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Compendious History of the Goths, Swedes, and Vandals, and other Northern Nations. Written by Olaus Magnus, Arch-Bishop of Upsall, and Metropolitan of Sweden." Lond. 1658, folio. This was a translation from the Latin by J. S., and the particulars mentioned in the text occur on page 47, in book iii. chap. xv. "Of the Conjurors and Witches in Finlrmd. Also, I shall shew very briefly what force conjurors and witches have in constraining the elements, enchanted by them or others, that they may exceed or fall short of their naturall order: premising this, that the extreara land of the North Finland and Lapland, was so taught by witchcraft formerly in heathenish times, as if they had learned this cursed art from Zoroastres the Persian; though other inhabitants by the sea-coasts are reported to be bewitched with the same madness ; for they exercise this divellish art, of all arts of the world, to admiration ; and in this, and other suchlike mischief, they commonly agree. The Finlanders were wont formerly, amongst their other errors of Gentilisme, to sell winds to merchants, that were stopt on their coast by contrary weather; and when they bad their price, they knit three magical knots, not like to the laws of Cassias, bound up with a thong, and they gave them to the merchants; observing that rule, that when they unloosed the first, they should have a good gale of wind; when the second, a stronger wind; but when they untied the third, they should have such cruel tempests, that they should not be able to look out of the forecastle to avoid the rocks, nor move a foot to pull down the sails, nor stand at the helm to govern the ship; and they made an unhappy truth of it, who denied that there was any such power in thai* knots."

"Olaus Magnus, the author of the above, was brother and successor to John, Archbishop of Upsal ; and, like him, he suffered much from his attachment to the Roman Catholic religion when Gustavus Erickson introduced Protestantism into Sweden. He distinguished himself at the Council of Trent, and he died at Rome in I555-"

P. WJ. In Evelyn's Memoirs (ii. 80, ed. 1827), under 22d July 1654, it is said, " We departed and dined at a farme of my uncle Hungerford's, called Dameford Magna, situate in a valley under the plaine, niust sweetly watered, abounding in trouts catch'd by sptare in the night, when they come attracted by a light set in the sterne of a boat." Pepys, in his Diary, March 18, 1667, says, "This day Mr Cfesar told me a pretty experiment of his, of angling with a minikin, a guttstring varnished over, which keeps it from swelling, and is beyond any hair for strength and smallness. The secret I like mightily."—Vol. iii. p. 171, ed. 1S2S.

P. 128. The conjecture in the note to this page that " R. R." may have been the R. Roe mentioned in the preface to Walton's Angler, is rendered improbable by the fact that in the first edition of the "Secrets of Angling" the initials are "R. B."

Since the Memoir of Walton was written, wherein it is said (p. lxvii.) that nothing had been discovered respecting his friends Nat. and R. Roe, the following entries have been found in the register of St Dunstan's in the West :—

1622. August 12. John, the Sonne of Edward Roe, buried. 1624. August 5. Susanna and Elizabeth, daughters of Edward Roe and Barbara his wife, christened.

1636. January 3. Mary, daughter of Nathaniel Roe, was buried.

1652. March 22. Alexander Roe, infant, buryed, churchyard; out of the Friers.

1653. Nov. 17. Barbara, wife of Edward Roe, buryed.

1654. May 26. Edward Roe was buryed, churchyard; coffined, out of the Friars.

P. 163. It was then usual to exhibit curiosities of any kind at coffeehouses, and the custom is alluded to in the Spectator.

P. 166. By an error of the press, the note which refers to the Guiniad is made to apply to the Barbel.

P. 177. Cowper has beautifully expressed the same idea in the following lines :—

'He looks abroad into the varied field

Of nature, and though poor perhaps compared
With those whose mansions glitter in his sight,
Calls the delightful scenery all his own.
His are the mountains and the valleys his,
And the resplendent rivers. His to enjoy
With a propriety that none can feel.
Hut who, with filial confidence inspired,
Can lift to Heaven an unpresumptuous eye,
And smiling say, " My Father made them all!"
Are they not his by a peculiar richt,
And by an emphasis of interest his,
Whose eye they fill with tears of holy joy,
Whose heart with praise, and whose exalted mind
With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love
That plann'd, and built, and still upholds a world
So clothed with beauty for rebellious man?

