Introduction to The Compleat Angler | Page 8

man of eighty, in 1679. Two of his songs are in
The Compleat Angler. Probably the attribution is right: Chalkhill's
tomb commemorates a man after Walton's own heart, but some have
assigned the volume to Walton himself. Chalkhill is described, on the
title-page, as 'an acquaintant and friend of Edmund Spencer,' which is
impossible. {4}
On August 9, 1683, Walton wrote his will, 'in the neintyeth year of my

age, and in perfect memory, for which praised be God.' He professes
the Anglican faith, despite 'a very long and very trew friendship for
some of the Roman Church.' His worldly estate he has acquired 'neither
by falsehood or flattery or the extreme crewelty of the law of this
nation.' His property was in two houses in London, the lease of
Norington farm, a farm near Stafford, besides books, linen, and a
hanging cabinet inscribed with his name, now, it seems, in the
possession of Mr. Elkin Mathews. A bequest is made of money for
coals to the poor of Stafford, 'every last weike in Janewary, or in every
first weike in Febrewary; I say then, because I take that time to be the
hardest and most pinching times with pore people.' To the Bishop of
Winchester he bequeathed a ring with the posy, 'A Mite for a Million.'
There are other bequests, including ten pounds to 'my old friend, Mr.
Richard Marriott,' Walton's bookseller. This good man died in peace
with his publisher, leaving him also a ring. A ring was left to a lady of
the Portsmouth family, 'Mrs. Doro. Wallop.'
Walton died, at the house of his son-in-law, Dr. Hawkins, in
Winchester, on Dec. 15, 1683: he is buried in the south aisle of the
Cathedral. The Cathedral library possesses many of Walton's books,
with his name written in them. {5} His Eusebius (1636) contains, on
the flyleaf, repetitions, in various forms, of one of his studied passages.
Simple as he seems, he is a careful artist in language.
Such are the scanty records, and scantier relics, of a very long life.
Circumstances and inclination combined to make Walpole choose the
fallentis semita vitae. Without ambition, save to be in the society of
good men, he passed through turmoil, ever companioned by content.
For him existence had its trials: he saw all that he held most sacred
overthrown; laws broken up; his king publicly murdered; his friends
outcasts; his worship proscribed; he himself suffered in property from
the raid of the Kirk into England. He underwent many bereavements:
child after child he lost, but content he did not lose, nor sweetness of
heart, nor belief. His was one of those happy characters which are
never found disassociated from unquestioning faith. Of old he might
have been the ancient religious Athenian in the opening of Plato's
Republic, or Virgil's aged gardener. The happiness of such natures
would be incomplete without religion, but only by such tranquil and
blessed souls can religion be accepted with no doubt or scruple, no

dread, and no misgiving. In his Preface to Thealma and Clearchus
Walton writes, and we may use his own words about his own works:
'The Reader will here find such various events and rewards of innocent
Truth and undissembled Honesty, as is like to leave in him (if he be a
good-natured reader) more sympathising and virtuous impressions, than
ten times so much time spent in impertinent, critical, and needless
disputes about religion.' Walton relied on authority; on 'a plain,
unperplexed catechism.' In an age of the strangest and most dissident
theological speculations, an age of Quakers, Anabaptists, Antinomians,
Fifth Monarchy Men, Covenanters, Independents, Gibbites,
Presbyterians, and what not, Walton was true to the authority of the
Church of England, with no prejudice against the ancient Catholic faith.
As Gesner was his authority for pickerel weed begetting pike, so the
Anglican bishops were security for Walton's creed.
To him, if we may say so, it was easy to be saved, while Bunyan, a
greater humorist, could be saved only in following a path that skirted
madness, and 'as by fire.' To Bunyan, Walton would have seemed a
figure like his own Ignorance; a pilgrim who never stuck in the Slough
of Despond, nor met Apollyon in the Valley of the Shadow, nor was
captive in Doubting Castle, nor stoned in Vanity Fair. And of Bunyan,
Walton would have said that he was among those Nonconformists who
'might be sincere, well-meaning men, whose indiscreet zeal might be so
like charity, as thereby to cover a multitude of errors.' To Walton there
seemed spiritual solace in remembering 'that we have comforted and
been helpful to a dejected or distressed family.' Bunyan would have
regarded this belief as a heresy, and (theoretically) charitable deeds 'as
filthy rags.' Differently constituted, these excellent men accepted
religion in