Angler. A true lover of honest Izaak; and to hear him descant on the gentle craft, you might declare him to be a practised disciple.

Painter. Then what say you to his books of emblems and engraved pictures of angling? and do not forget that ebony cabinet in his chambers in Lincoln’s Inn, furnished with all ancient treatises of your art, and other merry sports and pastimes of England.

Angler. Aye; and I love him the more for his love of my masters: and though he hath never wetted a line, nor soiled his hosen in pursuit of the finny tribes, yet in imagination he hath done both one and the other: and is no less versed in the philosophy of angling than learned in Lord Coke’s Institutes, and the Law of Nations.

Angler. I wish him all health; and may he ever possess Sir Christopher Hatton’s moderate desires, and be able to sing,

Painter. So say I. And now remember your promise, and give me the huntsman’s arguments in praise of his pastime of hunting, when he was in the company of Mr. Walton and the Falconer, all the while they walked to Hodsden.

Angler. Most willingly; and you are to know, when Mr. Falconer broke off his discourse, and entreated Venator to say his best in praise of the chase, that honest candid huntsman began with a commendation of the earth, being that element upon which he drives his ‘pleasant wholesome hungry trade;’ and then declared, that ‘hunting is a game for princes and noble persons; it hath been highly prized in all ages; it was one of the qualifications that Xenophon bestowed on his Cyrus, that he was a hunter of wild beasts. Hunting trains up the younger nobility to the use of manly exercises in their riper age. What more manly exercise than hunting the wild boar, the stag, the buck, the fox, or the hare? How doth it preserve health, and increase strength and activity?’

Painter. Well said, Mr. Huntsman; pr’ythee proceed.

Angler. ‘And for the dogs that we use, who can commend their excellency to that height which they deserve? How perfect is the hound at smelling, who never leaves or forsakes his first scent, but follows it through so many changes and varieties of other scents, even over and in the water, and into the earth! What music doth a pack of dogs then make to any man, whose heart and ears are so happy as to be set to the tune of such instruments! How will a right greyhound fix his eye on the best buck in the herd, single him out, and follow him, and him only, through a whole herd of rascal game, and still know, and then kill him! For my hounds, I know the language of them, and they know the language and meaning of one another as perfectly as we know the voices of those with whom we discourse daily.’

Painter. Aye, I warrant you, Piscator had need of all his eloquence to overcome these winning arguments in favour of the noble sport of hunting. And what more did Venator say?

Angler. At length he gently excused himself from enlarging his discourse, and said, ‘I will not be so uncivil to Mr. Piscator, as not to allow him time for the commendation of angling, which he calls an art, but doubtless it is an easy one; and, Mr. Auceps, I doubt we shall hear a watery discourse of it; but I hope it will not be a long one.’

Painter. And how did Piscator reply to this pleasant jesting?

Angler. He received it as a well-bred angler would do, and thus replied: ‘Gentlemen, let not prejudice prepossess you.’ Do you observe how enured Mr. Walton is to meekness and patience? And you shall see, by and by, that he was able to bring forward a store of arguments and examples to prove the greater excellence of his art of angling.——But first, I am for another cup of ale. And here’s a health to Mr. Walton and his son, and Mr. Cotton, his adopted son, that have often sat where we now sit, and I have no doubt with hearts as thankful as I hope ours to be.

Painter. I drink to all three.

Angler. And here’s a good wish for a south wind, that Mr. Thomas Barker says, ‘blows the fly in the trout’s mouth,’^[58] and good sport to all anglers.

Painter. To such of them as be honest men.

Angler. Let me tell you, all true brothers of the angle are honest men.

Painter. Agreed, agreed.—So here’s a south wind to all anglers. And now, whilst you entertain me with Piscator’s discourse, so suitable to this occasion, I will design that rock and the pool, and these umbrageous trees, which give us their shelter from the sun.

Angler. I thank you, and shall esteem it as highly as the landskips of Mr. Walton junior, that lately returned from his travels to Rome, in company with his kinsman, pious Mr. Thomas Ken, Fellow of St. Mary Winton College, in Winchester.