The Task. Book V.

P. 179. It was intended to insert a poem, preserved in a MS. in the Library of the Royal Society, whicli is attributed to Walton, and is supposed to be unpublished, entitled "On a Lady fishing with an Angle," commencing —

*' See where the fair Clorinda sits, and seeing."

On applying to the librarian of the Royal Society, with a letter from one of the Fellows, it appeared, however, that an extract was not allowed to be made from any manuscript belonging to that learned body, without a special order of the Council. As the Council would not meet for some weeks, it was not thought worth while to delay the publication of this work until all the necessary forms could be observed. Any remarks on the absurdity of a regulation which tends to render the library of a society, incorporated for the advancement of knowledge, comparatively useless, even to its own Fellows, must be unnecessary; but the hope may be expressed that it will not much longer be allowed to cast discredit on a body which claims the first place among the learned associations of Europe.

It would seem from the following verses, which were written by the witty Lord Rochester, that King Charles the Second was an angler. They are printed in a collection of Poems on Affairs of Slate, 8vo, 1703, vol. i. Continuation, p. 43 :—


Methinks I see otir mighty Monarch <taud,
His pliant angle trembling in his hand;

Pleas'd with the sport, good man, nor does he know,
His easy sceptre bends and trembles so.
Fine representative, indeed, of God,
Whose sceptre's dwindled to a fishing-rod.
Such wa* Domitian in his Romans' eyes,
■When his great God.-ihip stoop'd to catching flies;
Bless us! what pretty sport have Deities!
But see, he now does up from Dochet come,
Laden with spoils of slaughtered Gudgeons home;
Nor is he warn'd by their unhappy fate.
But greedily he swallows every bait,
. A prey to every King-fisher of state;

For how he Gudgeons takes, you have been taught;
Then listen now how he himself is caught.
So weil, alas! the fatal bait is known.

Which R does so greedily take down:

And, howe'er weak and slender be the string,
Bait it with whore, and It will hold a King.
Almighty power of women, &c-

P. 197. Dr Wharton. The portrait of this learned physician has been recently engraved for the first time, and published by Mr Major.

P. 237. Cotton again notices his favourite river Dove in the " Wonders of the Peake : "—

'Twixt these twin-Provinces of Britain's Perpetual winter, endless solitude,

shame. Or the society of men so rude.

The silver Dove (how pleasant is that That it is ten times worse. Thy murmurs name 1) (Dove)*

Runs through a Vale high-crested Cliffs Or humour of Lovers : or Men fall in love

o'ershade With thy bright Beauties, and thy fair blue

(By her fair progress only pleasant made): Eyes

But with so swift a torrent in her course. Wound like a Parthian, whilst the shooter As shows the nymph flies from her native flics.

source, Of all fair Thetis' Daughters none so bright.

To seek what there's deny'd, the sun's So pleasant none to ta^te. none to the sight

warm beams. None yields the gentle Angler >uch delight.

And to embrace Trent's prouder swelling To which the Bounty ot her Stream is

streams; such.

In this so craggy, ill-contriv'd a nook As only with a swift and transient Tnuch,

Of this our little world, this pretty brook, T' enrich her stenl Borders as she glides,

Alas 1 is all the recompencc I share, And force sweet Flowers from their marble For all the intemperances of the air, sides.



Give me mine angle,—We'll to the river, there.
My music playing far ofT, I will betray
Tawny-finn'd fishes; my bended hook shall pierce
Their slimy jaws.—Ant. and CUop. act ii. sc. 4*
The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish
Cut with her golden oars the silver stream,

And greedily devour the treacherous bait.— Much Adoy act iii. sc. 1.

If the young dace be a bait for the old pike, I see no reason* in the law of nature, but I may snap at him.Henry IV. Pt. II. act iii. sc. *.

Bait the hook well and the fish will bite.—Much Ado, act ii. sc y

* The river Dove.


The broad-side breamt
The wary trout that thrives against the stream;
The well-grown carp, full laden with her spawn.

