RICHARD BAXTER (1615-1691).  This “busiest man of his age” strongly suggests Bunyan in his life and writings.  Like Bunyan, he was poor and uneducated, a nonconformist minister, exposed continually to insult and persecution; and, like Bunyan, he threw himself heart and soul into the conflicts of his age, and became by his public speech a mighty power among the common people.  Unlike Jeremy Taylor, who wrote for the learned, and whose involved sentences and classical allusions are sometimes hard to follow, Baxter went straight to his mark, appealing directly to the judgment and feeling of his readers.

The number of his works is almost incredible when one thinks of his busy life as a preacher and the slowness of manual writing.  In all, he left nearly one hundred and seventy different works, which if collected would make fifty or sixty volumes.  As he wrote chiefly to influence men on the immediate questions of the day, most of this work has fallen into oblivion.  His two most famous books are The Saints’ Everlasting Rest and A Call to the Unconverted, both of which were exceedingly popular, running through scores of successive editions, and have been widely read in our own generation.

IZAAK WALTON (1593-1683).  Walton was a small tradesman of London, who preferred trout brooks and good reading to the profits of business and the doubtful joys of a city life; so at fifty years, when he had saved a little money, he left the city and followed his heart out into the country.  He began his literary work, or rather his recreation, by writing his famous Lives,—­kindly and readable appreciations of Donne, Wotton, Hooker, Herbert, and Sanderson, which stand at the beginning of modern biographical writing.

In 1653 appeared The Compleat Angler, which has grown steadily in appreciation, and which is probably more widely read than any other book on the subject of fishing.  It begins with a conversation between a falconer, a hunter, and an angler; but the angler soon does most of the talking, as fishermen sometimes do; the hunter becomes a disciple, and learns by the easy method of hearing the fisherman discourse about his art.  The conversations, it must be confessed, are often diffuse and pedantic; but they only make us feel most comfortably sleepy, as one invariably feels after a good day’s fishing.  So kindly is the spirit of the angler, so exquisite his appreciation of the beauty of the earth and sky, that one returns to the book, as to a favorite trout stream, with the undying expectation of catching something.  Among a thousand books on angling it stands almost alone in possessing a charming style, and so it will probably be read as long as men go fishing.  Best of all, it leads to a better appreciation of nature, and it drops little moral lessons into the reader’s mind as gently as one casts a fly to a wary trout; so that one never suspects his better nature is being angled for.  Though we have sometimes seen anglers catch more than they need, or sneak ahead of brother fishermen to the best pools, we are glad, for Walton’s sake, to overlook such unaccountable exceptions, and agree with the milkmaid that “we love all anglers, they be such honest, civil, quiet men.”