Painter. How! did you say with Mr. Ken? he that is chaplain to Dr. Morley, the self-denying Bishop of Winton, who maintains the primitive doctrine and discipline, and has restored the daily service in his Churches?

Angler. The same;—and follows the Bishop’s example of an ascetic life even in the midst of this luxurious age: and has lately writ ‘A Manual of Prayers and Devotions for the use of the Schollars of Winchester School,’^[59] where he himself was trained to learning and good manners.

Painter. Indeed! a book that most lovingly persuades young christians to dedicate their tender age to the service of God.

Angler. And I can never forget a discourse I once heard him preach to the poor in St. John’s Church, in the Soke near Winchester, wherein he exhorted them to the duties and privileges of holiness,—and with such a sweet and melting eloquence—that when he told them of Christ’s whole life of suffering for their sakes, he drew tears from many eyes.

Painter. But how did it come to pass that he should travel with Mr. Walton junior?

Angler. Because of his affection for old Isaak, who had been his early counsellor and guide, when he was left an orphan: for Mr. Walton had married his sister, Mistress Ann Ken, ‘a woman of remarkable prudence, and of the primitive piety:’ but she is now at rest, and ‘lyeth buried, so much as could dye,’ in the blessed Virgin Mary’s Chapel in the Cathedral in Worcester.

Painter. Well: he could not make a more grateful return for the father’s love, than to take upon him the part of Mentor to the son in his foreign travels: but come, I remember me how the Host said, Mr. Walton had good luck in this pool, and I desire to follow his example, and wheedle a big trout for our supper.

Angler. And so you shall; and because you have lost your hook, I’ll show you how to fix another.

Painter. Grazie, Pescatore mio.

Angler. Let me find a hook with two horse hairs twisted together: here it is, and you may see a loop at the end. Now mark, put the loop of the fish-line through this loop of the hook, and then bring the hook through the loop in the fish-line, and draw them tight together—so—and here is a fresh brandling, and now you are fitted.

Painter. O’ my word, ’tis neatly done; so, I have laid my rod. Come, Sir, begin: How pleasant this is!

But let us have the angler’s grave,—watery arguments: I am inquisitive to hear what he will make against the Hunter.

Angler. Not so grave, I promise you; but full of empassioned eloquence and no less ingenuity. Thus then he began, ‘Gentlemen, let not prejudice prepossess you. I confess my discourse is like to prove suitable to my recreation, calm and quiet; we seldom take the name of God into our mouths, but it is either to praise him or pray to him; if others use it vainly in the midst of their recreations, so vainly as if they meant to conjure, I must tell you it is neither our fault nor our custom; we protest against it. But, pray remember, I accuse nobody; for as I would not make a watery discourse, so I would not put too much vinegar into it; nor would I raise the reputation of my own art, by the diminution or ruin of another’s. And so much for the prologue to what I mean to say.’ After that, with arguments excellently contrived, he praised his own loved element and occupation, and used every allowable artifice to show how they are more excellent than all others. I could now open to you many passages of his discourse, that have all the natural fragrancy of wild flowers scattered with a careless hand; and whilst he sets forth the beauty of the works of God, you may be lifted to praise the Maker of them for that most wonderful attribute—His love to man. Indeed, he applied himself with so great a zeal to the commendation of angling, and heightened his discourse by so many harmonious digressions and testimonies to the pleasure and high esteem thereof, that, when they arrived at Theobald’s Park, whither the Falconer was proceeding to a friend’s house, who mewed a hawk for him, he declared to Piscator, ‘I now part with you full of good thoughts, not only of yourself, but of your recreation.’ And yet, let me tell you, he did but a short time before profess to pity anglers, ‘because of their heavy contemptible dull recreation.’

Painter. And after the Falconer was gone, did Venator express any civil disposition towards anglers?

Angler. Aye; for you have seen how his purpose was to hunt the Otter at Hodsden, that was three miles further; and so he continued his walk with Mr. Walton, who all the while pursued his discourse of fishes and fishing.

Painter. Indeed! then his discourse was three miles long! All the while, say you, till they came to Hodsden?