The surest way
To take the fish, is give her leave to play,
And yield her line.—ShephearcTs Eglogues.


Vou see the ways the fishermen doth take Yet fish there be, that neither hoolc nor line, Xo caich the fish; what engines doth he Nor snare, nor net, nor engine, can make

make? thine:

Behold 1 how he en gaffe th all his wits; They must be grop'd for, and be tickled too.

Also his snares, lines, angles, hooks, and nets: Or they will not be catch'd, whate'er you do.

In genial spring, beneath the quivering shade, "When cooling vapours breathe along the mead.

The patient fisher takes his silent stand, Intent, his angle trembling in his hand: With looks unmoved, he hopes the scaly breed,

And eyes the dancing cork and bending reed.


Our plenteous streams a various'race supply,
The bright-eyed perch with fins of Tyrian dye;
The silver eel, in shining volumes roll'd;
The yellow carp, in scales bedropp'd with

Swift trouts, diversified with crimson stains;
And pikes, the tyrants of the watery plains.

Windsor Forest.

When genial Spring a living warmth bestows,
And o'er the year her verdant mantle throws,
No swelling inundation hides the grounds,
But crystal currents glide within their bounds;
The finny brood their wonted haunts forsake,
Float in the sun, and skim along the lake;
With frequent leap they range the shallow

Their silver coats reflect the dazzling beams:
Now let the fisherman his toils prepare,
And arm himself with every wat'ry snare:
His hooks, his lines, peruse with careful eye,
Increase his tackle, and his rod retie.

When floating clouds their spongy fleeces

Troubling the streams with swift-descending rain.

And waters tumbling down the mountain's side.

Bear the loose soil into the swelling tide.
Then, soon as vernal gales begin to rise,
And drive the liquid burden through the skies.
The fisher to the neighbouring current speeds,
Whose rapid surface purls, unknown to weeds;
Upon a rising border of the brook
He sits him down, and lies the treach'rous

Now expectation cheers his eager thought,
His bosom glows with treasures yet uncaught;
Before his eyes a banquet seems to stand,
Where every guest applauds his skilful hand.
Far up the stream the twisted hair he

Which down the murm'ring current gently flows;

When if or chance or hunger's pow'rful sway Directs the roving trout this fatal way,

He greedily sucks in the twining bait,
And tugs and nibbles the fallacious meat:
Now, happy Fisherman! now twitch the line!
How thy rod bends! behold, the prize is
thine I

Cast on the bank, he dies with gasping pains,
And trickling blood his silver mail distaius.

You must not every worm promiscuous use: Judgment will tell thee proper bait to choose; The worm that draws a long immod'rate size The trout abhors, and the rank morsel flies; And if too small, the naked fraud's in sight, And fear forbids, while hunger does invite. Those baits will best reward the fisher's pains, Whose polish'd tails a shining yellow stains: Cleanse them from tilth, to give a tempting gloss,

Cherish the sullied reptile race with moss:
Amid the verdant bed, they twine, they toil,
And from their bodies wipe their native soil.
But when the sun displays his glorious

And shallow rivers flow with silver streams,
Then the deceit the scaly breed survey.
Bask in the sun and look into the day:
You now a more delusive art must tryi
And tempt their hunger with the curious fly.

To frame the little animal, provide
All the gay hues that wait on female pride:
Let Nature guide thee; sometimes golden

The shining bellies of the fly require; The peacock's plumes thy tackle must not fail,

Nor the dear purchase of the sable's tail. Each gaudy bird some slender tribute brings, And leads the growing insect proper wings:

Silks of all colour1; must their aid impart,
And cv'ry fur promote the fisher's art.
So the gay lady, with expensive care,
Horrows the pride of land, pf sea, and air:
Furs, pearls, and plumes, the glittering thing

Dazzles our eyes, and easy hearts betrays.

