THE ILLUSTRIOUS HIGGINBOTHAM 95 



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 fireman's soul was all on fire " ; but Higgin- 

 botham 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, 

 appended, with two trout flies attached to it of the 

 manufacture 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 stern and contemptuous. At 

 length some favourable change took place in the 

 clouds, or atmosphere, and I caught sundry small 

 trout ; and finally, in the cheek of a boiler, I fairly 

 hauled out a two-pounder. A jewel of a fish he was 

 -quite a treasure all over. After I had performed 