Angler. And not only so; but without any averseness in Mr. Venator.

Painter. Then, I cannot but consider him the meekest and most polite man in the world, to listen with a cheerful willingness to so long a commendation of an art that he had ‘heard many merry huntsmen make sport and scoff at.’

Angler. Be not so confident; stay a little, and I shall make you confess that Mr. Walton adorned his arguments with such a matchless commixture of learning and eloquence, as made his praise of angling like sweet music even to the huntsman’s ear; for when they were left together, after the Falconer was gone to his friend’s house, Mr. Walton invited his companion to enlarge his discourse on hunting, and promised he should ‘neither want time nor his attention to hear it.’ But this the other gently declined, because he was kindled with a desire to hear how Mr. Walton could persuade him that angling was ‘of great antiquity, and a perfect art, and an art not easily attained to;’ the which if he could do, he promised to ‘attend him a day or two a-fishing, and become his scholar.’ Whereupon Mr. Walton was charmed with the hope of the Huntsman’s conversion; and he did, by obvious arguments, possess his mind with the same high and happy thoughts as himself had the enjoyment of; for he convinced him how it was an excellent and a pleasant art ‘to deceive a trout, that is more sharpsighted than any hawk,’ and how ‘the man that hopes to be a good angler must not only bring an inquiring, searching, observing wit, but he must bring a large measure of hope and patience, and a love and a propensity to the art itself.’

Painter. And thus Mr. Walton, by an alluring suavity, persuaded the Huntsman that angling was near a-kin to wisdom, ‘all her ways pleasantness, and her paths peace!’^[60]

Angler. Doubtless,—and I would have you understand that Mr. Walton, who is a known lover of truth, here declares that he has discovered, by a practical acquaintance with his art, ‘the very sitting by the river’s side is not only the quietest and fittest place for contemplation, but will invite an angler to it; and settle his mind in a quiet repose, and there make him fit for revelation.’ Then, after many more examples to the lawfulness and high esteem of angling, he declares, that ‘whosoever shall view the ancient ecclesiastical canons, shall find hunting to be forbidden to Churchmen, as being a turbulent, toilsome, perplexing recreation; and shall find angling allowed, as being a harmless recreation that invites them to contemplation and quietness.’

Painter. This methinks is suitable; for so pious ministers may forth into the meadows, and there sit and angle in a retirement, and unbend their minds from too close study; and, moreover give glory to God, when they see the rocks and waters that He hath formed, and the whole earth spangled with flowers or other ornaments, for the service and delight of mankind.

Angler. And I believe that every hour of innocent freedom from the cold-hearted humours of the world, and every secret instinct of reverence and affection towards God is a step forward in our path to the unseen glories of His presence. ‘And it is only while we are still that we are like a tranquil water reflecting Heaven.’——Thus, Venator became more and more charmed into an attention, until Mr. Walton brought him to the persuasion that angling was ‘an employment full of various pleasures and events;’ and after that declared, how ‘learned William Perkins, Dr. Whitaker, and Dr. Nowel, sometime Dean of the Cathedral Church of St. Paul, in London, so noted for his meek spirit, deep learning, prudence, and piety, were dear lovers and constant practisers of angling.’

Painter. I dare not deny the commendations Mr. Walton bestows on fishing, if peaceful Dr. Nowel gave his authority to the enjoyment of it; for he was a most excellent example of ancient simplicity and holiness; and who can tell the deep searchings of his spirit into the truths revealed in the sacred scripture! as witness his Church Catechism, and the part he took in drawing up the Articles of our Faith, which shall be the guiding star of happy England amidst the rocks, and shelves, and quicksands, and cloudy storms of ages yet to come.

Angler. Alas! I have a sad forecasting of times, when the Church (and through her side the Commonwealth of England) shall be again assailed by wearisome censurers, the declared enemies of her polity and ministrations,—and yet more of her endowments.

Painter. Be not vexed with these unquiet thoughts: God hath His flock in His own keeping: unless through some decay of piety in our Bishops and Ministers of religion, by their neglecting of the sacraments, the daily church services, the Fasts and Festivals, and primitive rules of discipline, He should again be angered against the shepherds, and let the wolves into the fold.

