fishing House. This little Building was situated near the banks of the river Dove, which divides the two Counties of Stafford and Derby. Here Mr. WALTON usually spent his vernal months, carrying with him the best and choicest of all earthly Blessings, a contemplative Mind, a chearful Disposition, an active and an healthy Body. So beauteous did the Scenery of this delightful Spot appear to him, that, to use his own Words," the pleasantness of the River, Mountains, and Meadows about, cannot be described, unless SIR PHILIP SIDNEY, or Mr. COTTON'S Father, were again alive to do it."

"Oh my belov'd Nymph, fair Dove!
Princess of Rivers! how I love

Upon thy flowing banks to lie,

And view thy silver Stream

When gilded by a Summer's beam!
And in it all thy wanton fry,
Playing at Liberty:

And, with my Angle upon them,

The All of Treachery

I ever learnt industriously to try."

Vide the Retirement, by MR. COTTON.

During the whole Course of his Life, his Innocence, and the inoffensive plainness of his Manners, his love of Truth, his Piety, and

succeeded so well, that having communicated to the Public the Result of his Experience, he must be deemed the great Improver of this Diversion, and a benefactor to his Brethren of the Angle.

Mr. COTTON died in the Parish of St. James, Westminster, in September 1687.

Of the future Fortunes of his Descendants little is known, save that to his Son BERESFORD COTTON, was given a Company in a Regiment of Foot, raised by the Earl of DERBY, for the Service of King WILLIAM; and that one of his Daughters became the Wife of that eminent Divine Dr. GEORGE STANHOPE, Dean of CANTERBURY; who from his Name, the same with that of Mr. COTTON's Mother, is conjectured to have been distantly allied to the Family.

the unbiassed rectitude of his Conduct, diffused over his Mind, a Serenity which never forsook him. Let no one, however elevated in Rank or Station, however accomplished with Learning, or exalted in Genius, esteem himself undervalued, when it shall be pronounced concerning him, that his religious and Moral Qualities are placed in the Balance, or compared with those of ISAAC WALTON.

During WALTON's life, five Editions of his " Complete Angler,” were published, viz. The first, in the year 1653; second, 1655; third, 1664; fourth, 1668; fifth, 1676.

The Complete Angler will be always read with Avidity, even by those who entertain no strong relish for the Art which it professes to teach. It discovers a copious Vein of innocent pleasure and good humour. The Scenes descriptive of rural Life, are inimitably beautiful. The Dialogue is diversified with all the characteristic Beauties of colloquial Composition. The Songs and little Poems, which are occasionally inserted, will abundantly gratify the Reader who has a Taste for the Charms of pastoral Poetry.

The Two following are given as Specimens, and the Third as descriptive of the Patience needful, and the Thoughts that may occur contemplative an Amusement.

in so

THE SHEPHERD'S SONG.

Come live with me, and be my Love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That vallies, groves, or hills, or field,
Or woods, and steepy mountains yield.

Where we will sit upon the rocks,
And see the Shepherds feed our flocks,
By shallow Rivers, to whose falls,
Melodious Birds sing Madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of Roses,
And then a thousand fragrant Posies,
A cap of flowers, and a Kirtle,
Embroider'd all with leaves of Myrtle.

A gown made of the finest Wool,
Which from our pretty Lambs we pull;
Slippers, lin'd choicely for the Cold,
With Buckles of the purest Gold.

A belt of Straw, and ivy Buds,
With coral clasps, and amber Studs ;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my Love.

Thy silver dishes for thy Meat,
As precious as the Gods do eat,

Shall on an Ivory table be,

Prepared each Day for thee and me.

The Shepherd Swains shall dance and sing,

For thy delight each May morning;
If these Delights thy mind may move,

Then live with me, and be my Love*;

* Dr. WARBURTON, in his notes on the Merry Wives of Windsor, ascribes this Song to SHAKESPEARE: 'tis true, SIR HUGH EVANS, in the third act of that play, sings four lines of it and it is printed in a Collection of Poems said to be SHAKESPEARE'S, published between twenty and thirty Years after his Death; but the Authority of that Collection has ever been questioned. On the contrary, WALTON has just said it was made by KIT MARLOW, a Poet well known at that Time.-The Reader will judge of these Authorities as he pleases.

THE MILK-MAID'S ANSWER.

If all the World and Love were young,
And Truth in every Shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move,
To live with thee, and be thy Love.

But Time drives flocks from field to fold,
When Rivers rage, and Rocks grow cold,
Then Philomel becometh dumb,
And Age complains of Care to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields,
To wayward Winter reckoning yields;
A honey Tongue, a Heart of Gall,
Is Fancy's Spring, but Sorrow's Fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of Roses,
Thy cap, thy Kirtle, and thy Posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,

In Folly ripe, in Reason rotten.

Thy belt of Straw, and ivy Buds,
Thy coral clasps, and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move,
To come to thee, and be thy Love.

Why should we talk of Dainties then,
Of better Meat than's fit for Men?

These are but vain; that's only good
Which God hath bless'd, and sent for Food.

But could Youth last, and Love still breed, Had Joys no Date, nor Age no Need; Then those Delights my mind might move, To live with thee, and be thy Love.

Oh the gallant Fisher's life,
It is the best of any;

"Tis full of pleasure, void of strife,

And 'tis belov'd by many:

Other joys

Are but toys;

Only this

Lawful is;

For our skill

Breeds no ill,

But content and Pleasure.

In a morning up we rise,

Ere Aurora's peeping;

Drink a cup to wash our eyes,

Leave the Sluggard sleeping:

Then we go

To and fro,

With our nacks

At our backs,

To such streams

As the Thames,

If we have the Leisure.

When we please to walk abroad

For our Recreation,

In the fields is our abode,

Full of delectation;

Where in a brook,

With a hook,

Or a lake,

Fish we take;

There we sit,

For a bit,

Till we Fish Entangle.