ber, went Richard Franck, that called himself
_Philanthropus_, and was, as it were, the Columbus of anglers,
discovering for them a new Hyperborean world. But Franck, doubtless, is
now an angler in the Lake of Darkness, with Nero and other tyrants, for
he followed after Cromwell, the man of blood, in the old riding days.
How wickedly doth Franck boast of that leader of the giddy multitude,
'when they raged, and became restless to find out misery for themselves
and others, and the rabble would herd themselves together,' as you said,
'and endeavour to govern and act in spite of authority.' So you wrote;
and what said Franck, that recreant angler? Doth he not praise
'Ireton, Vane, Nevill, and Martin, and the most renowned, valorous, and
victorious conqueror, Oliver Cromwell.' Natheless, with all his sins
on his head, this Franck discovered Scotland for anglers, and my heart
turns to him when he praises 'the glittering and resolute streams of
Tweed.'

In those wilds of Assynt and Loch Rannoch, Father, we, thy followers,
may yet take trout, and forget the evils of the times. But, to be done
with Franck, how harshly he speaks of thee and thy book. 'For you may
dedicate your opinion to what scribbling putationer you please; the
_Compleat Angler_ if you will, who tells you of a tedious fly story,
extravagantly collected from antiquated authors, such as Gesner and
Dubravius.' Again, he speaks of 'Isaac Walton, whose authority to
me seems alike authentick, as is the general opinion of the vulgar
prophet,' &c.

Certain I am that Franck, if a better angler than thou, was a worse
man, who, writing his 'Dialogues Piscatorial' or 'Northern Memoirs' five
years after the world welcomed thy 'Compleat Angler,' was jealous of
thy favour with the people, and, may be, hated thee for thy loyalty and
sound faith. But, Master, like a peaceful man avoiding contention, thou
didst never answer this blustering Franck, but wentest quietly about thy
quiet Lea, and left him his roaring Brora and windy Assynt. How could
this noisy man know thee--and know thee he did, having argued with thee
in Stafford--and not love Isaak Walton? A pedant angler, I call him,
a plaguy angler, so let him huff away, and turn we to thee and to thy
sweet charm in fishing for men.

How often, studying in thy book, have I hummed to myself that of
Horace--

Laudis amore tumes? Sunt certa piacula quae te
Ter pure lecto poterunt recreare libello.

So healing a book