Sir,

TO THE READER.

THE

HE book I here present to you was put into the Printer's hands for the entertainment of a few Gentlemen Fishers; and I hope you take a pleasure in the harmless recreation of Angling, otherwise I may not hope you will overlook its defects. I heartily wish it were a more worthy tribute to the memory of those beft masters of our art, Mr. Izaak Walton, and Mr. Charles Cotton :

́ ALAS, THAT THEY ARE DEAD!'

But I beseech you to be civil, and moderate in your
cenfures; for I undertook thofe pleasant walks,
to which I here invite you, by the banks of the
DOVE (now ten years are past) to unbend my
mind from fome ferious cares.
And that I may
not detain you from the perusal, I have only this

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further to defire,-that we may all have a fouth wind when we go a-fishing,—and be bleft with a virtuous cheerful fpirit, a peaceful confcience, and at laft eternal rejoicings in the kingdom of angels. Your loving friend

THE RIVER DOVE;

WITH SOME QUIET THOUGHTS ON THE HAPPY PRACTICE OF ANGLING.

CHAPTER I.

A Meeting at Derby, between an Angler
and a Painter.

Painter.

ELCOME, Mr. Gentleman Angler: welcome to Derby.

Angler. Good morrow, brother, I am glad to see you look fo cheer

ing and courteous; for I must confefs I am later than our fix't appointment.

Painter. Sir, now I poffefs you, I'm too glad-hearted to chide your lagging: yet, to say the truth, I expected you this hour agone; for methought your sprightful anglers were apt to

B

prevent the fun's rifing on a delicate May morning.

Angler. Give me your pardon this turn, and doubt not to find me stirring with the lark every day that you and I purpose to walk in each other's company by the banks of the Dove.

Painter. My pardon you shall have the more willingly, if you fail not a traveller's good stomach for breakfast.

Angler. You may trust me. I am as keenly fet as a mofs trooper.

Painter. I am glad to hear it, for I have told the civil hoftess to treat us well.

Angler. You are worthy to be a brother of the angle; and this I am refolved you shall be when we are come to the river that I love fo well-but let us fee what we may have for our breakfast, and fall to it merrily.

Painter. Here it is, and all of the beft; fo let us fay grace, and begin.

Angler. With all my heart;-and that will give it a relish.

Painter. How now, brave Sir! What fay you?

Angler. By pick and pie 'tis all excellent. When I am Lord Great Chamberlain you shall be my caterer. Come, Sir, for a glass of