Angler. Alas! for that day, if ever they should disparage and slur those ministrations, which are their divine commission to the end of time, and their bulwark!—for then would the love and reverence of men be again changed into an averseness, and ill-speakers of church-government provoke disunion, so as the very vail of the temple mould be rent in twain.——But to return to the example of pious Dean Nowel, I may tell you, this most wise man was ‘a dear lover and constant practiser of angling as any age can produce; and his custom was to spend, besides his fixed hours of prayer, a tenth part of his time in angling, and also of his revenue, and usually all his fish, amongst the poor, that inhabited near to those rivers in which it was caught, saying often, “that charity gave life to religion;” and at his return to his house he would praise God, he had spent that day free from worldly trouble; both harmlessly and in a recreation that became a churchman.’ And more I have to say; for you will not deny to Sir Henry Wotton your partial opinion and praise.

Painter. That I will not, because I know he was a man of notable qualities; and one that was a lover of excellent artificers in limning and sculpture, and willingly afforded his ear and his purse to every poor man that was so happy as to gain access to him.

Angler. Then I have but this more to say, namely, how Mr. Walton declares, that ‘Sir Henry Wotton, whose experience, learning, wit, and cheerfulness, made him one of the delights of mankind, was also a dear lover and frequent practiser of the art of angling, of which he would say, “’Twas an employment for his idle time, which was not then idly spent: for angling was, after a tedious study, a rest to his mind, a cheerer of his spirits, a diverter of sadness, a calmer of unquiet thoughts, a moderator of passions, a procurer of contentedness.”’

Painter. Sir, you could not more certainly move me to favourable thoughts of angling, than by persuading me to believe that Sir Henry Wotton had a love for this pastime.

Angler. I am glad to hear you say so; and now, after this long digression, I intend only to tell you, that those irresistible arguments wherewith Mr. Walton adorned his discourse, brought the Huntsman and himself to Hodsden, that was the end of their journey. And then Mr. Walton said, ‘I am glad your patience hath held out so long, for my discourse hath brought us within sight of the Thatched House.’

To this the other replied: ‘Sir, you have angled me on with much pleasure to the Thatched House, and I now find your words true; that good company makes the way seem short; for, trust me, Sir, I thought we had wanted three miles of this house, till you showed it to me. But now we are at it, we’ll turn into it, and refresh ourselves with a cup of drink and a little rest.’

‘Most gladly, Sir,’ replied Piscator, ‘and we’ll drink a civil cup to all the Otter-hunters that we are to meet to-morrow.’ Then Venator answered him, ‘That we will, Sir, and to all the lovers of angling too; of which number I am now willing to be one myself; for by the help of your discourse and company I have put on new thoughts, both of the art of angling and of all that profess it: and if you will but meet me to-morrow at the time and place appointed, and bestow one day with me and my friends on hunting the Otter, I will dedicate the next two days to wait on you, and we two will for that time do nothing but angle, and talk of fish and fishing.’ Then Piscator cheerfully took him at his word, and said: ‘’Tis a match, Sir; I’ll not fail you, (God willing,) to be at Amwell Hill to-morrow morning before sun rising.’

Painter. A more sweet and loving discourse I have not heard. I declare to you I am moved by a sensible charm to listen to these ingenuous strangers, as they enliven each other by an accidental dialogue on angling.

Angler. And who would not desire that he might spend a fine fresh morning once a year at least in Mr. Walton’s company, and hear him allege his plausible arguments to teach men to be peaceful anglers? And if I might persuade you to read all he says in praise of his art, you would find such a harmony and so many suitable colours in the composition of his book, that you might declare it to be a picture designed with all the graces of Titian, and the sweetness of Correggio.

Painter. Well, brother, this I will declare, that I am like the gentleman Falconer, and begin to love both Mr. Walton and his art; nay, I have listened with a secret pleasure to his conversation, and hope to hear what entertainment his friend the huntsman provided for him, when they two met at Amwell to hunt the Otter.

Angler. That you shall hear by and by, but first let me see your sketch of Pike Pool.

