90 THE ILLUSTRIOUS HIGGINBOTHAM. 



to hear beforehand what sort of sport I am likely to 

 have. Sober truth is sometimes exceedingly distressing, 

 and brings one's mind to a lull ; it puts an end to the 

 sublimity of extravagant speculation, which I hold to 

 be the chief duty of a sportsman. So, as I said, I asked 

 no questions ; but I saw the river Ettrick before me 

 taking her free course beneath the misty hills, and, 

 brushing away the dew-drops with my steps, I rushed 

 impatiently through the broom and gorse with torn hose 

 and smarting legs, till I arrived at the margin of that 

 wild river, where the birch hung its ringlets over the 

 waters. 



Out came my trusty rod from a case of " filthy 

 dowlass." Top varnished it was, and the work of the 

 famous Higginbotham : not he the hero of an hundred 

 engines, " who was afeard of nothing, and whose fire- 

 man's soul was all on fire ; " but Higginbotham of the 

 Strand, who was such an artist in the rod line as never 

 appeared before, or has ever been seen since. " He never 

 joyed since the price of hiccory wood rose," and was soon 

 after gathered to the tomb of his fathers. I look upon 

 him, and old Kirby the quondam maker of hooks, to 

 be two of the greatest men the world ever saw ; not even 

 excepting Eustace Ude, or Michael Angelo Bonarotti. 



But to business. The rod was hastily put together ; a 

 beautiful new azure line passed through the rings; a 

 casting line, made like the waist of Prior's Emma, ap- 

 pended, with two trout flies attached to it of the manu- 

 facture even of me, Harry Otter. An eager throw to 

 begin with: round came the flies intact. Three, four, five, 

 six throws — a dozen: no better result. The fish were 