Mai k well the various seasons of the year. How the succeeding insect race appear; In this revolving moon one colour reigns, Which in the next the fickle trout disdains. I >ft have I seen a skilful angler try The various colours of the treach'rous fly: When he with fruitless pain haih skimm'd the brook,

And the coy fish rejects the skipping hook, He shakes the boughs that on the margin giow,

Which o'er the stream a waving forest throw,
When if an insect fall (his certain guide),
He gently takes him from the whirling tide.
Examines well his form with curious eyes.
His gaudy vest, his wings, his horns, his eyes;
Then round his hook the chosen fur he winds,
And on the back a speckled feather binds;
So just the colours shine through every part,
That Nature seems to live again in Art,
Let not thy wary step advance too near,
While all thy hope hangs on a single hair;
The rtcw-form'd insect on the water moves
The speckled trout the curious snare approves;
Upon the curling surface let it glide,
Willi nat'ral motion from thy hand supplied,
Against the stream now let it gently play,
Now in the rapid eddy roll away:
The scaly shoals float by, and, seized with

Behold their fellows tost in thinner air:
But soon they leap, and catch the swimming

Plunge on the hook, and share an equal fate.

When a brisk gale against the current blows, And all the wat'ry plain in wrinkles flows, Then let the fisherman his art, Wln-re bubbling eddies favour the deceit. If an enormous salmon chance to spy The wanton errors of the floating fly, He lifts-his silver gills above the flood, And greedily sucks in ih* unfaithful food,

Then downright plunges with the frawfc'tl prey,

And bears with joy the litde spoil away I
Soon in smart pain he feels the dire m stale
Lashes the wave* and beats the foamy lake;
With sudden rage he now aloft appears.
And in his eye convulsive anguish bears:
And now again, impatient of the wound.
He rolls and wreaths his shining body rooDC;
'I hen headlong shoots beneatn the dashing

The trembling fins the boiling wave divide:
Now hope exalts the fi-her's beating heart.
Now he turns pate, and fears his dubious art;
He views the tumbling fish with longing eye -
While the line stretches with th' unwieicy

Each motion humours with his steady hand*. And one slight hair the mighty bulk commands;

Till tired at last, despoil'd of all his strength. The game athwart the stream unfolds hi length.

He now. with pleasure, views the gaspingpru*c Gnash his sharp teeth, and roll his blood-sho: eyes;

Then draws him to the shore, with artful care. And lifts his nostrils in the sick'ningair: Upon the burtiien'd stream he floating lies Stretches his quivering fins, and gasping die^Would you preserve a num'rous finny race? Let your fierce dogs the rav'nous otter cbtft Th'amphibious monster ranges all the shores Darts through the waves, and cv'ry haunt «Or let the gin his roving steps betray, [plorsi I And save Irom hostile jaws the scaly pre*'

I never wander where the borJ'ring reed* O'erlook the muddy stream, whose tangling weeds

Perplex the fisher; I nor choose to bear
The thievish nightly net nor barbed spear:
Nor drain I ponds, the golden carp to take,
Nor trowle for pikes dispeoplers of the like-
Around the steel no tortur'd worm shall twine,
No blood of living insect stain my line:
ls?t me, less cruel, cast the feather'd hook,
With pliant rod athwart the pebbled brook.
Silent along the mazy mare in stray,
And with the fur-wrought fly delude the prey

Now when the first foul torrent of the brooks, Swcll'd with the vernal rains, is ebb'd away, And, whitening, down their mossy-tinctured stream

Descends the billowy foam : now is the time,
While yet the dark-brnwii water aids the Ruile,
To tempt the trout. The well-dissembled fly,
The rod fine tapering with elastic spring,
Snatch'd from the hoary steed the floating

And all thy slender wat'ry stores prepare.
Rut let not on thy honk trie tortured worm
Convulsive twist in agonising folds;
Which, by rapacious hunger swallow'd deep,

Of th.


k, helpless, uncomplTM... Harsh pain and horror to the trembling handWhen, with his lively ray, the potent sun Has pierced the streams and roused the fiun> race,

Then issuing cheerful to thy sport repair. Chief should the western breezes curling pap And light o'er ether bear the shadowy oWwds High to their fount, this day, amid the hitts. And woodlands warbling round, trace up dw brooks;

The next, pursue their rocky-channel'd rrWK Down to the river, in whose amp e wave Their little naiads love to sport at large

Gives, as you tear it from the bleeding breast Just in the dubious point, where with thr pod

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