Painter. There it is, and the best I can make it.

Angler. It is indeed a skilful picture: all of a just and natural proportion: and now, because you have had so much civility and patience, I will make you some requital, and go a-fishing with you for an hour; but look, you have a nibble; for your quill is out of sight.

Painter. And so it is! now I hope to find a good trout to my hook—how shall I play with him?

Angler. Take up your rod, and try if it be a little one or a big one.

Painter. It is but ‘a diminutive gentleman.’

Angler. Then throw him in again, and put on another worm:—there, you have a second!

Painter. Now! I warrant this is a mettlesome fish.

Angler. Then answer him conformably.

Painter. Ah!—I am but an ignoramus, with all my pride; nevertheless I hope I shall not lose him, for he will be worth his weight in gold, only because I took him in this very spot; and if I catch him, I’ll draw his likeness in colours at my leisure.—He goes away at a dash—I fear my tackling will not hold out.

Angler. I am a hostage for the line, if you will practice him pliantly—but do not jerk him.

Painter. I beseech you take the rod and show me.

Angler. Well then—you must cherish him a bit—thus—and now straighten him by degrees drawing in your line.

Painter. See how he doubles back.

Angler. Ay: but I have him in hand—so—now do you take the rod again, and puzzle him, and give me the net—it is well done—this way with him—I have the Hector, and I declare to you it is the largest fish we have taken to-day.

Painter. Oh, brother, I am quite in love with this pastime of angling—it is the pleasantest thing in the world—and I profess myself from henceforth a willing disciple of Mr. Walton.

Angler. Indeed! I am charmed to hear you make this honest declaration; and I may tell you, for your encouragement, that you are like to prove a handy craftsman, so let us go lower down to the fresh streams.

Painter. I have almost had enough: and I cannot hope to be pleased with any place after this woody dell. I have never seen the like for a retirement.

Angler. Well, as you please: but what is yonder above our heads, which is overshadowed by the ash trees? methinks it looks like a hole in the rock.

Painter. I believe it is, and if you are so inclined, let us scramble up and look into it: perchance we shall make a discovery.

Angler. With all my heart; lead on: but have a care, for it is a scraggy place, and you may hap to come down again heels over head.

Painter. Look to yourself; a Carolus to a groat that I’m there first.

Angler. Say you so? then pr’ythee let your footing keep pace with your words, for I am after you.

Painter. Heigho!—stop there,—I have slipped up; beseech you—give me a hand.

Angler. Ha, ha! Signor, whose somersault was that? try again:—but see, I am up first,—and what a concealed cavern is here, ‘covered over with rude grown briers,’^[61] and big enough for a man to stand upright in, if he desired a shelter.^[62]

Painter. Ay, and we have seen the times that such a cave had been worth a king’s crown, when he that was near to losing one, was compelled to hide himself from his pursuers.

Angler. Let us pray God that the nation may rest from her troubles;—that we may sit ‘every man under his vine and under his fig-tree;’ and angle when he will, in peace beneath the shade of sycamine trees, free from all contentions and jars.

Painter. This, I hope, may be our happy lot; and now we have six braces and a half of trouts; so if you please, let us back to Alstonfields; for we have two miles to walk, and the sun is going down.

Angler. I am quite willing to be at home, for I begin to tire; here is the way.

Painter. So—we are come again to the steep hill by Narrow Dale: I wish we were past it.

Angler. There are some houses;—and a woman standing at her cottage-door—shall we follow the example of good Dean Nowel, and make her happy with the contribution of some of our fishes?

Painter. I had the same thought.

Angler. Here, good woman; will it please you accept this couple of trouts, and I dare believe you’ll know how to cook them.

Cottager. I humbly thank you, gentlemen, and it is not the first time I have dressed trouts: for noble Mr. Cotton bestows a great part of his fish upon us. He hath a charitable heart towards his poor neighbours: and for gentlemen anglers, he loves to see them take their sport in his river.

Angler. That I am sure of—we wish you a good evening.

Cottager. Your servant, kind gentlefolk; and I thank you too.

Angler. So—we are arrived once more at the King’s Head, and there is mine host at his door looking about for us. Well, Mr. Marsh!

