his 
good God has allotted him; he has 
no turbulent, repining thoughts that he 
deserves better; nor is vext when’ he 
sees others possest of more honcr or 
more riches than his wise God has al- 
lotted for his share; but he possesses what 
he has with a meek and contented quiet- 
ness, such a quietness as makes his very 
dreams pleasing, both to God and him- 
self.’’ 
Walton’s education was but slender, 
but Lowell says that he ‘‘contrived to 
pick up sometime and somehow a com- 
petent knowledge of his mother tongue 
anda diction of persuasive simplicity, 
capable of dignity where that was natural 
and becoming, such as not even the 
Universities can bestow.’’ He _ himself 
expressed surprise that he had ** come to 
be publicly in print’? and would not 
boast of ‘“acquired learning and study,”’ 
but he must have conversed much 
with learned men, and walking with 
wise men made him wise. He was not 
x heroic or in any way a great character; 
he did not, shine conspicuously among 
his contemporaries, or leave a sounding 
name behind him, but he was a most 
lovable man and a unique personality. 
He filled his place in the world and he 
filled it well, and that is more than can be 
said of many who in his time strutted 
across the stage. His real business, it 
may be said, was to write the Lives, 
and The Complete Angler, and to leave 
the example of a useful and unspotted 
life to after generations. As to station 
in life, he was not born a gentleman, 
but he was a gentleman in spirit, a truly 
gentleman; he himself wrote, “‘I would 
rather prove myself a gentleman by being 
learned and humble, valiant and in- 
offensive, virtuous and communicable, 
than by any fond ostentation of riches, 
or, wanting such virtues myself, boast 
that they were my ancestors’.”’ 
Walton’s best known work is The 
Compleat Angler, or Contemplative 
Man’s Recreation. In writing it, he 
made ‘‘a recreation of a recreation, ”’ 
and by mingling innocent mirth and 
pleasant scenes with the graver parts of 
his discourse, he unconsciously, no 
doubt, made it a picture of his own dis- 
position. It is in the form of a dialogue; 
a Hunter (Venator) and a Falconer 
(Auceps) are introduced as parties in it, 
but the interest centres in himself, the 
complacent and kindly Piscator (Fisher- 
man. ) 
The time is a “‘ fine, fresh May morn- 
ing,’’ and the place is near London; in 
easy converse, brightened by shrewd ob- 
servations, bits of song, glimpses of ru- 
ral scenery, hints on angling, wise re- 
flections, with sentiments of purest 
morality and unaffected love of the Cre- 
ator and his works, the beautiful pastoral 
meanders gently along to the time of 
tinkling brooks, the milkmaid’s ditty, 
the mower’s scythe and the village bells. 
The book hardly lends itself readily to 
quotation; one fears to break the pellu- 
cid flow of the narrative or to interrupt 
the charming murmur of the streams and 
the sweet rustle of the leaves that dance 
in the sunshine. Hazlitt speaks of the 
liftle book as full of ‘‘dainty songs, of 
refreshing brooks, of shady arbors, of 
happy thoughts, of the herb called heart’ s- 
ease.’? Hallam speaks of its “‘sim- 
plicity, its sweetness, its natural grace,’’ 
= 
CAND 
CATALOG Ens, 
THE HORN ON THE ISLE.* 
(Also respectfully addressed to the Light House 
Board. ) 
Yes! Be silent, O horn, that the North Shore 
may sleep, 
Let your warning be heard nevermore, 
For what are perils that lurk in the deep 
To the Fortunate Few on the Shore? 
Let the mariner listen, in vain, for your call, 
As he searches his way through the gloom, 
Your alarums the elite must never appall, 
Let the sailor folk go to their doom! 
You are not of the discords that Fashion loves 
well. 
There may come to the millioniare’s ear 
All the clamors of Polo and Anise Hunt yell, 
But your ‘‘ groanings’’ he never must hear. 
When no longer your ‘‘ strident 
ing’ ’ voice 
To the Mansions of Fortune may reach. 
Other noises nocturnal should share, and rejoice 
In the silence decreed by the Beach. 
The clocks in the steeples no longer should 
strike, 
Every song bird should muffle his throat, 
All the night sounds of Nature be silent alike 
And the breezes themselves cease to float. 
On the North Shore, hereafter, may only be 
heard 
The noise of the reveller’s brawl, 
The honk of the auto, like a raucous voiced 
bird, 
Or the clatter of bouquet and ball. 
Stand then mutely, O Horn, on thy desolate 
shore, 
> oi - : by ~ r 
Tis no longer thy mission to save. 
Though your warning may welcome the’ sailor 
no more, 
You can silently point to his grave. 
” 
and ‘‘ tortur- 
Viele le 
[*These verses in the Salem Evening News 
were probably suggested by the lines in the 
Breeze a few weeks ago on ‘‘ The Strident 
Horn,’’ which were addressed to the Light 
House Board, and which were reprinted in the 
News.—Ed. ] 
Charles Lamb wrote, ‘‘ it would sweeten 
a man’s temper any time to read it.”’ 
Its remarkable power to fascinate is 
pleasantly shown by Irving in his Sketch 
Book. 
Walton speaks of his favorite pastime 
as ‘‘that laudible and ancient art,’’ and 
from his own rich stores of knowledge 
he undertakes to ‘“‘acquaint the reader 
with many things that are not usually 
known to every angler;’’ but he modest- 
ly adds, “‘ angling may be said to be so 
like mathematics, that it can never be | 
Continued to page 37 