Host. Sirs, you are welcome; and I hope you have found good sport in our river Dove.

Angler. Exceeding good; see,—here are some brace of trouts for supper: and now we’ll rest ourselves on this bench till they be ready.

Host. I’ll bring them in a trice, for ‘the kettle is set upon a quick fire of wood, and the liquor’s boiling up.’

Angler. That’s well! and, Host, ‘whilst your fish is boiling, beat up the butter for your sauce.’

Host. It shall be done, Sir! and ‘I’ll strew it plentifully with shaved horseradish and a little pounded ginger.’

Angler. He remembers every word how Mr. Cotton taught Viator to dress a trout or grayling, which questionless is of all other the best way.

Painter. That I believe. — — —

And here comes mine Host again with the trouts:—they are served as quickly as we could desire—so do you say grace, brother.—Amen.

Host. Sir, they are good sized fish, and exceeding well conditioned.

Angler. The biggest is my brother’s, that he took in the Pike Pool, after you were gone home; and he has declared it to be his purpose, from this day, to call himself a scholar of Mr. Walton, and endeavour to learn the secrets of our craft.

Host. Indeed, Sir! I am heartily glad of this—for I have heard Mr. Walton and Mr. Cotton say, when men are quietly employed a-fishing, it teaches them to lay aside uneasy thoughts and cares, being a pastime that is full of hope; and this gentleman gives promise to be a skilful artist with his angle.

Angler. True—and I’ll drink his health in a glass of Staffordshire ale—so make us a loving cup, with toasted bread and sugar, the same as yesterday.

Host. Sir! it shall be done as you desire.—And quickly.—

Angler. That is well—come brother, here’s to you and your honest Master, Mr. Izaak Walton, and I will not forget Mr. Charles Cotton, for you must now look upon him as an adopted brother.

Painter. Trust me, I want no persuasions to love Mr. Cotton, who hath provided such delights by the river Dove, and made them all ‘sacred to anglers;’ my mind is full of the train of those pleasures. And now resolve me this question: Why may we not divert ourselves another day or two on the margin of this fine river?

Angler. Are you in earnest?

Painter. Indeed am I; and if you are so inclined, I’ll be wholly disposed of by you.

Angler. Why, that’s brave! I accept your challenge; and seeing you have abandoned yourself to my conduct, I will persuade you to walk back to the town of Ashbourne through the whole valley of Dove Dale.

Painter. That is agreed. Oh! I am full of joyful thoughts of rare angling; and perchance we may yet find some beautiful landskips; nevertheless, methinks, we have seen the choicest parts of the river: is it not so?

Angler. Of that I shall ask leave to say nothing; do you but wait till to-morrow and when you are come to the lower streams towards Ashbourne, I will remit the question to your own free judgment.

Painter. Well, I have suddenly a thought come into my mind.

Angler. What is that? I hope it is to give us a song, for I know you have not been denied a voice or an ear; so tune up your music, and after that I’ll make some attempts myself, and sing an innocent song.

Painter. Anon—anon—but now tell me, why should not we two happy anglers, that have found our walking legs up and down the slopes of these glades, stretch them again to-morrow morning, and go to the higher parts of the Dove, and see how this river ‘springs from a contemptible fountain,’ that Mr. Cotton says, ‘he can cover with his hat.’

Angler. On the word of an angler, you are the strangest man that ever I saw! Let me tell you, the path there and back is near upon twenty miles,

Painter. What care I for twenty miles, so I may but drink a cup from that fountain of the Dove to the health of my master, Mr. Izaak Walton?

Angler. Excellent, excellent—‘you have conquered me;’ and to speak the truth, I but tried if you were in earnest; for once on a time I walked by myself to the Dove Head, and I may tell you all the way is as full of fair sweet prospects as any can desire that love angling and the wild hadder of the moors; so let us be gone to-morrow before the sun rising.

Painter. I care not how early; and now every one to bed with a prayerful heart, that he may secretly fetch down his consolation from Heaven, and make every thing contribute to his gradual ascent thither.

Angler. Good night, all.